1. The personal statement helps you distinguish yourself in your own voice. What do you want admissions readers to know about you that is not reflected elsewhere in your application? Choose the option that best helps you answer that question and write an essay using the prompt to inspire and structure your response (1,250 - 3,250 characters, approx. 250 - 650 words).
Hi, I am looking for any and all types of feedback. Please let me know any and all critiques!! I swear I will take no offense, this is a draft I am looking to refine.
I've always loved reading. When I was little, romance novels were my go-to. I tore through love stories like nobody's business, captivated by characters' cheesy confessions and romantic happily-ever-afters. But as much as I enjoyed escaping into these stories, something always felt off once I closed the book. While my friends at school talked about their crushes and dream relationships, I couldn't quite relate. To me, romance was only something I read about in my books.
At first, I thought I hadn't met the right person. Maybe one day those feelings would click, and I'd finally understand what all the excitement was about. But as I grew older, those emotions never came. Romance, for me, remained a fascinating concept. It felt distant, like a world I could read about, but never fully step into.
When my friends asked about my love life, I couldn't ignore the quiet anxiety that bubbled under my skin. I would scramble to tell a convincing lie, not wanting to admit that I never felt what they were experiencing. For years, I carried this uncertainty, quietly pushing it to the back of my mind, hoping that one day things would fix themselves. It wasn't until I learned about asexuality that the pieces started falling into place. The term resonated with me in a way nothing else had. It was like finishing the end of a book series-I felt satisfied but empty. Finally, I had a name for why love had always felt foreign to me-why I'd spent years feeling like I didn't fit into the narrative everyone else seemed to live by. It wasn't that I was broken. I was simply different.
But accepting my asexuality didn't bring immediate relief. After the initial clarity, I faced a new challenge. How could something so central to the human experience-something I'd spent countless hours reading about-be something I couldn't feel? The love stories I cherished now seemed like they existed in a world that wasn't meant for me. As I learned more, I felt torn between relief and sadness. I finally had an answer, but accepting my difference was painful. Everyone else-my friends, the characters in my books-seemed to experience love so easily. So why couldn't I? Why didn't I feel butterflies in my stomach or daydream about relationships?
Over time, I've realized that my difference doesn't diminish my capacity for connection. While I may never experience the 'conventional' love I've read about in stories, I experience it in other ways. The relationships I have with friends and family, the way I support and care for others-these are my happily-ever-afters. I've learned that love comes in many forms, and even though my experience doesn't match the stories I grew up with, it's no less meaningful. This understanding has shaped how I approach the world. I'm more intentional in how I build relationships, and I'm more compassionate toward others. My asexuality has deepened my motivation to connect with people-since it's my way of showing love. I leave bits and pieces of my heart in every one of the activities I participate in as a result of my identity. In a way, embracing and understanding my asexuality has allowed me to write my own story-one that isn't confined by traditional expectations, but instead, celebrates the unique connections I have with others. My story is my own to write, and love is not confined to the novels I've grown up reading.
Hi, I am looking for any and all types of feedback. Please let me know any and all critiques!! I swear I will take no offense, this is a draft I am looking to refine.
I've always loved reading. When I was little, romance novels were my go-to. I tore through love stories like nobody's business, captivated by characters' cheesy confessions and romantic happily-ever-afters. But as much as I enjoyed escaping into these stories, something always felt off once I closed the book. While my friends at school talked about their crushes and dream relationships, I couldn't quite relate. To me, romance was only something I read about in my books.
At first, I thought I hadn't met the right person. Maybe one day those feelings would click, and I'd finally understand what all the excitement was about. But as I grew older, those emotions never came. Romance, for me, remained a fascinating concept. It felt distant, like a world I could read about, but never fully step into.
When my friends asked about my love life, I couldn't ignore the quiet anxiety that bubbled under my skin. I would scramble to tell a convincing lie, not wanting to admit that I never felt what they were experiencing. For years, I carried this uncertainty, quietly pushing it to the back of my mind, hoping that one day things would fix themselves. It wasn't until I learned about asexuality that the pieces started falling into place. The term resonated with me in a way nothing else had. It was like finishing the end of a book series-I felt satisfied but empty. Finally, I had a name for why love had always felt foreign to me-why I'd spent years feeling like I didn't fit into the narrative everyone else seemed to live by. It wasn't that I was broken. I was simply different.
But accepting my asexuality didn't bring immediate relief. After the initial clarity, I faced a new challenge. How could something so central to the human experience-something I'd spent countless hours reading about-be something I couldn't feel? The love stories I cherished now seemed like they existed in a world that wasn't meant for me. As I learned more, I felt torn between relief and sadness. I finally had an answer, but accepting my difference was painful. Everyone else-my friends, the characters in my books-seemed to experience love so easily. So why couldn't I? Why didn't I feel butterflies in my stomach or daydream about relationships?
Over time, I've realized that my difference doesn't diminish my capacity for connection. While I may never experience the 'conventional' love I've read about in stories, I experience it in other ways. The relationships I have with friends and family, the way I support and care for others-these are my happily-ever-afters. I've learned that love comes in many forms, and even though my experience doesn't match the stories I grew up with, it's no less meaningful. This understanding has shaped how I approach the world. I'm more intentional in how I build relationships, and I'm more compassionate toward others. My asexuality has deepened my motivation to connect with people-since it's my way of showing love. I leave bits and pieces of my heart in every one of the activities I participate in as a result of my identity. In a way, embracing and understanding my asexuality has allowed me to write my own story-one that isn't confined by traditional expectations, but instead, celebrates the unique connections I have with others. My story is my own to write, and love is not confined to the novels I've grown up reading.
