Hey guys,
This is my common app personal essay. I'm concerned mainly about clarity, content, and over-writing. I've had previous readers (mostly friends) completely miss the point but other readers "get it", but I would like more opinions on it. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
"Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story."
I'm six years old, staring into a decorative pool of gravy, and floundering under the cracked, icy surface of home.
Home is where the heart is - if so, my heart is drowning under a sea of uncertainty. I watch the sauce sink its way into the cushion of mashed potatoes that my friend's mother had whipped into a cloud-like wad. As she sets a fork and knife beside my plate, images of my Taiwanese home - of purple rice and soundless dinner tables - swell in my head. My heart is supposed to be tucked under a roof where people use black chopsticks and flower-patterned bowls, where people have dishes of fish and bok choy and metal pots of clear soups, where people are hunched over the food and if everyone is present, conduct terse, strained conversations. During those times I watched the steam curl up behind my parents' glasses, and wondered what would happen if I reached out and tipped the contents of their minds onto the table. Now, in this foreign place where my heart is not supposed to be, I pick up the fork, scoop the gravy into my mouth, and ask my friend why the food tastes like warm sunshine.
Somewhere along the line of living in New Zealand, I become accustomed to seeing the grease of hamburgers at the table, to staring down at plates of fettuccine as my friends clasp hands and murmur grace. I learn to eat a taco, I notice that when most people use chopsticks, they don't tuck their ring finger underneath like I do. I begin to puncture my sentences with English words, I'm into flip-flops now, and I've learned to hate the sight of flowery glass bowls. The concept of home is plunged into a frigid ambiguity.
Then at nine, I'm plucked from New Zealand and dropped back into my birthplace of Taiwan. I become entranced by the balletic, enthralling dance of the Chinese yo-yo. With only a string, two sticks, and the slightest flick of their hands, the local kids could roll the diablo across a string, thrust it into the air, spin it on its axis. I spend afternoons learning the proper grip and yanking the strings until they resonated with a dull, mellow hum. By eleven, spinning the yo-yo becomes analogous to breathing. By sixteen, I come to terms with the sporadic shudders of earthquakes and the insufferable, heavy humidity. I soothe myself with the perpetual rush of cars and the stench of tofu stands. But my grandparents still call me "little foreigner" and cluck their tongue at me because I can't speak Taiwanese. I still wake up to memories of tranquil New Zealand lakes and backyards where I learned to backflip on a trampoline. My vacations are still spent on twelve-hour flights and sunny Californian afternoons. I realize I've become an indiscernible, tangled medley of customs, my concept of home suspended above a sea of uncertainty.
But this time, I'm seventeen and staring down into muddy, Taiwanese gravy.
I used to think potatoes were as soft as clouds and gravy as warm as sunshine, that I only had to find the perfect sails to keep my heart afloat. Then I came to understand the girl who at times hums along to Marvin Gaye and longs for balmy, cloudless weather; who at others finds consolation in the silence of dinner tables and the low drone of yo-yos gliding along a string. I had struggled in my search for home, drowning in waves beating against the barriers of icy unfamiliarity, but instead of suffocating, I stretched my arms further. I shattered the barriers until they ebbed into lapping ripples that form my identity. They surged into thunderous, crashing dreams. They engulfed me in persistence and grit. But most of all, they became the reason I always venture confidently into oscillating, auspicious tomorrows, full speed ahead.
This is my common app personal essay. I'm concerned mainly about clarity, content, and over-writing. I've had previous readers (mostly friends) completely miss the point but other readers "get it", but I would like more opinions on it. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
"Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story."
I'm six years old, staring into a decorative pool of gravy, and floundering under the cracked, icy surface of home.
Home is where the heart is - if so, my heart is drowning under a sea of uncertainty. I watch the sauce sink its way into the cushion of mashed potatoes that my friend's mother had whipped into a cloud-like wad. As she sets a fork and knife beside my plate, images of my Taiwanese home - of purple rice and soundless dinner tables - swell in my head. My heart is supposed to be tucked under a roof where people use black chopsticks and flower-patterned bowls, where people have dishes of fish and bok choy and metal pots of clear soups, where people are hunched over the food and if everyone is present, conduct terse, strained conversations. During those times I watched the steam curl up behind my parents' glasses, and wondered what would happen if I reached out and tipped the contents of their minds onto the table. Now, in this foreign place where my heart is not supposed to be, I pick up the fork, scoop the gravy into my mouth, and ask my friend why the food tastes like warm sunshine.
Somewhere along the line of living in New Zealand, I become accustomed to seeing the grease of hamburgers at the table, to staring down at plates of fettuccine as my friends clasp hands and murmur grace. I learn to eat a taco, I notice that when most people use chopsticks, they don't tuck their ring finger underneath like I do. I begin to puncture my sentences with English words, I'm into flip-flops now, and I've learned to hate the sight of flowery glass bowls. The concept of home is plunged into a frigid ambiguity.
Then at nine, I'm plucked from New Zealand and dropped back into my birthplace of Taiwan. I become entranced by the balletic, enthralling dance of the Chinese yo-yo. With only a string, two sticks, and the slightest flick of their hands, the local kids could roll the diablo across a string, thrust it into the air, spin it on its axis. I spend afternoons learning the proper grip and yanking the strings until they resonated with a dull, mellow hum. By eleven, spinning the yo-yo becomes analogous to breathing. By sixteen, I come to terms with the sporadic shudders of earthquakes and the insufferable, heavy humidity. I soothe myself with the perpetual rush of cars and the stench of tofu stands. But my grandparents still call me "little foreigner" and cluck their tongue at me because I can't speak Taiwanese. I still wake up to memories of tranquil New Zealand lakes and backyards where I learned to backflip on a trampoline. My vacations are still spent on twelve-hour flights and sunny Californian afternoons. I realize I've become an indiscernible, tangled medley of customs, my concept of home suspended above a sea of uncertainty.
But this time, I'm seventeen and staring down into muddy, Taiwanese gravy.
I used to think potatoes were as soft as clouds and gravy as warm as sunshine, that I only had to find the perfect sails to keep my heart afloat. Then I came to understand the girl who at times hums along to Marvin Gaye and longs for balmy, cloudless weather; who at others finds consolation in the silence of dinner tables and the low drone of yo-yos gliding along a string. I had struggled in my search for home, drowning in waves beating against the barriers of icy unfamiliarity, but instead of suffocating, I stretched my arms further. I shattered the barriers until they ebbed into lapping ripples that form my identity. They surged into thunderous, crashing dreams. They engulfed me in persistence and grit. But most of all, they became the reason I always venture confidently into oscillating, auspicious tomorrows, full speed ahead.