Prompt: Option 1 - Tell us about a person who has influenced you in a significant way.
Nobody believes we're brothers. That's a carefully cultivated impression we like to make. He wears glasses, while I wear contacts; he keeps his hair buzzed, while I grow mine out to mother-infuriating lengths. As far as appearances go, if he's Freddie Mercury, then I'm Lady Gaga.
Looking at us, it might never occur to you that Freddie inspired Lady Gaga.
Kevin is not a big fan of euphemisms; he takes two sugars with his coffee and that's about as sweet as he gets. Ironically, that's his endearing quality. He always gives me the best feedback; it ranges alphabetically from "that's awful" to "that's terrible".
He never was big on the whole vocabulary thing.
Ever the prodigal son, ever the successful student, he might cast a long shadow for me to stand in if we weren't almost the same height. He's the standard everyone compares me to, and though I hate to admit it, he's the standard I compare myself to. Call it sibling rivalry, call it pride, call it dogged tenacity, but everywhere he sets the bar, I want to show him I can leap it.
It's funny, though. I know that he doesn't care one way or another; I know that he thinks I'm beneath his attention. I know "that's stupid" is just his answering machine when he doesn't feel like picking up the phone, but that's not what frustrates me. No; his words make me curl up in a corner and cry because I know that, more often than not, he's right. But when I wipe my eyes and stand again, it's with new determination and a stalwart (albeit sniffly) resolution: the next time he absently tosses out a "that's pathetic," he'll be wrong.
Of course, I don't always succeed. All this means, though, is that I'll never stop trying to get better; I'll never stop improving because I'll never stop having something to prove. But what begins as self-vindication eventually becomes self-validation: "This is the best I can do," I say. "That's garbage," he says. To him, it's a fact. To me, it's a challenge - can I do better than my best? Do I dare defy my boundaries? Pride makes me accept; perseverance makes me succeed. When I'm ready once again to clash expectations, though, I find myself facing not him, but myself. "This is the best I can do," I say.
"That's garbage," I say. "You know that isn't true."
His words drop me down a pit, but my stubbornness and self-esteem provide me with a ladder. Struggling slowly, hauling myself up hand-over-hand, my eyes are always fixed upon the next rung; only until I find myself suddenly in the clouds do I recognize a silver lining. Looking down, I've left everyone far behind. Looking up, I think I can see success waiting for me at the top. Maybe I'm just imagining it; maybe the top doesn't exist. It doesn't matter. Whether he meant to or not, Kevin has already taught me something amazing:
If you're going to climb forever, the sky is just the beginning.
A few comments about this:
This piece was originally my CommonApp essay; as such, a lot of people mentioned that it didn't really have the lighthearted tone that usually characterizes and strengthens my writing. In fact, some people said this essay had a bit of a dark and bitter feel to it. I tried my best to cut those parts out, but I'm pretty sure a few snuck through anyway.
My original Princeton supplement was noticeably more inspirational and positive, though, so it was suggested that I switch the two after fleshing out my Princeton essay a little more. I submitted my CommonApp yesterday to a school already, so at least that's pretty much settled (although there's still time before I need to submit it again for schools today - I might be able to make a new version if necessary). If you read my new CommonApp essay, though (which I would appreciate as well), you might notice that they both end with cheesy inspirational one-liners. I've been told that reading my commonapp and then this essay back to back gets really, really tiring.
Any feedback? Criticism is more helpful than praise, but I'll take both :)
Nobody believes we're brothers. That's a carefully cultivated impression we like to make. He wears glasses, while I wear contacts; he keeps his hair buzzed, while I grow mine out to mother-infuriating lengths. As far as appearances go, if he's Freddie Mercury, then I'm Lady Gaga.
Looking at us, it might never occur to you that Freddie inspired Lady Gaga.
Kevin is not a big fan of euphemisms; he takes two sugars with his coffee and that's about as sweet as he gets. Ironically, that's his endearing quality. He always gives me the best feedback; it ranges alphabetically from "that's awful" to "that's terrible".
He never was big on the whole vocabulary thing.
Ever the prodigal son, ever the successful student, he might cast a long shadow for me to stand in if we weren't almost the same height. He's the standard everyone compares me to, and though I hate to admit it, he's the standard I compare myself to. Call it sibling rivalry, call it pride, call it dogged tenacity, but everywhere he sets the bar, I want to show him I can leap it.
It's funny, though. I know that he doesn't care one way or another; I know that he thinks I'm beneath his attention. I know "that's stupid" is just his answering machine when he doesn't feel like picking up the phone, but that's not what frustrates me. No; his words make me curl up in a corner and cry because I know that, more often than not, he's right. But when I wipe my eyes and stand again, it's with new determination and a stalwart (albeit sniffly) resolution: the next time he absently tosses out a "that's pathetic," he'll be wrong.
Of course, I don't always succeed. All this means, though, is that I'll never stop trying to get better; I'll never stop improving because I'll never stop having something to prove. But what begins as self-vindication eventually becomes self-validation: "This is the best I can do," I say. "That's garbage," he says. To him, it's a fact. To me, it's a challenge - can I do better than my best? Do I dare defy my boundaries? Pride makes me accept; perseverance makes me succeed. When I'm ready once again to clash expectations, though, I find myself facing not him, but myself. "This is the best I can do," I say.
"That's garbage," I say. "You know that isn't true."
His words drop me down a pit, but my stubbornness and self-esteem provide me with a ladder. Struggling slowly, hauling myself up hand-over-hand, my eyes are always fixed upon the next rung; only until I find myself suddenly in the clouds do I recognize a silver lining. Looking down, I've left everyone far behind. Looking up, I think I can see success waiting for me at the top. Maybe I'm just imagining it; maybe the top doesn't exist. It doesn't matter. Whether he meant to or not, Kevin has already taught me something amazing:
If you're going to climb forever, the sky is just the beginning.
A few comments about this:
This piece was originally my CommonApp essay; as such, a lot of people mentioned that it didn't really have the lighthearted tone that usually characterizes and strengthens my writing. In fact, some people said this essay had a bit of a dark and bitter feel to it. I tried my best to cut those parts out, but I'm pretty sure a few snuck through anyway.
My original Princeton supplement was noticeably more inspirational and positive, though, so it was suggested that I switch the two after fleshing out my Princeton essay a little more. I submitted my CommonApp yesterday to a school already, so at least that's pretty much settled (although there's still time before I need to submit it again for schools today - I might be able to make a new version if necessary). If you read my new CommonApp essay, though (which I would appreciate as well), you might notice that they both end with cheesy inspirational one-liners. I've been told that reading my commonapp and then this essay back to back gets really, really tiring.
Any feedback? Criticism is more helpful than praise, but I'll take both :)
