Please let me know what you think of my Common App essay. Also, can anyone think of a fitting title for this essay? Thanks so much!
"Smile!" Another five seconds of holding a fake smile and another photograph taken in front of this hideous statue of a horse. I did not understand my mother's philosophy of photo-taking. Sure, I recognize the value of taking a photograph of the picturesque view atop a majestic mountain, but why of this distasteful statue on the sidewalk? Is it really worth the effort for my cousins and me to be standing hand-in-hand, forcing phony smiles? I would not be complaining with one photograph, but she has to take a second and a third one of us from different angles, and with bigger smiles. Soon enough, our cheeks begin to ache and we started to ignore my mother's calls to stop for, you guessed it, another photograph. In China, I could deal with this because it was the norm. There was no embarrassment if we stopped in the street and decided it was time for another click of the camera.
Things changed however, when we moved to the state of Minnesota. You can imagine the humiliation and discomfort I would have to overcome as people gave me uncanny looks while I was posing for a photograph in front of a grocery store. I argued with my mother that it was not normal for us to be stopping for photographs in front of the local Rainbow Foods at every opportunity because it was simply not the culture. I was naturally afraid of being dissimilar and simply wanted to fit in.
Six years later, when I was in sixth grade, I went back to China for the first time. As I was strolling down a street one afternoon, a group of girls walked toward me, conversing very loudly. They looked like carbon copies of one another, with the same haircuts, the same clothing, and the same saunter. This was the Chinese way of life - conformity was admirable. It was rather outlandish to me, but I had a frightening introspection that had I continued to live in China, I would lose my individuality. What I did not realize was that I, in fact, was conforming to society.
One day, back in Minnesota, I uncovered a handful of photographs taken of me over the years. I was bewildered when these photographs triggered memories that I thought were left in the dust. Suddenly, I wished I had appreciated my mother's perspective. I wished I had taken more photographs with my loved ones. As I pondered, I realized that I was a victim of outright conformity. The reason I did not want my mother to snap another photograph of me was because I was afraid of looking different and attracting attention.
My attitude began to change; I began to follow my own senses and feelings, wherever they took me. I no longer wanted to become a lawyer or doctor because everybody else wanted me to or told me to. I was no longer afraid of the fact that I was different.
I do not want to be a conformist; I want to be myself. As for the camera? I would smile any day.
"Smile!" Another five seconds of holding a fake smile and another photograph taken in front of this hideous statue of a horse. I did not understand my mother's philosophy of photo-taking. Sure, I recognize the value of taking a photograph of the picturesque view atop a majestic mountain, but why of this distasteful statue on the sidewalk? Is it really worth the effort for my cousins and me to be standing hand-in-hand, forcing phony smiles? I would not be complaining with one photograph, but she has to take a second and a third one of us from different angles, and with bigger smiles. Soon enough, our cheeks begin to ache and we started to ignore my mother's calls to stop for, you guessed it, another photograph. In China, I could deal with this because it was the norm. There was no embarrassment if we stopped in the street and decided it was time for another click of the camera.
Things changed however, when we moved to the state of Minnesota. You can imagine the humiliation and discomfort I would have to overcome as people gave me uncanny looks while I was posing for a photograph in front of a grocery store. I argued with my mother that it was not normal for us to be stopping for photographs in front of the local Rainbow Foods at every opportunity because it was simply not the culture. I was naturally afraid of being dissimilar and simply wanted to fit in.
Six years later, when I was in sixth grade, I went back to China for the first time. As I was strolling down a street one afternoon, a group of girls walked toward me, conversing very loudly. They looked like carbon copies of one another, with the same haircuts, the same clothing, and the same saunter. This was the Chinese way of life - conformity was admirable. It was rather outlandish to me, but I had a frightening introspection that had I continued to live in China, I would lose my individuality. What I did not realize was that I, in fact, was conforming to society.
One day, back in Minnesota, I uncovered a handful of photographs taken of me over the years. I was bewildered when these photographs triggered memories that I thought were left in the dust. Suddenly, I wished I had appreciated my mother's perspective. I wished I had taken more photographs with my loved ones. As I pondered, I realized that I was a victim of outright conformity. The reason I did not want my mother to snap another photograph of me was because I was afraid of looking different and attracting attention.
My attitude began to change; I began to follow my own senses and feelings, wherever they took me. I no longer wanted to become a lawyer or doctor because everybody else wanted me to or told me to. I was no longer afraid of the fact that I was different.
I do not want to be a conformist; I want to be myself. As for the camera? I would smile any day.