Okay, well this is a daring essay to be sent to Harvard College and I need input not necessarily on the essay's writing, but it's effect on my chances of being a viable candidate. All of my application on the common app is very serious and decked with science and math awards, regional and international. I feel It only shows how ambitious I am rather than how fun and "all round" I am as well. My main commonapp essay is present on this site too "what I bring to the college mix" prompt, pretty serious and intellectual on "my perspective" of things. Here however I am given a chance to really show my self... I think. So with my background, would this essay have the desired effect I am hoping for? The prompt from Harvard College on CommonApp is:
Occasionally, students feel that college application forms do not provide a sufficient opportunity to convey important information about themselves or their accomplishments. If there is something you would like us to know, please inform us below. If you wish to include an additional essay, you may do so. --- It goes on to list possible topics such as - Unusual circumstances in your life
- Travel or living experiences in other countries... but I didn't really choose any of their suggestions when thinking of submitting this. Here is my essay:
There come instances in my life where I feel compelled to document some bizarre scenarios that I come across. Though I do not upkeep a diary or a personal journal as such, I do, however, enjoy writing a short story or two to express my perspective of the event. I feel it is a valuable stress reliever and most of all a fun elastic band of a sort, to see how far I can stretch reality to an unconceivable point. A short story I would like to share is of an unfortunate experience I personally had to deal with. Though this experience is wholly dramatized, its purpose is pure innocent humor - if described so politely. I can only hope this sample of my personal work does not taint my application's image, but rather exploits my abstract, artistic side. Please take no offense to the following material, it is nearly all fictional.
Laugh with Brute, not at Brute: Mayank Tahilramani
The Silver stainless door stands like every other elevator door in the building. Little do I know that later it will entrap me into enduring an experience that will stain my olfactory cells into submission. It took place at Jim's funeral with an atmosphere of lament and strict adherence to silence. This devilish deed occurred on exiting the building, in a short priceless elevator trip. It strips a holy nun as far as to state she is unclean, leaves me recklessly abused, and projects Ms. Cathy into full confusion. Although later, I found out that it, indeed, did fix Ralph's serious sinus issues. Before describing how the elevator scene plays out, one must know a background on the scientific aspect of the scenario, however.
At 7:10 a.m. in the morning, scientists state our gastric juices are churning in our intestines along with bacteria that process and extract nutrients in our food. When bacteria break down organic material, they release methane, hydrogen, and various other highly flammable and most socially offensive gases.
"Sad day Ralph." Ralph and Jim became best friends ever in their youth. Ralph gave a feeble attempt to nod. We all know when Ralph gets overly depressed, it clouds his sense of reason. I directed him towards the elevator. As the door screeches open, an impartial wall of black coats and long faces pack the 8ft by 10ft elevator. I could personally identify all of them. Ms. Cathy, Ms. Lammen, Mr. Brute, and young Aaron, all heartbroken, stood at the elevator. Ms Cathy was the mother of Jim while Ms. Lammen resides as a nun at the local monastery.
In the elevator, the chains untwined with a slow continuous humble creak promptly after Ralph, closest to the door, pressed "F1". The aggressive decrease in elevation evidently proves too much to tolerate for someone. He rips an equivalent of an H‐bomb. I cannot distinguish what rivals the other better, the fake sneeze, "ACHOO," or the vibrations of his gluteus maximus, Instantaneously and simultaneously the atmosphere of the immediate surrounding area intensifies by multiples of 100 and so literally thickens as well. At once, the evading gas escapes faster than the speed of light and thereby distinguishes Mr. Brute as the culprit as a chain reaction follows back to him. Ms. Cathy sharply turned to give a "how dare you" look to Albert Brute. Her wrinkled face contorts to tight lips with a pointed nose and more wet tears follow. The tears, however, come not from sorrow. Ms Lammen's reaction, however, appropriately depicted facial expressions of the Japanese during attacks on Hiroshima, Japan, during World War II. The world stood near its last breath according to her facial expressions. The holy sister, not able to bear the stench any longer, shakes her head vigorously as if praying for his forgiveness.
