I know that I didn't really hit the mark in the personal essay, but I do not know how to incorporate what I want to do into this personal essay without blending in.
Ultimately my goal is to start a non profit utilizing music to engage youth and help spread awareness about social issues such as gang violence, racial profiling, etc
I'm applying to transfer as an undergrad as a music education major c:
It would be great if you guys could look over these and help me out a bit, I greatly appreciate it!
Thank you all for taking the time to read my essays and editing them!
Prompt: Please provide a statement (250 words minimum) that addresses your reasons for transferring and the objectives you hope to achieve.
Esssay:
Divorce. The word that rots on your tongue. The word that forces it's way down your throat until you gag. The word that happens to other parents. To me this was a distant planet or an undiscovered species of fish in Canada. Divorce was bacteria you put under a microscope to study, or an endangered animal observed and pitied from afar. Growing up I remember my parents always telling my brother and I that Asian parents never divorce. We had too much pride for that kind of nonsense. Divorce was reserved for everyone else. In the last few years, I've learned that 1.) Parents lie and 2.) Asian families do get divorced.
I've always admired my father, he was a survivor. He and his family were forced to leave Vietnam during the war. He flew on the last helicopter that would take him to America. My father and his family were now refugees, luckily sponsored by a nice family in Arkansas. When he turned 23 he moved to California with his siblings and he took up a job at the local Seven Eleven with his twin sister. Somewhere between Arkansas, Texas, and California my dad's mother was hit by a drunk driver. The family was never whole again. My grandfather never remarried because he had loved his wife too much. His friend Lien had made a mutual agreement. She became the prominent maternal figure in the family - though she and my grandfather slept in separate rooms in separate beds.
My mother was a tough cookie. She was born in the Philippines, but raised in Hong Kong with two other sisters and a brother. She worked hard and worshiped her parents, spoiling them with the goods her jobs gave her. Their small apartment was their shrine. My mother is beautiful, she takes after her own mother. They say that her beauty was the reason for her death. Back in the Philippines, my grandmother's beauty and success caused hatred amongst many competitors. The night a giant black butterfly flew in and my grandfather was so afraid he ran and hid. She laughed and laughed and laughed at him. My grandmother did not die laughing that night. My own mother ran, she has strong legs. She ran all the way from Hong Kong to America. One morning my mother went jogging, she passed by a Seven Eleven and her fate was sealed.
My mother died when she married my dad. They were not in love. I heard you had to be in love to get married. Either that or you were just awfully drunk and impulsive. Hollywood sure did mess me up. My mother was strong and very vain. Though she always took care of us before she took care of herself. In the twenty years they've been together my father died, too.
We used to live in an apartment on 3439 Agate Drive and our phone number was 249-5537. The place was pretty run down. The place was pretty and run down. The neighbors were friendly and so were their children. Those were the best years for my family. We were so close, literally and figuratively. The apartment was cramp but we always found ways around it. The old floral print sofa was enough. The small linoleum floored kitchen was enough. The fat thirty inch television was enough. We left our home behind the first time my father left us. He found a job here in Sacramento, so we stuffed our luggages and a U-Haul truck with years worth of memories and drove out.
We moved into a house on 9500 Asimov Way and our phone number is 525-2268. The answering machine is my voice at eleven years old. We never changed the greeting, I am twenty now. We could not change some things, but the house was so much bigger. Our dreams became so much bigger. We needed two more sofas and got rid of the floral one. We needed a bigger television and we got a bigger kitchen. We got four rooms as opposed to our two bedroom apartment. We got a backyard and a front yard. But all of this was nothing compared to our small apartment. We grew further and further away from each other.
As a family we divorced each other. I ran to some East Coast University. My brother stayed behind, left alone to trod thru high school. We grew distant and my parents constantly fought over bills and chores. They yelled and screamed until their throats were sore. A few months ago, my parents threatened each other with divorce. This was never something they could make go away with a kiss on the forehead or turning on a nightlight. This was never a flawed tango with a fiery end, this was an awkward group dance filled with uncoordinated dancers and nervous laughter.
We divorced reality, separated ourselves from the truth. An ugly fog conquered my family, we were stuck in limbo. I did not like the idea of this endless purgatory. I closed my eyes, while my mother and father blinded each other with skepticism. I might have found comfort in this Purgatory, I cultivated a friendship with Visine and taught myself the art of perception. If people thought we were a happy family, no one could object.
