Common App Prompt #1: 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.
I always made my grandmother lose her balance during her outdoor tai-chi sessions. Focusing on her feng-shui, grandma - my wŕipó in Mandarin - always shrugged off my high-pitched questions whenever I pestered her. These daunting inquiries of "Does the sky ever end?" and "Can we fly?" remained unsettled as wŕipó shook her head and continued to maintain her single whip movement. Unfortunately, she didn't comprehend multifaceted astronomy or physiology.
One day, I biked to my childhood oasis, Jellybean Park, to find my answers. At the apex of Earth's gravitational potential energy, I launched myself off the swing-set at maximum velocity. Channeling my inner flying squirrel, I defied every law of physics, outwitted the human anatomy, and ended up falling to the ground, wincing in pain and enveloped in woodchips. I finally discovered that humans couldn't fly - one of my more painful childhood revelations.
The most baffling question I had was about my birthmark, the most prominent feature of my face. This black dot is smack-dab in the middle of my forehead: a true enigma. One time, I read on Yahoo Answers that moles proportional to one's face indicated malignance. When I anxiously asked wŕipó if it was my kiss of death, she gave her usual, heartening response of "It's what makes you special!" I didn't buy her words of reassurance. She made the same remark about my cousin's crooked baby teeth.
My task as an 8-year-old: to decode the mysteries of the mole.
Once my fascination - or perhaps fear - of my blemish was kindled, I sought the truth about my odd phenotype. Determined to figure out if it was symmetrical and cancerous, the young scientist in me resorted to experimentation. Thus, at the age of 8, I began my first scientific study sitting cross-legged on a cold, 5' x 8' bathroom floor. Bendable ruler and permanent Sharpie marker in hand, I drew distinct dashed lines, methodically joining a large birthmark at the center of my forehead to my temples. I proportionalized both sides of my forehead where my mark was, finding the measurements to be equal: 17.5 centimeters. Conclusion: my hypothesis of evenness and cancer was supported by my data (this was later embarrassingly disproven by my pediatrician).
My childhood inquisitiveness ultimately grew into something larger, and thankfully it wasn't finding out that I had skin cancer! As odd as it is, my discovery was the root of my infatuation with research, a culmination of my innate curiosity. From forming a hypothesis to deducing my answers, that one summer morning gave my childhood fascination clarity. It was a scientific catharsis that ensued next to a toilet.
Through research, I learned that I can fly. I soar beyond the boundaries of a classroom into a realm of independent thinking and instinctive questioning. Newton's laws of motion can't fetter my aspirations. Whether it be assaying the olfactory learning of Drosophila, determining the relationship between gene expression and behavior, or measuring the congruity of my face, my wings of inquisitiveness and tenacity haven't been clipped. My desire to connect these perplexing puzzle pieces defines who I am, at my core - it's perpetual and limitless like the sky.
Science is fascination in its purest form: evoking curiosity, thought, and vibrant inspiration. To this day, it's my outlet to pursue similarly cathartic "Aha!" moments, even though they might now be more intricate than measuring the congruity of my face, and a little less daunting than performing an amateur cancer diagnosis. So, I guess wŕipó was right. Though I didn't realize it as an obnoxious and slightly overweight 8-year-old, my distinctive birthmark is what makes me special. Without it, my many questions and ideas would remain undiagnosed. This oddity ultimately birthed my scientific intellect, breathing life into my ambition to connect more dots and to seek greater epiphanies. Hopefully the next ones don't involve any more painful forehead scrubbing sessions!
My birthmark - the mysteries of the mole
I always made my grandmother lose her balance during her outdoor tai-chi sessions. Focusing on her feng-shui, grandma - my wŕipó in Mandarin - always shrugged off my high-pitched questions whenever I pestered her. These daunting inquiries of "Does the sky ever end?" and "Can we fly?" remained unsettled as wŕipó shook her head and continued to maintain her single whip movement. Unfortunately, she didn't comprehend multifaceted astronomy or physiology.
One day, I biked to my childhood oasis, Jellybean Park, to find my answers. At the apex of Earth's gravitational potential energy, I launched myself off the swing-set at maximum velocity. Channeling my inner flying squirrel, I defied every law of physics, outwitted the human anatomy, and ended up falling to the ground, wincing in pain and enveloped in woodchips. I finally discovered that humans couldn't fly - one of my more painful childhood revelations.
The most baffling question I had was about my birthmark, the most prominent feature of my face. This black dot is smack-dab in the middle of my forehead: a true enigma. One time, I read on Yahoo Answers that moles proportional to one's face indicated malignance. When I anxiously asked wŕipó if it was my kiss of death, she gave her usual, heartening response of "It's what makes you special!" I didn't buy her words of reassurance. She made the same remark about my cousin's crooked baby teeth.
My task as an 8-year-old: to decode the mysteries of the mole.
Once my fascination - or perhaps fear - of my blemish was kindled, I sought the truth about my odd phenotype. Determined to figure out if it was symmetrical and cancerous, the young scientist in me resorted to experimentation. Thus, at the age of 8, I began my first scientific study sitting cross-legged on a cold, 5' x 8' bathroom floor. Bendable ruler and permanent Sharpie marker in hand, I drew distinct dashed lines, methodically joining a large birthmark at the center of my forehead to my temples. I proportionalized both sides of my forehead where my mark was, finding the measurements to be equal: 17.5 centimeters. Conclusion: my hypothesis of evenness and cancer was supported by my data (this was later embarrassingly disproven by my pediatrician).
My childhood inquisitiveness ultimately grew into something larger, and thankfully it wasn't finding out that I had skin cancer! As odd as it is, my discovery was the root of my infatuation with research, a culmination of my innate curiosity. From forming a hypothesis to deducing my answers, that one summer morning gave my childhood fascination clarity. It was a scientific catharsis that ensued next to a toilet.
Through research, I learned that I can fly. I soar beyond the boundaries of a classroom into a realm of independent thinking and instinctive questioning. Newton's laws of motion can't fetter my aspirations. Whether it be assaying the olfactory learning of Drosophila, determining the relationship between gene expression and behavior, or measuring the congruity of my face, my wings of inquisitiveness and tenacity haven't been clipped. My desire to connect these perplexing puzzle pieces defines who I am, at my core - it's perpetual and limitless like the sky.
Science is fascination in its purest form: evoking curiosity, thought, and vibrant inspiration. To this day, it's my outlet to pursue similarly cathartic "Aha!" moments, even though they might now be more intricate than measuring the congruity of my face, and a little less daunting than performing an amateur cancer diagnosis. So, I guess wŕipó was right. Though I didn't realize it as an obnoxious and slightly overweight 8-year-old, my distinctive birthmark is what makes me special. Without it, my many questions and ideas would remain undiagnosed. This oddity ultimately birthed my scientific intellect, breathing life into my ambition to connect more dots and to seek greater epiphanies. Hopefully the next ones don't involve any more painful forehead scrubbing sessions!
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