Hi there~ I would appreciate if anyone can give me some advice on this essay(the personal statement in the common application form) many thanks~
Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.
"You know about the life cycle of a butterfly?" my father asked in a serious tone.
"Sure I do," I replied.
He did not seem to care, continuing: "Butterflies are known for their unusual life cycle. They hatch from eggs into larvae, growing into caterpillars. When these wriggly bugs mature, they enter the chrysalis stage and, then, finally emerge from their cocoons as beautiful, colorful, winged insects. Flying and witnessing their own extraordinary beauty in the water's reflection, they cannot feel sorry that death is near."
"The point is, don't be afraid of dying. We are all part of nature, but appear in different forms at different stages. While life is short and you can't go back and do things over again, it is, as a result, full of meaning. You will come to understand this someday."
I nodded, a usual way of our communication.
He stood up, walked towards the table to fetch a glass of water and passed it to me. Sitting down, he cleared his throat: "Son, I just... I want to tell you a story." This was absolutely unexpected; my father had never so much as read a bedtime story to me.
It was about a young man. Though ambitious, he had not one penny to his name. Full of optimism, he left the countryside for the glamorous big city to start a new life. While only a common worker, he was not lacking in intelligence or diligence. He worked hard with the dream of becoming a successful entrepreneur one day. Life was not easy, but he felt pleased and blessed to have a job, with which he could support his loving wife and child.
One lunch break, he went to the hospital to pick up the results of his customary yearly check-up. With no time to even take a bite of his bread or take a sip of his Coke, he hurried to his appointment.
The diagnosis was cancer.
The diagnosis was cancer.
He felt numb with shock; mind went blank. How could this happen?
As he dragged his feet walking through the familiar streets, passing the familiar stores, and bumping into old acquaintances, he sensed life perishing in the air.
When he came home that evening, he was welcomed by his son's sweet cries of "Daddy, Daddy!" Snatching the bread and Coke from his hands, the little boy munched on the food and gurgled the drink happily.
The father, seeing his son's innocent, beaming smile, suddenly knew what needed to be done. He said to himself, "If I die, who will take care of the family? I must make sure they will lead a good life even after I leave this world."
Several months passed; he had started an integrated circuit manufacturing company. Day and night, he worked and worked and worked. There was always a power in his heart to back him up, to push him forward. After many years, the company expanded from 12 to over 800 employees now and shifted its focus to electronic musical instrument production, growing into one of the largest in its trade in China.
I recognized this as my father's story. After a long silence, he looked into my eyes, and his voice was a little choking: "I will leave you someday, sooner or later. You know that, son. I cannot imagine how your life will be if you are too dependable on me. I want you to grow up into a strong man, a real man, and carry on my responsibility."
Speechless, I felt my heart ache. Watching this reserved man open up his heart to me, I was riveted. I came to understand the implication of his butterfly story and the philosophy of life. Yet I did not know what to say. In my mind, father was always strong, serious and highly efficient. He had always been on the go - speaking fast, walking fast, eating fast - that it was strange to see him sitting calmly on my bed, patiently telling me his life story.
I used to think there must be a big gap between us, an unbreachable "generation gap." I never expected him to understand me; I certainly never expected to understand him.
I used to envy my classmates' attentive fathers, who would play with them after school, teaching them how to ride a bike and throw a ball, or take them to the zoo or the amusement park on weekends, spoiling them with toys and treats. Dad never did that. Even worse, when I tried to get close to him by interning at the family business, he was too busy to speak a word to me. I thought I could at least get his attention when I was accepted into a highly selective summer Chemistry research program at Nanjing Normal University but, instead, only ended up angry and confused over why he never once came to visit.
I found his attitude "unmerciful." He did not care about me. Even the thought, "he's not a real father," sometimes crossed my mind. I told myself secretly, "Thank God I have my strong will power and independence to hold me up. Anyone else would have probably cracked under such stern conditions."
I was wrong, totally wrong. Behind me, there had always been a driving force pushing me forward, with a pair of invisible eyes watching me grow and a pair of invisible hands keeping me on my two feet. It had been my father.
My father's story pushed me to think, for days, for months, for years. It still makes me think. It has helped me come to realize why he was not like the other fathers, why he could not be like the other fathers, and how that has made me who I am today. It has also taught me that things may not always be as they appear. The thought-provoking conversation between me and father, as equals, has been a turning point in my life. As I leave the cocoon I have called home for the past eighteen years, I will be ready to spread my wings and fly.