I never forgave my mother for telling me that she needed a strong man to support her. I thought my dad had that job filled out. I never forgave her for being scared of thunder and lightning. She used to be fearless in my eyes. I never forgave her for waking up in the middle of a cold August night and asking my brother to fetch her a slice of apple pie. Because as he washed the dishes she told him, "I'm glad I have at least one man in my life who takes care of me." At that moment she forgot we were children. I'm still afraid of the dark, you know? I never forgave her for being human.
I never forgave my dad for thinking I was twenty four when I was fourteen. I never forgave him for believing that at the ripe age of eighteen I could survive without a dad. And I will never forgive my dad for the day he stopped calling us into his room before bedtime so he could tell us stories about his past life. The life he had before he married Mom, before he became the estranged father, before he became a coward.
But what really hurts about divorce is finding out that your parents lie. I can never forgive them for lying. Because you know what, big boys and big girls do cry. Asian families do fall apart and I know for a fact that my mom did love my dad and my dad did love my mom at one time.
I broke the first rule of perception, "never tell the truth". So what? I have nothing left to hide and nothing left to lose. My parents lied to me. About divorce, about love, and about that Christmas tree filled with the photos of missing children at Christmas in the Park. In a very morbid sense, learning that your parents lie is like the death of a parent. All of a sudden the safety net is ripped from underneath and you can feel your own mortality. A deep cynicism grows inside you like a malignant tumor. My mom lied to us all these years. I would like to say that in that moment I grew up, that I realized lying was horrible and I became a better person. I learned to believe in myself, to put my family first and to survive. I learned how to be strong, how to be brave. I learned to chase my dreams while staying awake.
Prompt: What intrigues you? Tell us about one work of art, scientific achievement, piece of literature, method of communication, or place in the world (a film, book, performance, website, event, location, etc.), and explain its significance to you.
Some days I wake with a sad, lingering pain in my ribcage. The cavity in my chest which used to nestle only honey is now hollowed out. I scooped it all up with one big wooden spoon. My body rattles with contusions that aren't entirely visible. Yet the first time I heard Sibelius Symphony No. 2 performed, I cried. I cried so hard that it felt like all the honey that had gone missing begun to pour from the stage back into my chest, filling my heart to the brim with forgiveness. The fourth movement pushed redemption into every muscle in my body until I realized I have indecent dreams about being loved. Indecent because I know it shouldn't happen. But it happened anyway, and I'm in love with the violins who's melody carries out my soul into the cosmos. And I am drunk on stars, and confused because I don't understand what I feel in this moment. The harmonies that emit from the woodwinds sound like home. The brass navigate the dimly lit emptiness that I feel late in the evening when everyone is asleep. That night I lay in bed feeling a little less lonely and imagine that I am immersed in sound, afloat at sea.
Prompt: Why NYU?
I was made to be a doctor. Shaped by the yellow hands of my mother and father, their calloused fingers blistered and bled so mine would not. I found that my hands were not made to hold surgical incisions, but to fit perfectly against the neck of a violin. My fingers delicately dance their way across the states to the city of Providence. There my hands were tied to the desk, my fingers forced to illustrate the illusions of advertising. I released myself from bondage when I realized the ache did not come from chains of disillusionment but the insatiable need for music. When all others looked down upon my ability to succeed, NYU bandaged my wounds and welcomed me without question and doubt.
My dreams are as stark as sunscreen on raw sunburned skin. To dream was as contradictory as blood on gold. I struggled to survive to get to where I am today. New York is the city built from imagination, and the haven for my weary soul. I'm not from around here. And people know that. I wear my tears, the dirt beneath my feet, and blood underneath my fingernails like tattoos across my chest for everyone to see. I deserve this opportunity, I made this opportunity.
Prompt: Please share any activities or experiences you have had that have cultivated your intellectual interests leading you to choose to study at the NYU campus of your choice.
In October of 2011 I had the opportunity to explore NYU as a music education major.
I sat in on a class in Steinhardt and realized this is where I needed to be. At the time of the visit I was a advertising major, and had never witnessed such enthusiasm from students before. I could barely fathom that I had witnessed students who were actually engaged in their class. I was fortunate to come in on a day where the had a guest speaker - a recent graduate who now works as a teacher at school in the Bronx. When he spoke of his experience, I knew at that moment I wanted to be here with these students. To learn as they did, to experience as they did, and to surround myself with like minded individuals. I finally felt a sense of belonging. I was absolutely surprised to see what a community they had built, yet how welcome they were of a stranger from another school. There was a sense of home, and admiration for these young students as I observed them. This experience helped me confirm my quaking decision to leave Johnson and Wales as an advertising and start at the University of Rhode as a music education major. I was very doubtful and afraid of making the change, but this opportunity helped reassure my fears. I learned to believe in myself, and gained support from the professors at NYU that I had not gotten from JWU or URI. Often I think of how lucky I was to have had the opportunity that I did, and I cannot be thankful enough.
