I have always been fascinated with colors. A brightly frosted cupcake at a birthday party was not just a tasty treat for me but a palette to experiment with. I was nine when I received my first set of Prismacolors, 150 pencils in a variety enticing hues such as terracotta, pale vermillion, and peacock blue that lent themselves to all sorts of fantastical creations. The summer before high school, my art teacher deemed me ready to begin oil-painting, opening a whole new world of colors and textures to me. Oil painting was not easy; one small mistake led to the endless frustration of meticulously blending it away with layer upon layer of paint. However, once I got the hang of it, I was able to paint with shades purer and brighter than I had ever used before, shades that created such lovely images when blended together: skies a pale blue with hints of lavender, yellow, and gray, or a lady's cheek pale peach rounded out with green, purple, and neon pink.
When I entered high school, a new array of colors dribbled onto the canvas of my life as well. They interrupted a background consisting of bright orange and deep red, the colors of my Chinese-American upbringing. Orange is quirky and loud; it stands out rather than conforms. Orange is purple tarot-flavored birthday cakes, the noing noing noing sound of my grandfather's Chinese opera tapes, and the chaos of kids rushing through the halls during the breaks between Saturday Chinese School classes, purchasing sugary snacks and trading Yu-Gi-Oh cards. Red is demanding, sometimes even intimidating. In essence, however, it is a warm color. Red is my parents, who have always had the highest expectations of me. My parents value education above all else, which has resulted in countless lectures, SAT prep books, and vetoes against pleas to attend sleepovers. However, my parents have also always believed in me, more than I do myself sometimes, and have encouraged me to do the best I can in everything. They have passed along me the philosophy of "first bitter, then sweet" - the notion of working hard to achieve success, as well as an undying thirst for knowledge.
Orchestra added to this painting strokes of rich purple, mahogany and honey brown: the colors of my polished cello, of the beautiful music we spun into the air during that magical moment when all our laborious rehearsing came together into a concert, of the camaraderie created through spring trips, winter balls, and Secret Santa gift exchanges. Academic Decathlon contributed big splatters of yellow: copious amounts of highlighter yellow applied to the never-ending pages of my resource guides, fluorescent yellow from my bedroom light as I studied late into the night, gold-yellow glinting in the light as our team proudly posed for pictures, grasping trophies and medals, and the sunny yellow bonds of friendships formed for life. Decathlon also splashed onto my painting jarring neon hues, colors that did not seem to fit in at first. I initially walked into Decathlon expecting a class full of book nerds but was instead greeted by the most unique and diverse bunch I have ever met. There was Saad, a studious Pakistani boy who was an avid Gaga groupie and fashion aficionado, Christian, a country boy with a thick hick accent who held communist viewpoints, and Natascha, the notorious slacker with a 2.1 GPA who nevertheless managed to place at state. These people were paradoxes, characters I could not have come up with in my own imagination. I did not mesh with them at first, sticking with my own group of friends in the class, because their habits and opinions were so different from what I was used to. Once we all made the team, however, we were brought together by the shared experiences of after-school practices and stressing out before meets. I grew to understand, and even love, my Decathlon family, who taught me an important lesson in tolerance and opened my mind to new ideas.
This is the painting of my life that I am presenting to Rice University, with all the colors that make up my perspective: my appreciation for beauty, my desire for success, and my open-mindedness. It's not quite done yet, just what I have so far. There's still plenty of room for new colors, colors that will hopefully make it richer, more beautiful, and more complete.
I am shortening this essay and using it for multiple schools, so any help would be greatly appreciated :)
When I entered high school, a new array of colors dribbled onto the canvas of my life as well. They interrupted a background consisting of bright orange and deep red, the colors of my Chinese-American upbringing. Orange is quirky and loud; it stands out rather than conforms. Orange is purple tarot-flavored birthday cakes, the noing noing noing sound of my grandfather's Chinese opera tapes, and the chaos of kids rushing through the halls during the breaks between Saturday Chinese School classes, purchasing sugary snacks and trading Yu-Gi-Oh cards. Red is demanding, sometimes even intimidating. In essence, however, it is a warm color. Red is my parents, who have always had the highest expectations of me. My parents value education above all else, which has resulted in countless lectures, SAT prep books, and vetoes against pleas to attend sleepovers. However, my parents have also always believed in me, more than I do myself sometimes, and have encouraged me to do the best I can in everything. They have passed along me the philosophy of "first bitter, then sweet" - the notion of working hard to achieve success, as well as an undying thirst for knowledge.
Orchestra added to this painting strokes of rich purple, mahogany and honey brown: the colors of my polished cello, of the beautiful music we spun into the air during that magical moment when all our laborious rehearsing came together into a concert, of the camaraderie created through spring trips, winter balls, and Secret Santa gift exchanges. Academic Decathlon contributed big splatters of yellow: copious amounts of highlighter yellow applied to the never-ending pages of my resource guides, fluorescent yellow from my bedroom light as I studied late into the night, gold-yellow glinting in the light as our team proudly posed for pictures, grasping trophies and medals, and the sunny yellow bonds of friendships formed for life. Decathlon also splashed onto my painting jarring neon hues, colors that did not seem to fit in at first. I initially walked into Decathlon expecting a class full of book nerds but was instead greeted by the most unique and diverse bunch I have ever met. There was Saad, a studious Pakistani boy who was an avid Gaga groupie and fashion aficionado, Christian, a country boy with a thick hick accent who held communist viewpoints, and Natascha, the notorious slacker with a 2.1 GPA who nevertheless managed to place at state. These people were paradoxes, characters I could not have come up with in my own imagination. I did not mesh with them at first, sticking with my own group of friends in the class, because their habits and opinions were so different from what I was used to. Once we all made the team, however, we were brought together by the shared experiences of after-school practices and stressing out before meets. I grew to understand, and even love, my Decathlon family, who taught me an important lesson in tolerance and opened my mind to new ideas.
This is the painting of my life that I am presenting to Rice University, with all the colors that make up my perspective: my appreciation for beauty, my desire for success, and my open-mindedness. It's not quite done yet, just what I have so far. There's still plenty of room for new colors, colors that will hopefully make it richer, more beautiful, and more complete.
I am shortening this essay and using it for multiple schools, so any help would be greatly appreciated :)
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