Indicate a person who has had a significant influence on you, and describe that influence.
"You know about the life cycle of a butterfly?" my father asked in a serious tone.
"Sure I do," I replied.
He did not seem to care, continuing: "Butterflies are known for their unusual life cycle. They hatch from eggs into larvae, growing into caterpillars. When these wriggly bugs mature, they enter the chrysalis stage and, then, finally emerge from their cocoons as beautiful, colorful, winged insects. Flying and witnessing their own extraordinary beauty in the water's reflection, they cannot feel sorry that death is near."
"The point is, don't be afraid of dying. We are all part of nature, but appear in different forms at different stages. While life is short and you can't go back and do things over again, it is, as a result, full of meaning. You will come to understand this someday."
I nodded, a usual way of our communication.
He stood up, walked towards the table to fetch a glass of water and passed it to me. Sitting down, he cleared his throat: "Son, I just... I want to tell you a story." This was absolutely unexpected; my father had never so much as read a bedtime story to me.
It was about a young man. Though ambitious, he had not one penny to his name. Full of optimism, he left the countryside for the glamorous big city to start a new life. While only a common worker, he was not lacking in intelligence or diligence. He worked hard with the dream of becoming a successful entrepreneur one day. Life was not easy, but he felt pleased and blessed to have a job, with which he could support his loving wife and child.
One lunch break, he went to the hospital to pick up the results of his customary yearly check-up. With no time to even take a bite of his bread or take a sip of his Coke, he hurried to his appointment.
The diagnosis was cancer.
The diagnosis was cancer.
He felt numb with shock; mind went blank. How could this happen?
As he dragged his feet walking through the familiar streets, passing the familiar stores, and bumping into old acquaintances, he sensed life perishing in the air.
When he came home that evening, he was welcomed by his son's sweet cries of "Daddy, Daddy!" Snatching the bread and Coke from his hands, the little boy munched on the food and gurgled the drink happily.
The father, seeing his son's innocent, beaming smile, suddenly knew what needed to be done. He said to himself, "If I die, who will take care of the family? I must make sure they will lead a good life even after I leave this world."
Several months passed; he had started an integrated circuit manufacturing company. Day and night, he worked and worked and worked. There was always a power in his heart to back him up, to push him forward. After many years, the company expanded from 12 to over 800 employees now and shifted its focus to electronic musical instrument production, growing into one of the largest in its trade in China.
I recognized this as my father's story. After a long silence, he looked into my eyes, and his voice was a little choking: "I will leave you someday, sooner or later. You know that, son. I cannot imagine how your life will be if you are too dependable on me. I want you to grow up into a strong man, a real man, and carry on my responsibility."
Speechless, I felt my heart ache. Watching this reserved man open up his heart to me, I was riveted. I came to understand the implication of his butterfly story and the philosophy of life. Yet I did not know what to say. In my mind, father was always strong, serious and highly efficient. He had always been on the go - speaking fast, walking fast, eating fast - that it was strange to see him sitting calmly on my bed, patiently telling me his life story.
I used to think there must be a big gap between us, an unbreachable "generation gap." I never expected him to understand me; I certainly never expected to understand him.
I used to envy my classmates' attentive fathers, who would play with them after school, teaching them how to ride a bike and throw a ball, or take them to the zoo or the amusement park on weekends, spoiling them with toys and treats. Dad never did that. Even worse, when I tried to get close to him by interning at the family business, he was too busy to speak a word to me. I thought I could at least get his attention when I was accepted into a highly selective summer Chemistry research program at Nanjing Normal University but, instead, only ended up angry and confused over why he never once came to visit.
I found his attitude "unmerciful." He did not care about me. Even the thought, "he's not a real father," sometimes crossed my mind. I told myself secretly, "Thank God I have my strong will power and independence to hold me up. Anyone else would have probably cracked under such stern conditions."
I was wrong, totally wrong. Behind me, there had always been a driving force pushing me forward, with a pair of invisible eyes watching me grow and a pair of invisible hands keeping me on my two feet. It had been my father.
My father's story pushed me to think, for days, for months, for years. It still makes me think. It has helped me come to realize why he was not like the other fathers, why he could not be like the other fathers, and how that has made me who I am today. It has also taught me that things may not always be as they appear. The thought-provoking conversation between me and father, as equals, has been a turning point in my life. As I leave the cocoon I have called home for the past eighteen years, I will be ready to spread my wings and fly.