Geraldine,
Thanks for sharing the essay. I feel as though I really know you. You did a great job of explaining what has happened recently in your life. I feel that I say what I'm going to say too often, but I have to say it anyway. You didn't answer the essay prompts. Let me redirect you to the essay prompts. (BTW I love music and if I had to do it all over again I would have gone against my parents advice and tried out for college at least.)
Prompt: Please provide a statement (250 words minimum) that addresses your reasons for transferring and the objectives you hope to achieve.Divorce is not a reason for transferring. You didn't get divorced. Your parents did. Some better reasons for transferring: you love NYC, you love the music program, you heard the NYU orchestra play and can't imagine being anywhere else.Prompt: What intrigues you? Tell us about one work of art, scientific achievement, piece of literature, method of communication, or place in the world (a film, book, performance, website, event, location, etc.), and explain its significance to you.I too wrote about Sibelius Symphony No.2 as a high school senior for an English class. It was a stream of consciousness piece, b/c we had just read
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce. I don't remember any erotic parts, but it was very touchy feely. The English teacher liked the paper, but he didn't think it was great. The example of the great paper, which he read to the class, was about a performance of a hard concerto. The classmate described being molded by her oboe teacher, and how the teacher showed her how to mold reeds herself. It was about facing life as a series of tears and smiles--not all smiles all the time. Some people will make you cry--sometimes intentionally--sometimes not. Sometimes you will make yourself cry. After my English teacher finished reading the paper, I mentally agreed that her paper was better than mine. Much to my surprise after the class, he had a few words for me, "I never had the musical talent you do." I shrugged my shoulders and explained that I would not be allowed to study music in college. It was a sad moment in my life b/c I saw my future passing before me just out of reach.
Why don't you write about a concerto you've performed? Write about your interactions with your music teachers? Other friends who play an instrument? Do a little research on the symphony and critique it using a few citations.
Do you have perfect pitch?Prompt: Why NYU?Imagine you are in admissions reading this essay. It's really hard to understand it.
Please share any activities or experiences you have had that have cultivated your intellectual interests leading you to choose to study at the NYU campus of your choice.I can understand this paragraph.
Thank you thank you so much for you adivce!! I appreciate it so much, and I'm taking everything into serious consideration!
I know i'm in a bit of a time constraint, but i am so thankful to have this support
I'll rewrite the personal essay and repost soon.
I did revise the "Why NYU" essay, maybe you could look at it?
I was made to be a doctor. Shaped by the yellow hands of my mother and father, their calloused fingers blistered and bled so mine would not. I found that my hands were not made to hold surgical incisions, but to fit perfectly against the neck of a violin. My fingers delicately danced their way across the states to the city of Providence. There my hands were tied to the desk, my fingers forced to illustrate the illusions of advertising. I released myself from bondage when I realized the ache did not come from chains of disillusionment but the insatiable need for music. When all others looked down upon my ability to succeed, NYU bandaged my wounds and welcomed me without question and doubt.
My dreams are as stark as sunscreen on raw sunburned skin. To dream was as contradictory as blood on gold. I struggled to survive to get to where I am today. New York is the city built from imagination, and the haven for my weary soul. I'm not from around here. And people know that. I wear my tears, the dirt beneath my feet, and blood underneath my fingernails like tattoos across my chest for everyone to see. I deserve this opportunity, I made this opportunity. I am not an imitator of an imitator far less skilled than the last. I can sit here growing fat off praise from my generic essay to why I want to attend NYU, but instead I will fight for my position. I fell in love with New York because she's tough. Her streets are tough, her people are tough, her Sundays nights and Monday mornings are tough. I am tough. I feel like NYU will not only challenge me academically but creatively as well. There isn't another place in the world like New York, there isn't another school like NYU.
Thank you so much for your help!! I'm going to add some lyrics that would be cool.
I don't play electric violin, or given any professional lessons. . but I'll try to elaborate on what i have.
The app deadline is tomorrow, but I want to get it in by midnight tonight!
Geraldine, there's still several typos?
Please don't put the part in about your address etc.
I'm really worried for you actually.
You can't wait until tomorrow?
i suppose i can wait til tomorrow, and yeah I'll try to delete that as soon as I can. .It slipped my mind!
