Prompt in verbatim: Describe an experience that you have had or a concept you have learned about that intellectually excites you. When answering this question, you may want to consider some of the following questions: Why does this topic excite you? How does it impact the way you or others experience the world? What questions do you continue to ponder about it?
Living in the Las Vegas desert for the majority of my life, I had never once felt sand caked in between my toes, the waves of the ocean gently crash against my ankles, or the sea mist spray at the base of my neck. And so, when our fifth class visited Las Vegas's Mandalay Bay Shark Reef, it was my first literal glimpse into what I believed to be the closest I would ever get to experiencing the ocean from the constraints of the desert.
Prior to this pivotal moment in my childhood, I had ceaselessly romanticized aquatic life. My curiosity was sparked by visits to the local fish market where I saw tanks of live catfish mouthing out silenced pleas for help and piles of live crab pincing at unsuspecting customers. In school, I learned of the dolphin's use of echolocation to catch prey and the octopus's remarkable ability to solve complex puzzles. Ocean documentaries and most notably Shark Week on the Discovery Channel further exacerbated my unquenchable inquisitiveness. I found great pleasure in attempting to fathom a whole new blue realm of existence where life pulsed to the movement of the currents, claustrophobia entailed a swarm of mini jellyfish, and breathing meant drowning. Sometimes, when puddles remained as a reminder of a rare desert rainstorm, I would seek these puddles near sidewalks and foolishly expect to find a pool of bubbling aquatic life, thriving with hermit crabs and baby sea turtles. It was impossible to satiate my anxiousness for the ocean and I let my curiosity brew with potency.
My fifth grade field trip to the Mandalay Bay Shark Reef was marked by pure awe upon entering as I gaped at shallow tanks of docile piranhas, extraterrestrial jellyfish, and vicious-looking lemon sharks. Near the end of the exhibit stood an immense 30-foot glass wall meant to authentically immerse the viewer in the surreal depths of the ocean. Upon seeing it, my entire being shifted in posture and piqued in eagerness. I no longer had to imagine an underwater world of refracted sunlight and pillars of seaweed beneath closed eyelids, for that very world laid before me, with my eyes open and mind keen to soak it all in. Sawfish and stingrays casually glided by and a school of fish swiftly jetted past like a flock of birds migrating south. An array of raw life was flourishing before me and only a few inches of glass sundered my world from the world I had long sentimentalized since those fateful days I browsed the fish market. Imagination was no longer considered a form of compromise because reality had finally caught up. It was here. I had leaped into the ocean, sunk to the very bottom, and all I could do was embrace its beauty. It was real. I felt it, the poignant touch of the sea's gentle grasp. And yet I lived in a desert valley 293 miles from the Californian coastline.
Anything I can do to make it flow better? I feel like the ending is sloppy and my use of a thesaurus is very obvious in the second paragraph.
Living in the Las Vegas desert for the majority of my life, I had never once felt sand caked in between my toes, the waves of the ocean gently crash against my ankles, or the sea mist spray at the base of my neck. And so, when our fifth class visited Las Vegas's Mandalay Bay Shark Reef, it was my first literal glimpse into what I believed to be the closest I would ever get to experiencing the ocean from the constraints of the desert.
Prior to this pivotal moment in my childhood, I had ceaselessly romanticized aquatic life. My curiosity was sparked by visits to the local fish market where I saw tanks of live catfish mouthing out silenced pleas for help and piles of live crab pincing at unsuspecting customers. In school, I learned of the dolphin's use of echolocation to catch prey and the octopus's remarkable ability to solve complex puzzles. Ocean documentaries and most notably Shark Week on the Discovery Channel further exacerbated my unquenchable inquisitiveness. I found great pleasure in attempting to fathom a whole new blue realm of existence where life pulsed to the movement of the currents, claustrophobia entailed a swarm of mini jellyfish, and breathing meant drowning. Sometimes, when puddles remained as a reminder of a rare desert rainstorm, I would seek these puddles near sidewalks and foolishly expect to find a pool of bubbling aquatic life, thriving with hermit crabs and baby sea turtles. It was impossible to satiate my anxiousness for the ocean and I let my curiosity brew with potency.
My fifth grade field trip to the Mandalay Bay Shark Reef was marked by pure awe upon entering as I gaped at shallow tanks of docile piranhas, extraterrestrial jellyfish, and vicious-looking lemon sharks. Near the end of the exhibit stood an immense 30-foot glass wall meant to authentically immerse the viewer in the surreal depths of the ocean. Upon seeing it, my entire being shifted in posture and piqued in eagerness. I no longer had to imagine an underwater world of refracted sunlight and pillars of seaweed beneath closed eyelids, for that very world laid before me, with my eyes open and mind keen to soak it all in. Sawfish and stingrays casually glided by and a school of fish swiftly jetted past like a flock of birds migrating south. An array of raw life was flourishing before me and only a few inches of glass sundered my world from the world I had long sentimentalized since those fateful days I browsed the fish market. Imagination was no longer considered a form of compromise because reality had finally caught up. It was here. I had leaped into the ocean, sunk to the very bottom, and all I could do was embrace its beauty. It was real. I felt it, the poignant touch of the sea's gentle grasp. And yet I lived in a desert valley 293 miles from the Californian coastline.
Anything I can do to make it flow better? I feel like the ending is sloppy and my use of a thesaurus is very obvious in the second paragraph.
