Virtually all of Stanford's undergraduates live on campus. Write a note to your future roommate that reveals something about you or that will help your roommate--and us--know you better. =D (1800 character MAX, this is 1799)
As the rain splatters against my window-the translucent green drapes oblivious to this, of course-I try to imagine a similar situation at Stanford. While I doubt California will be plagued by tropical depressions as Florida is right now, the concept of precipitation is the same. Perhaps you and I would welcome the silent moment as a chance to tackle our work, while occasionally stopping to debate philosophy. Perhaps we will be roasting "smores" over a candle after a bout of nostalgia drives us to undertake this whimsical experiment. Perhaps one of us will be winning a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who can eat the last chocolate chip muffin. Or, perhaps, you will be asking me why I mentioned such an apparently haphazard assortment of activities in that note I wrote to you a while ago.
As I left Chemistry and headed for Psychology this morning, happy for the momentary downgrade to light drizzling from furious pounding of rain, I thought about how only two steps remained for me to complete the problem my teacher presented in class. I laughed a bit after reflecting on how eager I was to solve it, but I also noticed how immensely happy I was at the moment. It was fairly strange-after all, how enthralling can finding how many grams of the excess reagent are left be? Happiness is normal and chemistry can be very interesting, but the cause of my joy is that I am extremely satisfied with life. I am delighted with all of my responsibilities and obligations-studying, running school clubs, writing essays for Stanford, to name a few. Although they were beginning to overwhelm me, at that moment and now, the reason I complete these tasks-I enjoy them and the products of my labor-invigorates me.
Perhaps you and I will have a similarly elated year sharing a space at Stanford.
As the rain splatters against my window-the translucent green drapes oblivious to this, of course-I try to imagine a similar situation at Stanford. While I doubt California will be plagued by tropical depressions as Florida is right now, the concept of precipitation is the same. Perhaps you and I would welcome the silent moment as a chance to tackle our work, while occasionally stopping to debate philosophy. Perhaps we will be roasting "smores" over a candle after a bout of nostalgia drives us to undertake this whimsical experiment. Perhaps one of us will be winning a game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who can eat the last chocolate chip muffin. Or, perhaps, you will be asking me why I mentioned such an apparently haphazard assortment of activities in that note I wrote to you a while ago.
As I left Chemistry and headed for Psychology this morning, happy for the momentary downgrade to light drizzling from furious pounding of rain, I thought about how only two steps remained for me to complete the problem my teacher presented in class. I laughed a bit after reflecting on how eager I was to solve it, but I also noticed how immensely happy I was at the moment. It was fairly strange-after all, how enthralling can finding how many grams of the excess reagent are left be? Happiness is normal and chemistry can be very interesting, but the cause of my joy is that I am extremely satisfied with life. I am delighted with all of my responsibilities and obligations-studying, running school clubs, writing essays for Stanford, to name a few. Although they were beginning to overwhelm me, at that moment and now, the reason I complete these tasks-I enjoy them and the products of my labor-invigorates me.
Perhaps you and I will have a similarly elated year sharing a space at Stanford.