Please critique my common app essay and short answer :). Any feedback/opinions/comments are welcome. Thanks
ESSAY
Victory not always presents itself in the form of a trophy. It can manifest itself in the most inconspicuous ways; ways often masked by the relentless strike of failure. I used to believe that the difference between losers and winners was reflected on a scorecard or by the medal that hung on their necks. However, the final outcome of a soccer game I disputed for the Southern Core Athletic Conference Tournament in Argentina proved me wrong. Even though a silver medal dangled from my neck as I boarded the plane that would take me back to Peru, I felt I carried something far more valuable than a golden one.
*
I was ecstatic when I saw my name in the SAAC Varsity Soccer Roster list posted in the high school gym. As a recently transferred student I had successfully managed to make myself a spot in the starting lineup of the soccer team. The SAAC Tournament would be held in Buenos Aires, Argentina where schools from Uruguay, Chile, Ecuador, Peru, and Argentina competed for the championship. The four weeks prior to the aforementioned tournament were both physically and mentally wearing. Leaving everything on the field was indispensable; an ideology we sixteen individuals adopted to constitute the Roosevelt team and applied to outplay, outrun and make our way to the final against Lincoln School of Argentina. That day we were welcomed with a thunderstorm; a presage of how things would unfold for me.
The match's atmosphere was intense from the first minute. Every ball was contested as if it where the last one. We were not only playing against the Lincoln team but also against its euphoric crowd. Although the conditions did not favor us, we had no intention of handing them the game.
Towards the end of the first half, as I advanced past the halfway line and close to the left sideline, I received a pass. After managing to dribble past two players I was fouled near the upper right corner of the penalty box. As the free kick was taken, I positioned myself on the penalty box arc. I saw the ball, which was intended to seek a header from one of our five players inside the box, hit the further post and bounce into the goal. I exploded in exhilaration and celebrated the goal with my teammates. As we repositioned ourselves in the field, we noticed the crowd had gone mute. The silence did not last long; it was disrupted by the roaring sky, which broke loose a torrential downpour as the referee put an end to the first half.
By the time the game was resumed, the field had become a swamp and strong gusts of wind blew us. Lincoln attacked us desperately in an attempt to tie the score. At the tenth minute, a long pass directed to the penalty spot provoked a miscommunication between our two central defenders, resulting into a short rebound. Lincoln's central striker did not miss the opportunity to score as I helplessly slid tackled in an attempt to block the shot. The score was now tied but Lincoln was not going to settle with anything less than a victory.
The equalizer had come as a punch in the pit of the stomach. I had not recovered myself from the shock when all of a sudden the ball rolled towards me. In a matter of seconds I was surrounded by Lincoln players. Desperately attempting to pass the ball back to the goalie, I ended up giving their striker an impeccable assistance to score. His shot hit the base of the post and rolled out the endline. I covered my face with my jersey and shouted out from the bottom of my lungs in frustration.
Determined to vindicate myself with my team, I chased one of their midfielders that had eluded two teammates and headed towards our goal. Cleverly, he elongated his dribble and simulated a foul by running into me, resulting into a yellow card. Throughout the remaining minutes my attempts to compensate my errors backfired continuously. I felt like the ground I was standing on had turned into quicksand where every effort of vindication and attempt to fight back had done nothing but sunk me deeper. All of a sudden, the referee blew his whistle, putting an end to the regular time. The champion would be defined in the penalty shootout.
*
"Are you done beating yourself up?" asked me Coach Sinclair. The image of my penalty shot swirling onto the post and I, falling onto my knees in disbelief, repeated itself endlessly in my mind. The hardest part was standing up and facing my team after what I had done. I was so ashamed and so frustrated with myself I left the field with my head down as tears rolled down my face. When out of nowhere someone grabbed my arm, turned me around, and hugged me. I raised my head and saw my entire team coming to console me; offering a shoulder for me to cry on and assuring me next year we would beat them.
I could not keep myself from rethinking every detail around that penalty. it was no one's fault but mine; we had lost because of me. I held the responsibility of returning to Peru empty-handed on my shoulders. People would ask me why had we not finished in first place and I would respond, "because of my fault". All I could think about was, "why me?"
As I stared blankly through the window of the bus that would take us to the airport, I came to a realization. I had been so focused in criticizing myself that I had failed to see the bigger picture. My teammates and coaches had put aside their frustration, anger, and disappointment to comfort me; sixteen people had cared more for my wellbeing than having failed to defend our title. Having that was far more important than victory.
In college I want to feel how I felt in that field. I wish to be surrounded by students, teachers, and staff members that will support me; men and women who not only share my dedication to academics and craving for knowledge, but are also open to growing as individuals; people who will push me to reach and live at my fullest potential. I want to be a part of a community in which students are willing to mutually collaborate with each other with tasks as simple as writing a paper, or more complex ones such as finding about oneself as I did back in Buenos Aires. Till then, I did not have the chance to experience that bitter-sweet feeling of renewal that comes with defeat. The scoreboard might have said otherwise, but I left Argentina as the true winner.
