My eyes slowly crack open, focusing then blurring out. I awake from the darkness wanting to connect to civilization, yet I am restricted. My body refuses the neurological commands. From somewhere faraway, a faint, incessant tone fills the silent room with a vibe of hope. I turn my head to the side, to see a figure walking closer. "Amma?" slips out of my mouth. Her warm hand caresses this hidden pain I feel. "I'm sorry." I say. Warm drops hit my arm and run away as she sobs, holding on to me. Her lips move inaudibly and I stare, slowly trying to find the recipe for this chaos. But I can't find the ingredients that belong in this soup. Nothing makes sense. And everything goes dark.
The broth. My eyes open with a new surge of energy, yet focusing seems to be difficult. My hearing sharper than before, can detect the sounds of civilization: the flutter of human bodies, dialogue in a familiar language, and sounds of car horns blazing outside this prison. I lift myself up, but immediately receive help. I'm given something in my hand; glasses. I put them on, and the world is clear. I peak around: the white walls, the white floors, the white sheets, the white coats, the white's of my mother's eyes, turning red from fatigue. The doctors and nurses rush to me, put a thermometer in my mouth, and start interrogating in Telugu. I don't have the recipe and neither do they.
The vegetables. My mother sits and feeds me. She explains what I don't remember. A seizure so devastating, I had lost control of all my senses and my consciousness. All I can think now, is how my exotic summer vacation in India has turned into a nightmare. My grandparents and mother take turns caring for me as my father calls from Virginia. He talks to the doctors asking for immediate diagnosis and then he talks to me in a weary voice, full of concern. I reminiscence my father's seizure three years ago that shocked our family. Now, my seizure has once again given my mother Hell. Blood tests, urine tests, and blood pressure levels are taken, but they show no signs of disease. The days in the hospital seem longer, as I absorb packets of IV fluid and I even begin to smell like medicine. The doctors finally conclude that I be taken to a testing facility for an EEG, MRI, and a CT scan. I still don't have the recipe, but the tests might have it.
Bringing it to a boil. I am driven across town in an ambulance to the testing facility. I lay down, and the doctors attach the many metal rods to my scalp. EEG: negative. They wheel me to the MRI machine and I fall asleep, as the machine is put to work. The doctors call my name, and I'm immediately awake. They have news.
Salt, Pepper, and Garnish. I am diagnosed with a rare disorder of the brain: cavernous angioma; the same disorder my father has. My father and I are part of 0.4% of the population. The soup is done. The vegetables have soaked in the broth and the salt and pepper complete the soup. All I have to do is to eat. And after I'm done, I'll still be me. I'll still have my passion for music, my aspirations to travel the world, and my morals and values. The only thing different is that I'll know the recipe and how the soup tastes.
How is it? I don't know if it is an appropriate topic for a college admissions essay. I mean, I'm not showing who I really am, but rather an event. How do I tweak this, but keep my "soup" format?
Chop out unnecessary words:
...focusing seems to be difficult.
Add a comma:
My hearing, sharper than before, can detect...
Just an idea
I start to lift myself up but immediately receive help.--- no need for a comma here.
The vegetables have soaked in the broth, and the salt and pepper complete the soup. All I have to do is to eat. And after I'm done, I'll still be me. I'll still have my passion for music, my aspirations to travel the world, and my morals and values. The only thing different difference is that I'll know the recipe and how the soup tastes.---- I am still uncertain if I am correct in my understanding fo the significance of the soup. I suggest giving one sentence to 'spell it out' for the reader.
Know what I mean?
Also, bring this back to your college aspirations. At the end of the day -- at the end of the essay -- I hope you can tell what this has to do with your intended major, field of interest, career options, and so forth. You did some great writing here! If there is a problem, it will probably be that the reader cannot go deep enough in contemplation to really connect with this... and to be honest, I am left feeling uncertain if I understand the significance, as I said already.
:-) what do you think! Also, what instructions do you get from the school about what to write about?
I want to direct it to the topic of "what makes you colorful and unique?" I guess this isn't the most cheerful event in my life. :)
Oh. I did figure the "soup" metaphor was a little vague. What I want to say is that I want to help others cope with their "soup". I want to major in International Relations and Economics and work for an NGO, hopefully WHO or IMF. Maybe even the UN. Though it's not like I want to be a doctor or scientist, and find a cure for cancer, I still want to make an impact on the people I meet.
This is a week paragraphy that I want to add to the end:
"With my recipe in hand, I want to help people around the world find their own recipe. I want to help women gain their rights, console trafficked victims and restart their lives, and help feed the impoverished citizens of a disaster ravaged country. [I want to end with a bang!!]"
