Any help is appreciated!
Common app: 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 finally woke up after hitting the snooze button for the third time, groggily walked to the dresser, grabbed random pieces of clothing, dressed rather haphazardly, and slumped down at the kitchen table as I mindlessly shoved toast into my half-open mouth. My pace quickened as I checked the clock; I brushed my teeth, tossed the homework into my backpack, packed lunch, hollered "Ikuyo!"-"let's go!"-to my sister, and raced to the car. It was the typical Saturday morning routine; as I let out a sigh of relief, the car began on its usual journey.
The rhythmic hum of the engine tickled my ears as I gazed out of the car window, the scenery changing from the familiar neighborhood to the suburban setting and veered into the highway. The sky painted its dark blue canvas into a soft red, the side mirror deflecting its vibrant rays. I felt nothing special, though; after all, I watched the same sunrise from the same car window on my way to Hoshuko-San Francisco Japanese School-every Saturday for 11 years.
I thought briefly about today's kanji test, traced the Japanese characters on the window with my finger, paused for a moment, and yawned. As I continued to stare out the car window, my consciousness slipped back to yesterday. My friend had asked me if I wanted to come over for a Friday night party- while I was tempted to say yes, I forced myself to smile and politely declined his offer. I often wondered how many times I made sacrifices for this car trip. It wasn't just precious time with friends I had to give up; I wanted to participate more in school events, sports, and extracurriculars. At the end, though, I never regretted making the choice to ride the car every Saturday morning.
I looked back at the many memories I created over the years of Hoshuko: My classmates, who sacrificed the precious Saturdays with me and how I realized how much I loved them when some of my best friends quit Hoshuko and bade farewell; my teachers, who made efforts to create the best environment for me to learn, which inspired me to try my best even at the worst of times; the cultural festival, in which I always ended up memorizing the script the night before the play, striving for that shared moment of exhilarating satisfaction with my class; and finally, the school trip to Japan, a volunteering mission for the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, where I truly realized my role in the world as a Japanese who lives in the United States. Hoshuko had given me these invaluable experiences that shaped my identity, developing not only my Japanese skills but also as a person as well. It was more than just a school for me, after all; Hoshuko was a warm community where I was able to realize my other self, the Japanese part of me that eagerly looks forward to the next Saturday.
As the nostalgic images gradually faded away from my consciousness, I watched the other cars speeding down the highway, the passengers perhaps wanting to tell their own stories. I closed my eyes but kept my ears open, listening to them.
Any help is appreciated! Please be critical!
This is 532 words, by the way. Perhaps I can add more?
Common app: 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 finally woke up after hitting the snooze button for the third time, groggily walked to the dresser, grabbed random pieces of clothing, dressed rather haphazardly, and slumped down at the kitchen table as I mindlessly shoved toast into my half-open mouth. My pace quickened as I checked the clock; I brushed my teeth, tossed the homework into my backpack, packed lunch, hollered "Ikuyo!"-"let's go!"-to my sister, and raced to the car. It was the typical Saturday morning routine; as I let out a sigh of relief, the car began on its usual journey.
The rhythmic hum of the engine tickled my ears as I gazed out of the car window, the scenery changing from the familiar neighborhood to the suburban setting and veered into the highway. The sky painted its dark blue canvas into a soft red, the side mirror deflecting its vibrant rays. I felt nothing special, though; after all, I watched the same sunrise from the same car window on my way to Hoshuko-San Francisco Japanese School-every Saturday for 11 years.
I thought briefly about today's kanji test, traced the Japanese characters on the window with my finger, paused for a moment, and yawned. As I continued to stare out the car window, my consciousness slipped back to yesterday. My friend had asked me if I wanted to come over for a Friday night party- while I was tempted to say yes, I forced myself to smile and politely declined his offer. I often wondered how many times I made sacrifices for this car trip. It wasn't just precious time with friends I had to give up; I wanted to participate more in school events, sports, and extracurriculars. At the end, though, I never regretted making the choice to ride the car every Saturday morning.
I looked back at the many memories I created over the years of Hoshuko: My classmates, who sacrificed the precious Saturdays with me and how I realized how much I loved them when some of my best friends quit Hoshuko and bade farewell; my teachers, who made efforts to create the best environment for me to learn, which inspired me to try my best even at the worst of times; the cultural festival, in which I always ended up memorizing the script the night before the play, striving for that shared moment of exhilarating satisfaction with my class; and finally, the school trip to Japan, a volunteering mission for the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami, where I truly realized my role in the world as a Japanese who lives in the United States. Hoshuko had given me these invaluable experiences that shaped my identity, developing not only my Japanese skills but also as a person as well. It was more than just a school for me, after all; Hoshuko was a warm community where I was able to realize my other self, the Japanese part of me that eagerly looks forward to the next Saturday.
As the nostalgic images gradually faded away from my consciousness, I watched the other cars speeding down the highway, the passengers perhaps wanting to tell their own stories. I closed my eyes but kept my ears open, listening to them.
Any help is appreciated! Please be critical!
This is 532 words, by the way. Perhaps I can add more?