1000 words
ESSAY
Victory not always presents itself in the form of a trophy. It can manifest itself in the most inconspicuous ways; ways often masked by the relentless strike of failure. I used to believe that the difference between losers and winners was reflected on a scorecard or by the medal that hung on their necks. However, the final outcome of a soccer game I disputed for the Southern Core Athletic Conference Tournament in Argentina proved me wrong. Even though a silver medal dangled from my neck as I boarded the plane that would take me back to Peru, I felt I carried something far more valuable than a golden one.
*
I was ecstatic when I saw my name in the SAAC Varsity Soccer Roster list posted in the high school gym. As a recently transferred student I had successfully managed to make myself a spot in the starting lineup of the soccer team. The SAAC Tournament would be held in Buenos Aires, Argentina where schools from Uruguay, Chile, Ecuador, Peru, and Argentina competed for the championship. The four weeks prior to the aforementioned tournament were both physically and mentally wearing. Leaving everything on the field was indispensable; an ideology we sixteen individuals adopted to constitute the Roosevelt team and applied to outplay, outrun and make our way to the final against Lincoln School of Argentina. That day we were welcomed with a thunderstorm; a presage of how things would unfold for me.
The match's atmosphere was intense from the first minute. Every ball was contested as if it where the last one. We were not only playing against the Lincoln team but also against its euphoric crowd. Although the conditions did not favor us, we had no intention of handing them the game.
Towards the end of the first half, as I advanced past the halfway line and close to the left sideline, I received a pass. After managing to dribble past two players I was fouled near the upper right corner of the penalty box. As the free kick was taken, I positioned myself on the penalty box arc. I saw the ball, which was intended to seek a header from one of our five players inside the box, hit the further post and bounce into the goal. I exploded in exhilaration and celebrated the goal with my teammates. As we repositioned ourselves in the field, we noticed the crowd had gone mute. The silence did not last long; it was disrupted by the roaring sky, which broke loose a torrential downpour as the referee put an end to the first half.
By the time the game was resumed, the field had become a swamp and strong gusts of wind blew us. Lincoln attacked us desperately in an attempt to tie the score. At the tenth minute, a long pass directed to the penalty spot provoked a miscommunication between our two central defenders, resulting into a short rebound. Lincoln's central striker did not miss the opportunity to score as I helplessly slid tackled in an attempt to block the shot. The score was now tied but Lincoln was not going to settle with anything less than a victory.
The equalizer had come as a punch in the pit of the stomach. I had not recovered myself from the shock when all of a sudden the ball rolled towards me. In a matter of seconds I was surrounded by Lincoln players. Desperately attempting to pass the ball back to the goalie, I ended up giving their striker an impeccable assistance to score. His shot hit the base of the post and rolled out the endline. I covered my face with my jersey and shouted out from the bottom of my lungs in frustration.
Determined to vindicate myself with my team, I chased one of their midfielders that had eluded two teammates and headed towards our goal. Cleverly, he elongated his dribble and simulated a foul by running into me, resulting into a yellow card. Throughout the remaining minutes my attempts to compensate my errors backfired continuously. I felt like the ground I was standing on had turned into quicksand where every effort of vindication and attempt to fight back had done nothing but sunk me deeper. All of a sudden, the referee blew his whistle, putting an end to the regular time. The champion would be defined in the penalty shootout.
*
"Are you done beating yourself up?" asked me Coach Sinclair. The image of my penalty shot swirling onto the post and I, falling onto my knees in disbelief, repeated itself endlessly in my mind. The hardest part was standing up and facing my team after what I had done. I was so ashamed and so frustrated with myself I left the field with my head down as tears rolled down my face. When out of nowhere someone grabbed my arm, turned me around, and hugged me. I raised my head and saw my entire team coming to console me; offering a shoulder for me to cry on and assuring me next year we would beat them.
I could not keep myself from rethinking every detail around that penalty. it was no one's fault but mine; we had lost because of me. I held the responsibility of returning to Peru empty-handed on my shoulders. People would ask me why had we not finished in first place and I would respond, "because of my fault". All I could think about was, "why me?"
As I stared blankly through the window of the bus that would take us to the airport, I came to a realization. I had been so focused in criticizing myself that I had failed to see the bigger picture. My teammates and coaches had put aside their frustration, anger, and disappointment to comfort me; sixteen people had cared more for my wellbeing than having failed to defend our title. Having that was far more important than victory.
In college I want to feel how I felt in that field. I wish to be surrounded by students, teachers, and staff members that will support me; men and women who not only share my dedication to academics and craving for knowledge, but are also open to growing as individuals; people who will push me to reach and live at my fullest potential. I want to be a part of a community in which students are willing to mutually collaborate with each other with tasks as simple as writing a paper, or more complex ones such as finding about oneself as I did back in Buenos Aires. Till then, I did not have the chance to experience that bitter-sweet feeling of renewal that comes with defeat. The scoreboard might have said otherwise, but I left Argentina as the true winner.
1000 words
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