Hi, I'm new to this forum so please bear with me! I would really appreciate a review and critique of my application essay. This will be the one on my common app, and be sent to all my colleges. Please be as honest as possible, and I really appreciate the feedback. As it stands right now, it is around 900 words.
Looking back, it is a funny thing to dread something as mundane as roll call by a substitute teacher. Yet there I was, waiting for the teacher to reach me, bracing for the inevitable butchering to begin, the clashing of syllables and letters, the giggling and laughter of the students around me, and finally the awkward correction that always follows. Such an event was one of my many worries when growing up in a town and school where the only other Indian-American is your younger brother. Being different at a time when peer acceptance is paramount was quite difficult in and of itself, but combined with the feeling of being pinned down in no-man's land between two cultures a world apart, it made me a very melancholy individual. It would take a brave family, one that would spend their first year in a new country living with us, to change my outlook, feelings, and ultimately my views on life.
The name-calling and taunts began in middle school. Like wildfire, episodic incidents with certain peers soon blazed into a full time ordeal, until I thought every other conversation I had was some insult or offhand remark about my ethnicity, religion, or something that boiled down calling me names in the guise of cleverness. At first, I became angry, fighting back with colorful language, supported by a concoction of raging hormones and a sense of ethnic pride. But the sting of such hateful words started to overpower me, fostering a sense of self-doubt that would soon envelope my thoughts and feelings. I soon became an introverted person, losing confidence in who I was and my self-esteem along the way.
My aunt, uncle, and two cousins arrived on a chilly November night, dressed in an odd mismatch of clothing that befit travelers. Not even after a week in a foreign country, my two cousins, two years and five years younger than me, were ready to attend my school, a place I felt as if I still did not belong to even after attending there for all my life. I was worried, afraid that the attacks that I had endured would befall my cousins. And take place they did. With the stresses and challenges of assimilating into a different culture, using a second language, and keeping up with studies, the specter of hate would be added to their lives.
Yet, I did not witness my cousins' perseverance in their studies or in their demeanor waver, even with the added difficulties in school. Everyday, they came home, a smile on their faces as they began to dig into the pile of homework. Often, humorous stories of the happenings at school or discussion about subjects between parent and child would be the hallmark of after school talk. Whatever obstacle I was facing at school paled in comparison to whatever my cousins were feeling, and yet they had the strength to overcome those challenges, while I was not even able to face my problems, let alone try to conquer them! I began to feel an intense feeling of shame that seemed to refuse to go away. Like the days of that winter, I became a dark and withdrawn individual.
It was not until one day that, sometime during the early months of spring, that brought about the transformation I so dearly wanted. My eldest cousin had come home from school, and without a word to anyone, had gone straight to his bedroom. For that entire weekend he barely came out of that room, the only sign he was there the faint sounds of sniveling. As I was sitting there, observing the wetness in the eyes of my aunt and uncle as they came out of the bedroom, I realized that my cousin was no different than I, and only now did I understand his challenges and fears. We both were feeling the same sense of segregation to the lives and events of the students around them. I now believed that the reason he could endure and stand strong for so long was that he possessed a sense of self-confidence and optimism, for after that weekend he was his normal self, something I admired at the time and still do now. Motivated, I was prepared to possess the courage to stand up for who I am, my ideals, my identity.
It was not an easy transformation. It would take time, willpower, and the exploration of untread waters away from the comforting shore to accomplish my goals. Yet, by the end, a new sense of optimism and self confidence had made its way into my demeanor, actions, outlook, and demeanor. Perhaps the greatest change was that I found my voice. I plunged headlong into controversial discussions about the Iraq War or gay marriage instead of quietly sitting on the sidelines. Living in a conservative region, I often was an Achilles fighting the hordes of Troy, as my views were often at odds compared to that of my fellow peers. Yet my self-confidence allowed me to take hold of my convictions, beliefs, and become sure of my abilities.
On a hot June afternoon, surrounded by the glass windows and cafïs of the airport terminal, we exchanged hugs and tears with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. As they began to walk across the causeway, they made their final wave of goodbyes towards us, goodbyes to an individual whose life they changed, allowed him to face his hurdles, some of which he sailed over, others he ungracefully tripped into, and made him into a better person.
