Please read this, anyone, and offer me any feedback =/ CC! It's the significant experience topic of the common app
I think I might know why the caged bird sings
Shoes, sneakers, flip-flops, and sandals of all varieties came stomping towards me as if I was about to be trampled on. Where is my mom? I saw the open gate to those breathtaking rides that I wasn't once allowed on; I saw my chance at the open backdoor to those curiously dangerous machines that controlled the entire park. I turned away. Where is my mom? I needed my guardian angel-I longed for my only security blanket. Whatever that welcoming doorway to another world was it was fading before my wispy eyes as I searched for my mother. Whatever that intriguing feeling was it had flickered and died. There's my mom.
I grew up as one of legions of Korean daughters displaced by their father's careers. I've lived in Zhudi province of Shanghai and Kowloon Bay of Hong Kong. I've attended the exclusive international schools and acquired those requisite study habits, extracurricular activities, and musical abilities. It's the same story told by more than a few of my peers, except my tragic tale included what I previously believed to be the brutal antagonist to the innocent protagonist, me. An antagonist is one who is opposed to, struggles against, or competes with another. And I imagined my own mother fit the bill, but justly so. I felt like a slave and my mom the slave driver. I played the obedient daughter for years, receiving numerous accolades from the friends of my parents. Awards were won on a regular basis-certificates of most improvement, most efficient, and most participation were tucked safely under my arm as I returned home every day. Yet I rather felt like a caged bird, singing my heart out to be thrown a bone, or a seed, every once in a while. You need to be perfect; never fall off the horse; parents' advice is the way of the future; stick to the status quo; always stay inside the train track. Commands, demands, requirements, and regulations were for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Food wasn't as great if it was mixed with domineering lectures about my science grade. My pent-up thoughts and emotions were starting to swell up and leak, drop by drop. The little bird had to leave its nest.
It was then that I saw the glow of the EXIT sign that emanated from afar, and I ran to push that door open. They told me high school leads to new opportunities. But perhaps I took one too many. I was starving for chances I never had, risks I never took, mistakes I never made. My friends headed out for a single night of fun, three times a week; I thought, why not? It became a ritual to meet up every Saturday to gossip and just "chill" wherever we pleased. The weekly "just because" slumber parties, of course, were a given. I can't say I didn't go clubbing now and again either. Life outside the nest was refreshing and exhilarating. The world was my own oyster. But the world itself came crashing down when I noticed my deteriorating grades. A year swept by, and so did the next. I recall the countless excuses I made for my parents and the phony lies that they unfortunately fell for. Now I fail to understand what good ultimately came out of them. For an ounce of fun? A flash of bliss? I was living in the moment-a year, or two, too long.
My once proud mother now asks me, "what happened?" And every time I manage to reply with three words-"I don't know." I know perfectly well what happened, and I even knew then. I knew how much of a mess I had made of myself, and I knew what catastrophic effect it had on my school career. This is high school; there is no such thing as damage control. I knew there was no use crying over spilt milk, but I couldn't help crying over the enormous puddle of mistakes I had regrettably spilt. I also knew, at that point, the little bird had to return to its protective nest.
I kept clinging on to my mother after that. I stayed secluded at my house, dutiful almost as much as that little girl who had once received a myriad of awards. I gradually got back on my two feet. My grades weren't slipping as much, and were on the road to recovery. However it isn't unexpected that you'll start craving the outdoors after being cooped inside for a while. That phase has now surfaced once again. I am prepared to face that freedom. The last time I ventured out was a mistake. My shirt wasn't tucked in and my shoes weren't shined. But now I've looked into the mirror and have reflected on my readiness countless of times by now. I already have a good idea of what's in store for me, as well as the consequences that would result if I ever fell. In the words of Alfred Pennyworth, "why do we fall? So that we might better learn to pick ourselves up." I can see that three-year-old girl standing in the middle of the vast amusement park. But this time she's smiling, walking straight towards the line leading to the biggest rollercoaster there. With an exhilarated expression, she takes up the ride-yet, wary of the world, as she does. She knows what's real and what's not. This caged bird is more than ready to be set free into the wild that is called life.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this!! Is it too boring? Is it too typical? ANY feedback is fine please, negative or positive! =)
I think I might know why the caged bird sings
Shoes, sneakers, flip-flops, and sandals of all varieties came stomping towards me as if I was about to be trampled on. Where is my mom? I saw the open gate to those breathtaking rides that I wasn't once allowed on; I saw my chance at the open backdoor to those curiously dangerous machines that controlled the entire park. I turned away. Where is my mom? I needed my guardian angel-I longed for my only security blanket. Whatever that welcoming doorway to another world was it was fading before my wispy eyes as I searched for my mother. Whatever that intriguing feeling was it had flickered and died. There's my mom.