A little further off stands young Aaron, beside her grandma Laura Cathy. Aaron, barely the age of 9, gestures as if personally offended. She practices a tendency to be playful in a sophisticated manner. She eyes Brute inquisitively as if expecting something. Poor little Aaron. Little does she know that expecting an "excuse me" is equivalent of stating, "it was me". In these close quarters, I think to myself, it matters not much. I, luckily the tallest, escape the intruder for a mere half a second more. It was rotten eggs. It was dried vomit. It was a John John. It was an offense for which there was no sufficient punishment. All prove understatements compared to the magnitude of reality. The stench not only interferes with normal functionality of the nose but also disorients the taste buds like the garlic residue that perturbs the tongue. A tease of hydrochloric acid most undoubtedly presents itself robustly. Maybe he religiously consumes fully loaded bean burritos prior to all funerals. The cheese surely seems to be present. Nonetheless, the combination of taste and smell severely questions my ability to stay in conscience while I stood there helplessly near the exit. If Mr. Brute can potentially knock out a fully‐grown adult human, he needs to be thoroughly examined or elaborately congratulated. Not many posses this feat to their disposal.
Lastly, the evading gas strikes Ralph. His reaction, shown like an admirable, tough soldier, appears macho in the light of things. Ralph quickly changes posture from sad, gloomy, teary facial expression to sharp, wide eyed. It was disheartening to see Ralph miserable before, but to see a mourning figure being displaced and interrupted in such a way must be an omen. Ralph almost cried, but again he holds it all in as only a true man can. The elevator screeches once more to stop. It was blissful. It was orgasmic. It was sensational. The breeze of fresh, uncontaminated air gathers in and purges out Mr. Brute's to tell the tale. After exiting the humid, steamy, sinful elevator, we all quickly disperse separate ways. Mr. Brute, however, stays back. He has a unique mix of stupid, constipated look about him.
The End
Is this essay utter nonsense and should NOT be submitted, or funny to the point it would make the reader take a second look at how "unique" I may seem due to this hobby of mine?
Occasionally, students feel that college application forms do not provide a sufficient opportunity to convey important information about themselves or their accomplishments. If there is something you would like us to know, please inform us below. If you wish to include an additional essay, you may do so. --- It goes on to list possible topics such as - Unusual circumstances in your life
- Travel or living experiences in other countries... but I didn't really choose any of their suggestions when thinking of submitting this. Here is my essay:
There come instances in my life where I feel compelled to document some bizarre scenarios that I come across. Though I do not upkeep a diary or a personal journal as such, I do, however, enjoy writing a short story or two to express my perspective of the event. I feel it is a valuable stress reliever and most of all a fun elastic band of a sort, to see how far I can stretch reality to an unconceivable point. A short story I would like to share is of an unfortunate experience I personally had to deal with. Though this experience is wholly dramatized, its purpose is pure innocent humor - if described so politely. I can only hope this sample of my personal work does not taint my application's image, but rather exploits my abstract, artistic side. Please take no offense to the following material, it is nearly all fictional.
Laugh with Brute, not at Brute: Mayank Tahilramani
The Silver stainless door stands like every other elevator door in the building. Little do I know that later it will entrap me into enduring an experience that will stain my olfactory cells into submission. It took place at Jim's funeral with an atmosphere of lament and strict adherence to silence. This devilish deed occurred on exiting the building, in a short priceless elevator trip. It strips a holy nun as far as to state she is unclean, leaves me recklessly abused, and projects Ms. Cathy into full confusion. Although later, I found out that it, indeed, did fix Ralph's serious sinus issues. Before describing how the elevator scene plays out, one must know a background on the scientific aspect of the scenario, however.
