So I have just finished my college essay and made some edits but I just concerned if it really grabs the readers attention.
the prompt is: Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
"Please, I need to go find my parents. My dad is looking for me," whined Edna as she wheeled up and down the hallway with a dazed look in her eye. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her plush, baby doll, and her rainbow colored bib contained remnants of chicken noodle soup. "I'm sure they will find you. Let's go to the music and exercise activity," said Diane, the recreational therapist, with a smile. Diane knew the first part of this statement was a complete lie. Edna's parents have been dead for over twenty years. However, what else could Diane say to comfort a patient with the early stages of dementia? Although Edna only had a few more months to live in her feeble body, her mind lived in her past childhood.
Over the past two years I have volunteered at the Good Samaritan Nursing Home. Diane persuaded me to be a "friendly visitor", and I would drop in on patients to spend time with them. Through my experiences I saw how the nursing staff treated residents; they were like mosquito bites, an annoyance at first, but soon forgotten. The nurses were often frustrated and neglected to learn about the character of their patients; Diane was one of the few who listened and encouraged them. She addressed residents by their names and her bubbly personality put a smile on everyone's face. Furthermore, Diane showed me the importance of human contact, like a gentle rub on the shoulder. She taught me how to communicate with confused patients. The friendly visits changed my perspective of senior citizens. They allowed me to develop a deeper understanding of how to be a compassionate care giver.
During one of my visits one woman, Viola, simply wanted to hold my hands and feel the transfer of warmth through me. The isolation of being in the nursing home for a few years had literally turned her cold. She saw her family every day, but could not recognize them. In a sense they weren't even there. I was present; she confirmed my existence through that single act of human contact. Viola told me about growing up in her father's Italian bakery Brooklyn. To support her children she worked as a seamstress in a small shop across from Macy's. She hoped that one day her two children would be able to go to college and they did. I was intrigued by her strong character and the simple events that shaped her life.
I always knew I wanted to help people, but I never knew where to start. Diane built my confidence as a compassionate care giver. My visits with dementia patients changed my view of happiness. I learned that happiness is not felt by the mind, but rather the heart. Logically it doesn't make sense to invest time in dementia patient's lives since they won't remember me the next I visit them. In my heart I felt joy and satisfaction in bringing a smile to disheartened patients by simply investing time in their lives. The next time I visited Edna she was more cognitive but had no idea who I was. I told her how her sparkly, deep blue sweater looked nice on her. She humorously replied, "Thanks, thought I might as well wear it since I'm not dead yet." I rubbed her shoulder and smiled.
557 words so far. Max 650
the prompt is: Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
"Please, I need to go find my parents. My dad is looking for me," whined Edna as she wheeled up and down the hallway with a dazed look in her eye. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her plush, baby doll, and her rainbow colored bib contained remnants of chicken noodle soup. "I'm sure they will find you. Let's go to the music and exercise activity," said Diane, the recreational therapist, with a smile. Diane knew the first part of this statement was a complete lie. Edna's parents have been dead for over twenty years. However, what else could Diane say to comfort a patient with the early stages of dementia? Although Edna only had a few more months to live in her feeble body, her mind lived in her past childhood.
Over the past two years I have volunteered at the Good Samaritan Nursing Home. Diane persuaded me to be a "friendly visitor", and I would drop in on patients to spend time with them. Through my experiences I saw how the nursing staff treated residents; they were like mosquito bites, an annoyance at first, but soon forgotten. The nurses were often frustrated and neglected to learn about the character of their patients; Diane was one of the few who listened and encouraged them. She addressed residents by their names and her bubbly personality put a smile on everyone's face. Furthermore, Diane showed me the importance of human contact, like a gentle rub on the shoulder. She taught me how to communicate with confused patients. The friendly visits changed my perspective of senior citizens. They allowed me to develop a deeper understanding of how to be a compassionate care giver.
During one of my visits one woman, Viola, simply wanted to hold my hands and feel the transfer of warmth through me. The isolation of being in the nursing home for a few years had literally turned her cold. She saw her family every day, but could not recognize them. In a sense they weren't even there. I was present; she confirmed my existence through that single act of human contact. Viola told me about growing up in her father's Italian bakery Brooklyn. To support her children she worked as a seamstress in a small shop across from Macy's. She hoped that one day her two children would be able to go to college and they did. I was intrigued by her strong character and the simple events that shaped her life.
I always knew I wanted to help people, but I never knew where to start. Diane built my confidence as a compassionate care giver. My visits with dementia patients changed my view of happiness. I learned that happiness is not felt by the mind, but rather the heart. Logically it doesn't make sense to invest time in dementia patient's lives since they won't remember me the next I visit them. In my heart I felt joy and satisfaction in bringing a smile to disheartened patients by simply investing time in their lives. The next time I visited Edna she was more cognitive but had no idea who I was. I told her how her sparkly, deep blue sweater looked nice on her. She humorously replied, "Thanks, thought I might as well wear it since I'm not dead yet." I rubbed her shoulder and smiled.
557 words so far. Max 650