On the "take a risk" Notre Dame question, which answer should I use? See the 2 options below. Thanks in advance.
4. You have 150 words. Take a risk.
A newly independent driver, I tried to locate the origin of International Boulevard only to find myself in the middle of Occupy Oakland. Making left turns onto one-ways in hopes of landing on the infamous thoroughfare known more for its crime and blight, than its rich cultural diversity, I came upon a few rogue protesters spray painting a Whole Foods Market and breaking windows. I was lost. I illegally touched "Mommy" on my mobile to ask for directions.
Once on my beloved Boulevard, I slowed down so that I could observe the skimpily dressed young girls walking in six-inch heels in 40-degree weather. Absent of tourists, the 13-mile boulevard is lined with small businesses, churches, bars, store fronts and chains whose names change as the ethnic population around them changes. I was people watching, one of my favorite occupations in one of my favorite places, the "hood". Some guys pulled up next to me and smiled. Too shy to smile back, I looked forward desperately searching for the decorative mosaic tiles added to spruce up the area. My eyes dotted back and forth absorbing the daily hustle of Latino, Korean, Cambodian, and African American peoples in their neighborhoods.
One evening I got lost on Mission Boulevard in San Francisco. The sights and sounds reminded me of a narrower International Boulevard with more European and Russian influences. I called my dad on this occasion and he promptly purchased a GPS system for me. But I cannot wait to get lost there again.
OR -----
In ninth grade, I went to Nigeria to meet my father's extended family for the first time. It was a culture shock. After landing in Lagos, we crammed into a truck and traveled eight hours down a dusty dirt road to Ihiala. A man on the side of the road tried to sell us what looked like a massive guinea pig and I began to worry about what I would eat, since I had just become a vegetarian. When I arrived, it became clear that Ihiala was nothing like the aggressive bustle of Lagos. The compound housed hundreds of relatives who showered me with affection and wisdom. Each person shouldered their responsibilities, whether it was cooking, cleaning, drawing water from the well, or powering the generators. To my delight, there were no mosquitoes and many fruit trees and vegetables. I was not going to starve. I had sustenance for my body and soul.
4. You have 150 words. Take a risk.
A newly independent driver, I tried to locate the origin of International Boulevard only to find myself in the middle of Occupy Oakland. Making left turns onto one-ways in hopes of landing on the infamous thoroughfare known more for its crime and blight, than its rich cultural diversity, I came upon a few rogue protesters spray painting a Whole Foods Market and breaking windows. I was lost. I illegally touched "Mommy" on my mobile to ask for directions.
Once on my beloved Boulevard, I slowed down so that I could observe the skimpily dressed young girls walking in six-inch heels in 40-degree weather. Absent of tourists, the 13-mile boulevard is lined with small businesses, churches, bars, store fronts and chains whose names change as the ethnic population around them changes. I was people watching, one of my favorite occupations in one of my favorite places, the "hood". Some guys pulled up next to me and smiled. Too shy to smile back, I looked forward desperately searching for the decorative mosaic tiles added to spruce up the area. My eyes dotted back and forth absorbing the daily hustle of Latino, Korean, Cambodian, and African American peoples in their neighborhoods.
One evening I got lost on Mission Boulevard in San Francisco. The sights and sounds reminded me of a narrower International Boulevard with more European and Russian influences. I called my dad on this occasion and he promptly purchased a GPS system for me. But I cannot wait to get lost there again.
OR -----
In ninth grade, I went to Nigeria to meet my father's extended family for the first time. It was a culture shock. After landing in Lagos, we crammed into a truck and traveled eight hours down a dusty dirt road to Ihiala. A man on the side of the road tried to sell us what looked like a massive guinea pig and I began to worry about what I would eat, since I had just become a vegetarian. When I arrived, it became clear that Ihiala was nothing like the aggressive bustle of Lagos. The compound housed hundreds of relatives who showered me with affection and wisdom. Each person shouldered their responsibilities, whether it was cooking, cleaning, drawing water from the well, or powering the generators. To my delight, there were no mosquitoes and many fruit trees and vegetables. I was not going to starve. I had sustenance for my body and soul.
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