Some students have a background or story that is so central to their identity that they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.Any ideas on how to shorten the passage to less than 650 wrds? now 684 wrds.
Besides, I think the second part is a little weak. Any advice on how to improve it?
Thanks a lot!
"Ctrl + A" and "Delete". The fourth draft appeared just as boring and generic. But I don't have a diplomat dad to travel the world with or the perfect body shape to excel at gymnastics! As I, cringing in the faint beige room, walked all over again down my memory lane, I saw nothing singular. My life was dull and despair was eating me away.
I just wanted to leave. So I put on my jacket and rushed out to the piercing wind of the late winter night. After twenty minutes of agonizing chill, I ended up at a creekside with my face whipped blue. Since home was the last place where I wanted to be, I decided to take a walk down the river.
I loitered along the brink of the woods, letting the tranquility alleviate the searing fretfulness and anxiety. Tonight, the world was sleeping tight: the gale abated to the level of breeze; traces of singing sprees couldn't be found; the stars shed their balmy silveriness on the branches, the misty river, and my palms. As I, looking up, gazed into the brightest one, it took me back to an epiphanic boyhood episode.
I was seven, and although my family wasn't that Mercedes-stacked kind, basically all my prepubescent desires could be met. On my first stargazing, I instantly felt attached to the brightest star. "The star is mine." I called out, thinking the whole world would hear it. To me, the world was an edible "oyster".
On a school camping, we sat around the bonfire and were talking about our favorite stuff. But as I was preparing my fancy oration, ready to sound precocious and erudite, a girl in crimson flabbergasted me. I remember her words verbatim: "I love the beautiful stars, and the brightest is my little pet."
It was a moment of disillusionment. She said my star was her little pet! How could it be if the star was mine? Or it was just that the star was never mine!? I used to think I was the center of the world, but at that moment it seemed that thought was just an illusion from my parents' best intentions. Perhaps the world was interesting with me, but it wouldn't go away without me. I felt disenchanted, and suddenly fear and loss crept into my mind...
I smiled in relief. I didn't clearly remember how I got through the hard time but, in retrospect, felt lucky my self-awareness prevented the hubris from eroding my character or condemning me to calvary. In a sense of bliss, I continued my procession.
Now the walk seemed different. I followed the rhythm of the river, reliving the vicissitudes of the past 17 years. Through grotesque pines and gingkoes, I saw the quirky moments when I was a master of pranks in the middle school. The pebbles directed me back to the moments when I found out I was gay and threw things at the ponds as the confusion mounted. The moonlight recorded the consolation of that evening when I was finally brave enough to face my new normality ready to live my life in my own terms. And the shiny dews on the buttercup! They were telling the stories of a boy who found out his new identity prepared him to make career choices that he knew was best for him even though they were not as prestigious as what his parents encouraged him to do instead. Such little touches might go unnoticed in a constraining room, but not in the walk where I saw pictures of my private movies flashing. In some sense, it was the metanoia of a life.
The walk wrapped up at the end of the river. After I took a cab back home, I turned on my computer and opened a blank Pages document.
Yeah, it was the walk to write about.