I grew up as one of legions of Korean daughters displaced by their father's careers. I've lived in Zhudi province of Shanghai and Kowloon Bay of Hong Kong. I've attended the exclusive international schools and acquired those requisite study habits, extracurricular activities, and musical abilities. It's the same story told by more than a few of my peers, except my tragic tale included what I previously believed to be the brutal antagonist to the innocent protagonist, me. An antagonist is one who is opposed to, struggles against, or competes with another. And I imagined my own mother fit the bill, but justly so. I felt like a slave and my mom the slave driver. I played the obedient daughter for years, receiving numerous accolades from the friends of my parents. Awards were won on a regular basis-certificates of most improvement, most efficient, and most participation were tucked safely under my arm as I returned home every day. Yet I rather felt like a caged bird, singing my heart out to be thrown a bone, or a seed, every once in a while. You need to be perfect; never fall off the horse; parents' advice is the way of the future; stick to the status quo; always stay inside the train track. Commands, demands, requirements, and regulations were for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Food wasn't as great if it was mixed with domineering lectures about my science grade. My pent-up thoughts and emotions were starting to swell up and leak, drop by drop. The little bird had to leave its nest.
It was then that I saw the glow of the EXIT sign that emanated from afar, and I ran to push that door open. They told me high school leads to new opportunities. But perhaps I took one too many. I was starving for chances I never had, risks I never took, mistakes I never made. My friends headed out for a single night of fun, three times a week; I thought, why not? It became a ritual to meet up every Saturday to gossip and just "chill" wherever we pleased. The weekly "just because" slumber parties, of course, were a given. I can't say I didn't go clubbing now and again either. Life outside the nest was refreshing and exhilarating. The world was my own oyster. But the world itself came crashing down when I noticed my deteriorating grades. A year swept by, and so did the next. I recall the countless excuses I made for my parents and the phony lies that they unfortunately fell for. Now I fail to understand what good ultimately came out of them. For an ounce of fun? A flash of bliss? I was living in the moment-a year, or two, too long.
My once proud mother now asks me, "what happened?" And every time I manage to reply with three words-"I don't know." I know perfectly well what happened, and I even knew then. I knew how much of a mess I had made of myself, and I knew what catastrophic effect it had on my school career. This is high school; there is no such thing as damage control. I knew there was no use crying over spilt milk, but I couldn't help crying over the enormous puddle of mistakes I had regrettably spilt. I also knew, at that point, the little bird had to return to its protective nest.
I kept clinging on to my mother after that. I stayed secluded at my house, dutiful almost as much as that little girl who had once received a myriad of awards. I gradually got back on my two feet. My grades weren't slipping as much, and were on the road to recovery. However it isn't unexpected that you'll start craving the outdoors after being cooped inside for a while. That phase has now surfaced once again. I am prepared to face that freedom. The last time I ventured out was a mistake. My shirt wasn't tucked in and my shoes weren't shined. But now I've looked into the mirror and have reflected on my readiness countless of times by now. I already have a good idea of what's in store for me, as well as the consequences that would result if I ever fell. In the words of Alfred Pennyworth, "why do we fall? So that we might better learn to pick ourselves up." I can see that three-year-old girl standing in the middle of the vast amusement park. But this time she's smiling, walking straight towards the line leading to the biggest rollercoaster there. With an exhilarated expression, she takes up the ride-yet, wary of the world, as she does. She knows what's real and what's not. This caged bird is more than ready to be set free into the wild that is called life.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this!! Is it too boring? Is it too typical? ANY feedback is fine please, negative or positive! =)