Anand
Looking back, it is a funny thing to dread something as mundane as roll call by a substitute teacher. Yet there I was, waiting for the teacher to reach me, bracing for the inevitable butchering to begin, the clashing of syllables and letters, the giggling and laughter of the students around me, and finally the awkward correction that always follows. Such an event was one of my many worries when growing up in a town and school where the only other Indian-American is your younger brother. Being different at a time when peer acceptance is paramount was quite difficult in and of itself, but combined with the feeling of being pinned down in no-man's land between two cultures a world apart, it made me a very melancholy individual. It would take a brave family, one that would spend their first year in a new country living with us, to change my outlook, feelings, and ultimately my views on life.
The name-calling and taunts began in middle school. Like wildfire, episodic incidents with certain peers soon blazed into a full time ordeal, until I thought every other conversation I had was some insult or offhand remark about my ethnicity, religion, or something that boiled down calling me names in the guise of cleverness. At first, I became angry, fighting back with colorful language, supported by a concoction of raging hormones and a sense of ethnic pride. But the sting of such hateful words started to overpower me, fostering a sense of self-doubt that would soon envelope my thoughts and feelings. I soon became an introverted person, losing confidence in who I was and my self-esteem along the way.
My aunt, uncle, and two cousins arrived on a chilly November night, dressed in an odd mismatch of clothing that befit travelers. Not even after a week in a foreign country, my two cousins, two years and five years younger than me, were ready to attend my school, a place I felt as if I still did not belong to even after attending there for all my life. I was worried, afraid that the attacks that I had endured would befall my cousins. And take place they did. With the stresses and challenges of assimilating into a different culture, using a second language, and keeping up with studies, the specter of hate would be added to their lives.
Yet, I did not witness my cousins' perseverance in their studies or in their demeanor waver, even with the added difficulties in school. Everyday, they came home, a smile on their faces as they began to dig into the pile of homework. Often, humorous stories of the happenings at school or discussion about subjects between parent and child would be the hallmark of after school talk. Whatever obstacle I was facing at school paled in comparison to whatever my cousins were feeling, and yet they had the strength to overcome those challenges, while I was not even able to face my problems, let alone try to conquer them! I began to feel an intense feeling of shame that seemed to refuse to go away. Like the days of that winter, I became a dark and withdrawn individual.
It was not until one day that, sometime during the early months of spring, that brought about the transformation I so dearly wanted. My eldest cousin had come home from school, and without a word to anyone, had gone straight to his bedroom. For that entire weekend he barely came out of that room, the only sign he was there the faint sounds of sniveling. As I was sitting there, observing the wetness in the eyes of my aunt and uncle as they came out of the bedroom, I realized that my cousin was no different than I, and only now did I understand his challenges and fears. We both were feeling the same sense of segregation to the lives and events of the students around them. I now believed that the reason he could endure and stand strong for so long was that he possessed a sense of self-confidence and optimism, for after that weekend he was his normal self, something I admired at the time and still do now. Motivated, I was prepared to possess the courage to stand up for who I am, my ideals, my identity.
It was not an easy transformation. It would take time, willpower, and the exploration of untread waters away from the comforting shore to accomplish my goals. Yet, by the end, a new sense of optimism and self confidence had made its way into my demeanor, actions, outlook, and demeanor. Perhaps the greatest change was that I found my voice. I plunged headlong into controversial discussions about the Iraq War or gay marriage instead of quietly sitting on the sidelines. Living in a conservative region, I often was an Achilles fighting the hordes of Troy, as my views were often at odds compared to that of my fellow peers. Yet my self-confidence allowed me to take hold of my convictions, beliefs, and become sure of my abilities.
On a hot June afternoon, surrounded by the glass windows and cafïs of the airport terminal, we exchanged hugs and tears with my aunt, uncle, and cousins. As they began to walk across the causeway, they made their final wave of goodbyes towards us, goodbyes to an individual whose life they changed, allowed him to face his hurdles, some of which he sailed over, others he ungracefully tripped into, and made him into a better person.
Anand
