I'd love just some general help and advice to spice up my essay and to make sure I'm getting what I want to get across. This is for the common app essay, topic of my choice.
"Pikachu, I choose you!" Ash Ketchum declares, twisting his hat backwards and pitching his Pokéball to the ground.
Oh, what I would have given to shout those words and not appear as a blabbering idiot. To set off on courageous adventures and to be, well, a character. Thankfully, in my early years I discovered a refuge between dream and reality: pretending. And the long-lost days of elementary school provided the exact nutrients required to do this. No, not a constant supply of mother-made PB & J's (which I'd thoroughly demolish right now), but time. Time to indulge in other worlds. Time to let the brain juices ferment. Time to let the ideas ripen and come to fruition. My mom has endless memories of a young boy and his best friend pacing the sidewalks from a distance, heads lowered, mouths silently racing. This boy played many roles: those of robot and swordsman, Potter and Skywalker. The possibilities were endless.
Yet when reality kicked in, I was but a timid kid. A bit intelligent, sure. But what good was that when I seldom spoke? In my silence, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I yearned to be the thumb with a smiley face scribbled on, maybe even a nice trademark hat at the tip of the nail. And I sympathize with the quiet ones. The ones to whom others say, "That's the most I've ever heard you talk!" and to which I'd add "... Wait, I'm sorry. You must get that enough."
There are always those, however, that are pleasantly shy. They look one hundred times more beautiful as a larva than they would with two flashy, yet surprisingly asymmetrical wings. But I still wanted character, and character I now possess. Here are some freeze frames:
Realizing it's too low to catch, I weakly kick a vintage yearbook thrown by my advisor. Understanding I've got a music video due in 7 hours, I gladly attend the midnight release of The Deathly Hallows. Giggling for reasons unknown, my girlfriend points out that I've donned the same combo of T-shirt, flannel, and sweatshirt for the past three days. Loathing forfeit, my stomach cringes and burns as I scrawl a question mark after number 24 on my physics homework, a problem that I just can't seem to crack with thoughts of sleep clouding my mind.
Thus far, I'm still no finished product. All character traits, values, and knowledge developed by Philip Armstrong by 2015 may not be claimed or reproduced without written consent of chosen college. All rights reserved.
"Pikachu, I choose you!" Ash Ketchum declares, twisting his hat backwards and pitching his Pokéball to the ground.
Oh, what I would have given to shout those words and not appear as a blabbering idiot. To set off on courageous adventures and to be, well, a character. Thankfully, in my early years I discovered a refuge between dream and reality: pretending. And the long-lost days of elementary school provided the exact nutrients required to do this. No, not a constant supply of mother-made PB & J's (which I'd thoroughly demolish right now), but time. Time to indulge in other worlds. Time to let the brain juices ferment. Time to let the ideas ripen and come to fruition. My mom has endless memories of a young boy and his best friend pacing the sidewalks from a distance, heads lowered, mouths silently racing. This boy played many roles: those of robot and swordsman, Potter and Skywalker. The possibilities were endless.
Yet when reality kicked in, I was but a timid kid. A bit intelligent, sure. But what good was that when I seldom spoke? In my silence, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I yearned to be the thumb with a smiley face scribbled on, maybe even a nice trademark hat at the tip of the nail. And I sympathize with the quiet ones. The ones to whom others say, "That's the most I've ever heard you talk!" and to which I'd add "... Wait, I'm sorry. You must get that enough."
There are always those, however, that are pleasantly shy. They look one hundred times more beautiful as a larva than they would with two flashy, yet surprisingly asymmetrical wings. But I still wanted character, and character I now possess. Here are some freeze frames:
Realizing it's too low to catch, I weakly kick a vintage yearbook thrown by my advisor. Understanding I've got a music video due in 7 hours, I gladly attend the midnight release of The Deathly Hallows. Giggling for reasons unknown, my girlfriend points out that I've donned the same combo of T-shirt, flannel, and sweatshirt for the past three days. Loathing forfeit, my stomach cringes and burns as I scrawl a question mark after number 24 on my physics homework, a problem that I just can't seem to crack with thoughts of sleep clouding my mind.
Thus far, I'm still no finished product. All character traits, values, and knowledge developed by Philip Armstrong by 2015 may not be claimed or reproduced without written consent of chosen college. All rights reserved.
