Tell us about an experience you have had or a concept you have learned about that intellectually excites you. Why does it interest you, and what does this tell us about you?
I really would appreciate any input, especially ideas on how I could start the essay!
[Intro Sentence] It was once said that in order to produce a good harvest, a farmer must follow 88 traditional steps! Rice has been around since man could first harvest crops, it is a staple food in nearly every country; and yet no matter how I look at it, I can not believe that such a miniscule grain could carry such a heavy history. It intrigues me, how something -- so ordinary -- could have such a rich past. From the first seedling to the grains that are collected, everything is done by hand, one plant at a time; it takes the united work of an entire village to create final product we eat. Each grain, glistening with the sweat and tears of the grower, filled with their hopes and dreams, sweetened by their blood, developed into the individual pieces of rice that makes up my bowl. And inside that bowl, instead of rice, I see myself. I am just one of the thousands of grains that pack together in that small, grey, earthen bowl; planted by my family, cultivated by my community, to be enriched by the world.
The idea of the single grain and how it came to be reflects my life. As a seedling I took roots in a working class family, and I grew and developed through the droughts and monsoons of life. Every wave of adversary I encounter, from the responsibilities at home, to the toils at school; polished me, advanced me, and became a part of me. When I look back at who I am, I think of the planters and cultivators who shaped me -- my parents who labored day and night to make ends meet. My parents bundled me up with fantastic ideals and morals, and breathed life into my imagination. They brought me over to America, a place where I was able to grow freely, and express my passion for my freedom through education. Their love, their sacrifice, their aspirations, engraved into me, and became the honeyed flavors of my grain of rice.
As the origins of the bowls of rice parallels the stages of my life, I still ponder about where my own rice bowl came from. My bowl of rice, the one I eat with every meal, is the fruit of not only the villagers in Viet Nam; it is also the fruit of my parent's labor. To take a bite of this fruit thoughtlessly and waste their efforts is a sin. With every meal, one thing comes to mind, the only way to repay their love is with education, and breaking the chains of poverty that binds my family. "Only through education are you truly free, the cycle that plagues my generation must end in yours."
I really would appreciate any input, especially ideas on how I could start the essay!
[Intro Sentence] It was once said that in order to produce a good harvest, a farmer must follow 88 traditional steps! Rice has been around since man could first harvest crops, it is a staple food in nearly every country; and yet no matter how I look at it, I can not believe that such a miniscule grain could carry such a heavy history. It intrigues me, how something -- so ordinary -- could have such a rich past. From the first seedling to the grains that are collected, everything is done by hand, one plant at a time; it takes the united work of an entire village to create final product we eat. Each grain, glistening with the sweat and tears of the grower, filled with their hopes and dreams, sweetened by their blood, developed into the individual pieces of rice that makes up my bowl. And inside that bowl, instead of rice, I see myself. I am just one of the thousands of grains that pack together in that small, grey, earthen bowl; planted by my family, cultivated by my community, to be enriched by the world.
The idea of the single grain and how it came to be reflects my life. As a seedling I took roots in a working class family, and I grew and developed through the droughts and monsoons of life. Every wave of adversary I encounter, from the responsibilities at home, to the toils at school; polished me, advanced me, and became a part of me. When I look back at who I am, I think of the planters and cultivators who shaped me -- my parents who labored day and night to make ends meet. My parents bundled me up with fantastic ideals and morals, and breathed life into my imagination. They brought me over to America, a place where I was able to grow freely, and express my passion for my freedom through education. Their love, their sacrifice, their aspirations, engraved into me, and became the honeyed flavors of my grain of rice.
As the origins of the bowls of rice parallels the stages of my life, I still ponder about where my own rice bowl came from. My bowl of rice, the one I eat with every meal, is the fruit of not only the villagers in Viet Nam; it is also the fruit of my parent's labor. To take a bite of this fruit thoughtlessly and waste their efforts is a sin. With every meal, one thing comes to mind, the only way to repay their love is with education, and breaking the chains of poverty that binds my family. "Only through education are you truly free, the cycle that plagues my generation must end in yours."