This is my transfer supplement for Georgetown. Please give me any advice that you think would help. Also, do not hold back; give it to me straight.
The prompt is:
The Admissions Committee would like to know more about you in your own words. Please submit a brief essay, either personal or creative, which you feel best describes you.
I did it. I got rid of it. "Your account has been deleted. We hope you come back soon," Facebook said. I did it. I did the impossible -- I deleted my Facebook account.
I didn't even use Facebook that much. I didn't post much, I didn't update my status much, and I didn't post many photos, but Facebook wasted my time: it diluted my concentration, and it even altered my sense of self.
Facebook represents a chosen reality for those who use it. Albums of Summer Vacation 2013, self-congratulatory status updates celebrating personal triumphs, pictures of concerts, celebrities, and fancy dinners all pervade the hand-picked reality of Facebook, all posted by people I hardly knew. Facebook exists as a forum for egos. "Likes" for me on Facebook transferred into a small self-confidence boost in reality. An unwanted desire to compare myself to others imbued me. How many likes did they have? How many friends did they have? Where did they go for Spring Break? Facebook was supposed to help me connect to others, find past friends, and to stay in touch with family and friends, but in reality, Facebook just encouraged me to become narcissistic and vain. Facebook offered me an inflated sense of importance through each comment and like.
Facebook's influence, however, went beyond the internet and into my way of thinking. Facebook became a lifestyle. A beautiful sunset at the beach: take a picture and post it. Going to the Yankees game: status update. Even when I was not physically looking at Facebook on my computer or smartphone, Facebook managed to sneak into my mind. I could be in Pisa admiring the Leaning Tower and be thinking about taking a new profile picture for Facebook.
But soon after I deleted Facebook, I began to feel like the only kid in the playground without a yo-yo or new shoes. Facebook, the social crutch, had fallen down. At first I regretted my decision. I had left Facebook to escape the narcissism of social media, yet the very superficialities I wanted to avoid were calling me back. I missed it. I even sneaked back on Facebook from time to time in hopes of logging in to see the digital smiles of friends, but all that greeted me was a blank sign up screen teasing me to rejoin their world. John will miss you, Facebook warned me, but it was quite the opposite: I missed John, and I missed Lisa, Anny, and David. Facebook tested my will time and time again, but I held firm.
The days went by: Sunrise, sunset. The weeks went by: Sunday, Monday, Sunday, Monday, and the months went by: April, May, June. Then things began to change. Without Facebook, the present became more real. I could watch a sunset without feeling the need to take a picture to post online. My self-confidence no longer rested on the empty gestures of approval that were Facebook "Likes"; the only "Likes" that mattered were those my friends and family expressed in person. Before, though I may have not admitted it, I was scared to be alone, and scared to be bored. With Facebook, I was perpetually attached to something, and with Facebook, I sought to confirm my importance through photos or statues. Without Facebook, I was forced to walk my own path and engage directly with life. Not knowing what my friends were up to every moment liberated me and forced me to catch up with friends face to face. To live without Facebook scared me at first, but ultimately, it empowered me. No longer hidden behind the blue wall of Facebook I started to find my own voice. I do not regret my decision. I deleted my Facebook, and I am fine.
The prompt is:
The Admissions Committee would like to know more about you in your own words. Please submit a brief essay, either personal or creative, which you feel best describes you.
I did it. I got rid of it. "Your account has been deleted. We hope you come back soon," Facebook said. I did it. I did the impossible -- I deleted my Facebook account.
I didn't even use Facebook that much. I didn't post much, I didn't update my status much, and I didn't post many photos, but Facebook wasted my time: it diluted my concentration, and it even altered my sense of self.
Facebook represents a chosen reality for those who use it. Albums of Summer Vacation 2013, self-congratulatory status updates celebrating personal triumphs, pictures of concerts, celebrities, and fancy dinners all pervade the hand-picked reality of Facebook, all posted by people I hardly knew. Facebook exists as a forum for egos. "Likes" for me on Facebook transferred into a small self-confidence boost in reality. An unwanted desire to compare myself to others imbued me. How many likes did they have? How many friends did they have? Where did they go for Spring Break? Facebook was supposed to help me connect to others, find past friends, and to stay in touch with family and friends, but in reality, Facebook just encouraged me to become narcissistic and vain. Facebook offered me an inflated sense of importance through each comment and like.
Facebook's influence, however, went beyond the internet and into my way of thinking. Facebook became a lifestyle. A beautiful sunset at the beach: take a picture and post it. Going to the Yankees game: status update. Even when I was not physically looking at Facebook on my computer or smartphone, Facebook managed to sneak into my mind. I could be in Pisa admiring the Leaning Tower and be thinking about taking a new profile picture for Facebook.
But soon after I deleted Facebook, I began to feel like the only kid in the playground without a yo-yo or new shoes. Facebook, the social crutch, had fallen down. At first I regretted my decision. I had left Facebook to escape the narcissism of social media, yet the very superficialities I wanted to avoid were calling me back. I missed it. I even sneaked back on Facebook from time to time in hopes of logging in to see the digital smiles of friends, but all that greeted me was a blank sign up screen teasing me to rejoin their world. John will miss you, Facebook warned me, but it was quite the opposite: I missed John, and I missed Lisa, Anny, and David. Facebook tested my will time and time again, but I held firm.
The days went by: Sunrise, sunset. The weeks went by: Sunday, Monday, Sunday, Monday, and the months went by: April, May, June. Then things began to change. Without Facebook, the present became more real. I could watch a sunset without feeling the need to take a picture to post online. My self-confidence no longer rested on the empty gestures of approval that were Facebook "Likes"; the only "Likes" that mattered were those my friends and family expressed in person. Before, though I may have not admitted it, I was scared to be alone, and scared to be bored. With Facebook, I was perpetually attached to something, and with Facebook, I sought to confirm my importance through photos or statues. Without Facebook, I was forced to walk my own path and engage directly with life. Not knowing what my friends were up to every moment liberated me and forced me to catch up with friends face to face. To live without Facebook scared me at first, but ultimately, it empowered me. No longer hidden behind the blue wall of Facebook I started to find my own voice. I do not regret my decision. I deleted my Facebook, and I am fine.