In this essay, please reflect on something you would like us to know about you that we might not learn from the rest of your application, or on something about which you would like to say more. You may write about anything-from personal experiences or interests to intellectual pursuits. (Please answer in 500 words or less.)
6:30am. I'm buried in my cereal. Forget cold water or a hot shower, the cold slush of creamy milk my lips is what really wakes me up. But I'm missing something.
A book!
Where is it? I'm sure I was protectively carrying around Chetan Bhagat's 2 States only yesterday. Underneath the sofa? Nope. Perhaps on the coffee table? Nope. I'm shaking and irritable. Frantically searching the table, desperation written all over my face. I'm cursing myself.
Then I see her.
She's standing in the hallway, giving me a triumphant grin. Her cunning eyes are hawk-like and at once I know she's the culprit. She's the mastermind behind this wretched plan.
It's not the first time though. This is a regular occurrence. A cat and mouse chase. The predator and the prey. Somehow, I always end up at the bottom of the food chain. Sometimes the phrase "like mother, like son" is used as a compliment. If someone were to say that to me right now, I'd lose it.
I'm glaring at my Mother. Figuring out what the bully in her is thinking. Trying to figure out where she's hidden my literary cuddly toy. She whips out her phone and ignores me, but she's suppressing her giggles. Meanie! I think
I run into the master bedroom. Dad's still snoring away underneath his thick blanket so I do my best to tiptoe. Nope not here! I return to my room and search all the cupboards. I'm slowly losing hope. Normally I can outwit her half-balked schemes, but it appears this time she's really outdone me. After another few hyperactive minutes of rushing around the house, it dawns on me that I've lost the battle.
I walk up to her seat at the dining table in, defeated. She's been peering over her newspaper for the past 10 minutes, enjoying my performance over some steaming hot, milk tea. I pretend like nothing's happened and resume my cereal although my frustration has killed my appetite. When I get home from school, she can't stop me! I think. After all, I have the entire day to brainstorm the many evil hiding places she's placed my book in. Along with the time to come up with an equally cruel revenge plan.
15 minutes ago, we were firing our cannons at each other, but now we just try to maintain some normalcy. She smiles at me and asks me what classes I have to attend today. I ask her which dyslexic kid she's tutoring today. Then we both snigger at the chainsaw noises my Dad makes as he snores.
I don't agree with the person who said you have to stand out from the crowd. In life, we are part of so many "crowds". Each crowd brings out a different faucet of our personality - all those differences are what make us...us. As humans, we fight. We make up. We hide it from others. It's a cycle.
Basically, that means the Mother-son war will continue when I get home.
6:30am. I'm buried in my cereal. Forget cold water or a hot shower, the cold slush of creamy milk my lips is what really wakes me up. But I'm missing something.
A book!
Where is it? I'm sure I was protectively carrying around Chetan Bhagat's 2 States only yesterday. Underneath the sofa? Nope. Perhaps on the coffee table? Nope. I'm shaking and irritable. Frantically searching the table, desperation written all over my face. I'm cursing myself.
Then I see her.
She's standing in the hallway, giving me a triumphant grin. Her cunning eyes are hawk-like and at once I know she's the culprit. She's the mastermind behind this wretched plan.
It's not the first time though. This is a regular occurrence. A cat and mouse chase. The predator and the prey. Somehow, I always end up at the bottom of the food chain. Sometimes the phrase "like mother, like son" is used as a compliment. If someone were to say that to me right now, I'd lose it.
I'm glaring at my Mother. Figuring out what the bully in her is thinking. Trying to figure out where she's hidden my literary cuddly toy. She whips out her phone and ignores me, but she's suppressing her giggles. Meanie! I think
I run into the master bedroom. Dad's still snoring away underneath his thick blanket so I do my best to tiptoe. Nope not here! I return to my room and search all the cupboards. I'm slowly losing hope. Normally I can outwit her half-balked schemes, but it appears this time she's really outdone me. After another few hyperactive minutes of rushing around the house, it dawns on me that I've lost the battle.
I walk up to her seat at the dining table in, defeated. She's been peering over her newspaper for the past 10 minutes, enjoying my performance over some steaming hot, milk tea. I pretend like nothing's happened and resume my cereal although my frustration has killed my appetite. When I get home from school, she can't stop me! I think. After all, I have the entire day to brainstorm the many evil hiding places she's placed my book in. Along with the time to come up with an equally cruel revenge plan.
15 minutes ago, we were firing our cannons at each other, but now we just try to maintain some normalcy. She smiles at me and asks me what classes I have to attend today. I ask her which dyslexic kid she's tutoring today. Then we both snigger at the chainsaw noises my Dad makes as he snores.
I don't agree with the person who said you have to stand out from the crowd. In life, we are part of so many "crowds". Each crowd brings out a different faucet of our personality - all those differences are what make us...us. As humans, we fight. We make up. We hide it from others. It's a cycle.
Basically, that means the Mother-son war will continue when I get home.