First draft of my Common Application essay. Any comments, suggestions, and feedback are welcome.
For those unfamiliar with certain names and terms, note that I am from the Philippines. Everything in this essay is based in my country.
Prompt:
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
Only Better
After my father first took me mountain biking, I swore that I would never put myself through another such ordeal. It was an uphill battle in every sense. My thighs burned as I strained against gravity; my lungs struggled to extract whatever oxygen they could to keep me from passing out. But I would not go gentle into that good night.
Pedaling on a precipitous ridge overlooking the sea, we arrived at my father's hometown of Bagac, Bataan.
The village made no effort to introduce itself. Trees and unfettered thickets of vegetation gave way to fenced clearings around thatch-roofed huts. Stick-legged carabaos and panting dogs sat in the sun while townsfolk gawked at the Spandex-clad men on their two-wheeled contraptions.
The place was rustic and entirely alien, yet strangely familiar and comforting all at once. I didn't want to leave. But forty years ago, as my grandfather shuttled his family away from here in a silver jeep that would subsequently become his sole source of income in Manila, some inexplicable twist dictated that they would not return. For my father, this meant a scholarship at the Ateneo, the same institution whose halls I tread today. A formal education enabled my father to tap into his potential and ascend the rungs of the corporate ladder.
In a country with virtually no social mobility, my father's success always struck me as uncanny. An empty chair at the dinner table was evidence of what it took to stay at the top. But there were never any hard feelings. Growing up, I lay in bed every night, waiting for dad's invariable kiss on the forehead and the routine "How's my little boy?" Family would always come first.
Perhaps the biggest testament to my father's transformation was the fact that I never knew about his life in Bataan until I was in high school. The shiny bikes, mannerisms, and predilection for fine wine and art never hinted at the hardship he had left behind.
Bringing me to Bagac was my father's wordless way of acquainting me with his reality, and perhaps was also a gesture that would in time help me realize my own. That first cycling trip helped forge my character under the heat of the provincial sun. Dad was always several strides ahead, but he never looked back at me, nor did he slow down when my reserves ran low. Instead I had to pedal harder and faster to keep up.
It was on those mountain roads where I learned the value of awareness, composure, and preparation. "Don't look at the ground," dad told me. "Always keep your head up. Look ten feet in front of you so you know where you're going." . . . And the importance of momentum: "Don't stop pedaling." And inevitably, the power of will and perseverance. "Tired already?"
These were principles that I put to work in school as I explored my ability to come up with ideas and see them through to fruition, whether alone or in a team. These ideals pushed me through the rigors of the honors program and special science curriculum which, when taken together, could become overwhelming at times. Ultimately, however, my father's example framed my ambitions as I decided to vie for an American college education, against some of the world's best and brightest.
In retrospect, there was something euphoric and deeply fulfilling about conquering something a thousand times larger than myself. Cresting an apex was akin to that eureka moment of breaking through a mental barrier after a particularly challenging problem set. This is probably why I was willing to put myself through more grueling cycling trips. I had come to terms with the fact that the only way to improve was to put myself through my paces. Because for my father and me, there is no such thing as "best," only "better."
For those unfamiliar with certain names and terms, note that I am from the Philippines. Everything in this essay is based in my country.
Prompt:
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
Only Better
After my father first took me mountain biking, I swore that I would never put myself through another such ordeal. It was an uphill battle in every sense. My thighs burned as I strained against gravity; my lungs struggled to extract whatever oxygen they could to keep me from passing out. But I would not go gentle into that good night.
Pedaling on a precipitous ridge overlooking the sea, we arrived at my father's hometown of Bagac, Bataan.
The village made no effort to introduce itself. Trees and unfettered thickets of vegetation gave way to fenced clearings around thatch-roofed huts. Stick-legged carabaos and panting dogs sat in the sun while townsfolk gawked at the Spandex-clad men on their two-wheeled contraptions.
The place was rustic and entirely alien, yet strangely familiar and comforting all at once. I didn't want to leave. But forty years ago, as my grandfather shuttled his family away from here in a silver jeep that would subsequently become his sole source of income in Manila, some inexplicable twist dictated that they would not return. For my father, this meant a scholarship at the Ateneo, the same institution whose halls I tread today. A formal education enabled my father to tap into his potential and ascend the rungs of the corporate ladder.
In a country with virtually no social mobility, my father's success always struck me as uncanny. An empty chair at the dinner table was evidence of what it took to stay at the top. But there were never any hard feelings. Growing up, I lay in bed every night, waiting for dad's invariable kiss on the forehead and the routine "How's my little boy?" Family would always come first.
Perhaps the biggest testament to my father's transformation was the fact that I never knew about his life in Bataan until I was in high school. The shiny bikes, mannerisms, and predilection for fine wine and art never hinted at the hardship he had left behind.
Bringing me to Bagac was my father's wordless way of acquainting me with his reality, and perhaps was also a gesture that would in time help me realize my own. That first cycling trip helped forge my character under the heat of the provincial sun. Dad was always several strides ahead, but he never looked back at me, nor did he slow down when my reserves ran low. Instead I had to pedal harder and faster to keep up.
It was on those mountain roads where I learned the value of awareness, composure, and preparation. "Don't look at the ground," dad told me. "Always keep your head up. Look ten feet in front of you so you know where you're going." . . . And the importance of momentum: "Don't stop pedaling." And inevitably, the power of will and perseverance. "Tired already?"
These were principles that I put to work in school as I explored my ability to come up with ideas and see them through to fruition, whether alone or in a team. These ideals pushed me through the rigors of the honors program and special science curriculum which, when taken together, could become overwhelming at times. Ultimately, however, my father's example framed my ambitions as I decided to vie for an American college education, against some of the world's best and brightest.
In retrospect, there was something euphoric and deeply fulfilling about conquering something a thousand times larger than myself. Cresting an apex was akin to that eureka moment of breaking through a mental barrier after a particularly challenging problem set. This is probably why I was willing to put myself through more grueling cycling trips. I had come to terms with the fact that the only way to improve was to put myself through my paces. Because for my father and me, there is no such thing as "best," only "better."