At 7:10 a.m. in the morning, scientists state our gastric juices are churning in our intestines along with bacteria that process and extract nutrients in our food. When bacteria break down organic material, they release methane, hydrogen, and various other highly flammable and most socially offensive gases.
"Sad day Ralph." Ralph and Jim became best friends ever in their youth. Ralph gave a feeble attempt to nod. We all know when Ralph gets overly depressed, it clouds his sense of reason. I directed him towards the elevator. As the door screeches open, an impartial wall of black coats and long faces pack the 8ft by 10ft elevator. I could personally identify all of them. Ms. Cathy, Ms. Lammen, Mr. Brute, and young Aaron, all heartbroken, stood at the elevator. Ms Cathy was the mother of Jim while Ms. Lammen resides as a nun at the local monastery.
In the elevator, the chains untwined with a slow continuous humble creak promptly after Ralph, closest to the door, pressed "F1". The aggressive decrease in elevation evidently proves too much to tolerate for someone. He rips an equivalent of an H‐bomb. I cannot distinguish what rivals the other better, the fake sneeze, "ACHOO," or the vibrations of his gluteus maximus, Instantaneously and simultaneously the atmosphere of the immediate surrounding area intensifies by multiples of 100 and so literally thickens as well. At once, the evading gas escapes faster than the speed of light and thereby distinguishes Mr. Brute as the culprit as a chain reaction follows back to him. Ms. Cathy sharply turned to give a "how dare you" look to Albert Brute. Her wrinkled face contorts to tight lips with a pointed nose and more wet tears follow. The tears, however, come not from sorrow. Ms Lammen's reaction, however, appropriately depicted facial expressions of the Japanese during attacks on Hiroshima, Japan, during World War II. The world stood near its last breath according to her facial expressions. The holy sister, not able to bear the stench any longer, shakes her head vigorously as if praying for his forgiveness.
A little further off stands young Aaron, beside her grandma Laura Cathy. Aaron, barely the age of 9, gestures as if personally offended. She practices a tendency to be playful in a sophisticated manner. She eyes Brute inquisitively as if expecting something. Poor little Aaron. Little does she know that expecting an "excuse me" is equivalent of stating, "it was me". In these close quarters, I think to myself, it matters not much. I, luckily the tallest, escape the intruder for a mere half a second more. It was rotten eggs. It was dried vomit. It was a John John. It was an offense for which there was no sufficient punishment. All prove understatements compared to the magnitude of reality. The stench not only interferes with normal functionality of the nose but also disorients the taste buds like the garlic residue that perturbs the tongue. A tease of hydrochloric acid most undoubtedly presents itself robustly. Maybe he religiously consumes fully loaded bean burritos prior to all funerals. The cheese surely seems to be present. Nonetheless, the combination of taste and smell severely questions my ability to stay in conscience while I stood there helplessly near the exit. If Mr. Brute can potentially knock out a fully‐grown adult human, he needs to be thoroughly examined or elaborately congratulated. Not many posses this feat to their disposal.
Lastly, the evading gas strikes Ralph. His reaction, shown like an admirable, tough soldier, appears macho in the light of things. Ralph quickly changes posture from sad, gloomy, teary facial expression to sharp, wide eyed. It was disheartening to see Ralph miserable before, but to see a mourning figure being displaced and interrupted in such a way must be an omen. Ralph almost cried, but again he holds it all in as only a true man can. The elevator screeches once more to stop. It was blissful. It was orgasmic. It was sensational. The breeze of fresh, uncontaminated air gathers in and purges out Mr. Brute's to tell the tale. After exiting the humid, steamy, sinful elevator, we all quickly disperse separate ways. Mr. Brute, however, stays back. He has a unique mix of stupid, constipated look about him.
The End
Is this essay utter nonsense and should NOT be submitted, or funny to the point it would make the reader take a second look at how "unique" I may seem due to this hobby of mine?
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