Hi!
I'd like feedback on this essay and I'd like 2 sorts of judgements-one on whether it is appliccable for commonapp or not and the second, on whether the writing quality alone and subject are good. Kosher? And I copied this essay from a word document that I originally wrote it in and idk if that's ok. I was a bit unclear on the copying guidelines. lemme know if thats ok or I may have to rewrite the whole thing.
vamanos !
Every Saturday, I assist a dermatologist by regulating her appointments and filing papers. The boring part of the job. The fun lay in the learning. A young, good-looking woman would walk through the door with a single coat of skin, be cordially invited to sit and wait for the doc to relieve a previous patient. And then the process would begin.
"You look great..."
"These eyelashes are so good. How about those lips you were going to implant on me last time?"
"I'm ready when you're ready."
And she was ready when her wallet was ready. With a bare minimum of five dollars dripping out of her purse, the girl lifts her only piece of skin and reveals polypropelene. In exclamations and rigid with excitement, she and the derm enter the room to petter her skin with analgesic and begin. What was I waiting for? For the sweet exchanges to fester down? No. For my boss? No. I am a beauty teller-like a bank teller except I evaluate the beauty and needs of a client. This is not a job title but a semantic mastery to flagellate the coins of the business. I had to sit by the side and make offers not to a person but only to a face. Some clients were broke, some were pure, phonic messages and some who needed translation into their motherspeak since this business ran deep in the cultural minglings of San Ramon.
Am I trying to reveal a business and its secrets? No. Experimenting within my body is a habit. I'm not pretending to be anybody else but people within myself pretend to be me. As a cruel creature of nature, I'm also blessed with a Locus Ceoruleus in my brain that is perhaps embitterring on people. I link people, draw lines between parallels of human existence-sometimes, I've to be honest, a bit jeering. Sometimes, I transpose into my boss-the doc-to turn into a cordial but strict lady with teenage daughters whose lives she questions at all times. Phone calls and encounters with clients are a testing criterion winding conversations, hugs, and dual appointments settling into the daily account sheet. Another day, I walk in as a teen lyricist, mouthing words into imaginary tunes, with a smile to greet even strangers and a nonchalance in the works. The third secondary-me is a female derivative of the Puritans, chanting God's name in her mind endlessly. I forget to smile sometimes, eyes set upon the brown door of my job's calling.
These frames of mind alternate many times through days to behoove me from stagnating. Those stagnating waters of the pools that infest mosquitoes and larvae. This supplement to myself is my skin and as my wallet reeks of affordability based on my emotions. Moody as a raging teenager that I am, these impositions leave me with another day to look ahead to. Severing the relationship with the residual corners of my brain that fosters an ambience of happiness, health and sweet but cacophonic messages from my throat. Saturdays are not exclusive; it is a nature of mine to assume responsibilities. Exuberant with thought and one of those tonalities keep my mind active and moving through the filing of papers. To question, to wonder and to co-exist grant our lives of an excitement and vibration I couldn't convey in my singularity and testing halfway, I compromise.
I'd like feedback on this essay and I'd like 2 sorts of judgements-one on whether it is appliccable for commonapp or not and the second, on whether the writing quality alone and subject are good. Kosher? And I copied this essay from a word document that I originally wrote it in and idk if that's ok. I was a bit unclear on the copying guidelines. lemme know if thats ok or I may have to rewrite the whole thing.
vamanos !
Every Saturday, I assist a dermatologist by regulating her appointments and filing papers. The boring part of the job. The fun lay in the learning. A young, good-looking woman would walk through the door with a single coat of skin, be cordially invited to sit and wait for the doc to relieve a previous patient. And then the process would begin.
"You look great..."
"These eyelashes are so good. How about those lips you were going to implant on me last time?"
"I'm ready when you're ready."
And she was ready when her wallet was ready. With a bare minimum of five dollars dripping out of her purse, the girl lifts her only piece of skin and reveals polypropelene. In exclamations and rigid with excitement, she and the derm enter the room to petter her skin with analgesic and begin. What was I waiting for? For the sweet exchanges to fester down? No. For my boss? No. I am a beauty teller-like a bank teller except I evaluate the beauty and needs of a client. This is not a job title but a semantic mastery to flagellate the coins of the business. I had to sit by the side and make offers not to a person but only to a face. Some clients were broke, some were pure, phonic messages and some who needed translation into their motherspeak since this business ran deep in the cultural minglings of San Ramon.
Am I trying to reveal a business and its secrets? No. Experimenting within my body is a habit. I'm not pretending to be anybody else but people within myself pretend to be me. As a cruel creature of nature, I'm also blessed with a Locus Ceoruleus in my brain that is perhaps embitterring on people. I link people, draw lines between parallels of human existence-sometimes, I've to be honest, a bit jeering. Sometimes, I transpose into my boss-the doc-to turn into a cordial but strict lady with teenage daughters whose lives she questions at all times. Phone calls and encounters with clients are a testing criterion winding conversations, hugs, and dual appointments settling into the daily account sheet. Another day, I walk in as a teen lyricist, mouthing words into imaginary tunes, with a smile to greet even strangers and a nonchalance in the works. The third secondary-me is a female derivative of the Puritans, chanting God's name in her mind endlessly. I forget to smile sometimes, eyes set upon the brown door of my job's calling.
These frames of mind alternate many times through days to behoove me from stagnating. Those stagnating waters of the pools that infest mosquitoes and larvae. This supplement to myself is my skin and as my wallet reeks of affordability based on my emotions. Moody as a raging teenager that I am, these impositions leave me with another day to look ahead to. Severing the relationship with the residual corners of my brain that fosters an ambience of happiness, health and sweet but cacophonic messages from my throat. Saturdays are not exclusive; it is a nature of mine to assume responsibilities. Exuberant with thought and one of those tonalities keep my mind active and moving through the filing of papers. To question, to wonder and to co-exist grant our lives of an excitement and vibration I couldn't convey in my singularity and testing halfway, I compromise.
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