I'm editing everything now, and elaborating. I should be done in a few minutes
Here is the expanded personal statement
New York is covered in opportunities that I know mean work, but I don't mind covering my hands in dirt. Truth is, New York is the place I want to be for the rest of my life, and NYU is the school I want to go to for how ever many years it will take me to graduate. My journey has been a long one. From school to school, city to city. I have learned and experienced much more than I could ever imagine. Though I have also struggled, and there is beauty in that. I struggled to survive, and here I am making my way to the big city. I paved my way to college with financial aid, scholarships, and a dysfunctional family. I moved a cross the country to a foreign city, with no familiar faces. I taught myself how to be strong, and my determination led me in the right direction. I fought my way here, and I will keep fighting until I succeed.
NYU has held Hip Hop Think Tank, an event which brings educators from all over the US to find ways of promoting music in schools - I cannot imagine not being apart of programs like these in the coming years. Eventually I'd like to start my own non-profit organization, utilizing music to inspire the thirst for knowledge amongst inner city youth but also to encourage them to stand up for their hood and stop abuse, gang violence and racial profiling. I grew up in the ghetto, toughened my skin but never let my heart turn cold. I got rid of that hood mentality and started working hard to better myself. Now I see a large percentage of our generation wasting their talents away because no one believed in their intellectual ability. No teacher, no school district, no classroom was encouraging enough to praise the hardships they go through, but I will. I will do what it takes to remix education through hip hop, to inspire knowledge through rhythm, and to be the foundation of learning through compassion, kindness and beats.
Is this the approach you're going for? If not tell me now so I can switch up the tone. I would sell my bed to pay the electric bill and use the leftovers for violin lessons. Music is something I'd die for, or at least die teaching. This isn't for you, or you, or you. This is for the hoodrats who never thought they could make it past high school. This is for the kids in the ghetto who never thought they couldn't afford college. This is for me to pursue what I believe in and to ignite action and advocacy along the way. I want to pave the Yellow Brick Road for those yet to lose themselves in this rundown Oz. There is magic on every street corner, in every alleyway, on the face of every kid in the ghetto, it just takes some believing. I believe that with three clicks of the heel in those sparkly red shoes will bring anyone home. But not all of us can afford sparkly red shoes. Some have to work harder than most, however all things are possible if you make them. I want the youth to find their courage, heart, and brain. But most importantly I want them to feel safe, and find home in their school. I want to be living proof that the American Dream can be enjoyed without sleeping. That having soul comes from the heart and having heart comes from music.
Changed sibelius a bit
Prompt: What intrigues you? Tell us about one work of art, scientific achievement, piece of literature, method of communication, or place in the world (a film, book, performance, website, event, location, etc.), and explain its significance to you.
Some days I wake with a sad, lingering pain in my ribcage. The cavity in my chest which used to nestle only honey is now hollowed out. I scooped it all up with one big wooden spoon. My body rattles with contusions that aren't entirely visible. Yet the first time I heard Sibelius Symphony No. 2 performed, I cried. I cried so hard that it felt like all the honey that had gone missing begun to pour from the stage back into my chest, filling my heart to the brim with forgiveness. The fourth movement pushed redemption into every muscle in my body until I realized I have indecent dreams about being loved. Indecent because I know it shouldn't happen. But it happened anyway, and I'm in love with the violins who's melody carries out my soul into the cosmos. And I am drunk on stars, and confused because I don't understand what I feel in this moment. The harmonies that emit from the woodwinds sound like home. The brass navigate the dimly lit emptiness that I feel late in the evening when everyone is asleep. That night I lay in bed feeling a little less lonely and imagine that I am immersed in sound, afloat at sea. I swear I didn't feel a single prang of melancholy when I cried. I was aloof and unaware of the flavor of salt resting at my taste buds. I forgot how my own tears tasted like. It has been a long while. This is the first time I realized that music makes me feel. There are no words to describe what happened that night. I knew I had to play in an orchestra. Creating such beautiful music was not a choice, not an option, but a need, a want. A desire to create. A desire to pluck sound from the air and dance. To make the audience fall in love with someone they thought could never be possible. I knew at this moment I could not exist without sound. I wanted to fall to my knees and lay there in silence. Because in that moment nothing was more important that what I was hearing. In that moment all my sins were washed clean. In that moment music was my religion, Symphony No. 2 was my bible, my violin, and my savior.
How do i delete posts?
Much much better! I hear the musicality of your voice coming through.
You sound fierce, tough, and strong. My best wishes for you and your future.
I'll take a look tomorrow, it's been a long day.
Thank you, so much again for your help. I just can't tell you enough how much I appreciate your time. And thank you for being so kind, your words mean so much to me
Thank YOU!!
Dear Geraldine,
I wanted to share my essay with you.
It may help you think about how to better reflect upon the
music itself. I can't really help you with hip hop, but I wanted
to share a snapshot of my experiences.
