Hey,
This is a rough draft I came up with for the 3rd common app essay (the prompt is listed below). Any suggestions, feedback, and advice is appreciated.
Prompt:
Describe a place or environment where you are perfectly content. What do you do or experience there, and why is it meaningful to you?
Essay:
3 years of physics has told me that darkness is the absence of light rays in an environment. In the very same optics chapters, I've learned that reflections are caused by light bouncing off surfaces. Yet, I find it most surprising that I do my best self reflection in the dark.
The time is 9:00, and my students are just filling in. "Good evening, class. I hope you all had a fine day. Today's lesson is going to be on the various functions of the cell. But first let me take attendance". I scan and see Sirius, Betelgeuse, and Polaris all shining brightly at me. In the corner, Aldebaran looks like he's going to fall asleep.
Throughout the day, teachers dump upon me an amount of knowledge that is near impossible to absorb in such a stressful environment. Now, however, I am ready to go back and tackle the information that was given to me.
I settle back in this uneven plastic chair that rocks back and forth on the pavement, tipped by the gentle breeze that surrounds the night. All of a sudden, I am back in the classroom; this time, as the teacher. I take a moment to collect my thoughts and begin lecturing to the stars. Hydrolytic enzymes. Microfilaments and their effect on cell motility. As I teach biology to these giant balls of gas, I find the gaps in my own knowledge. My attempts to describe cellular movement fail, as I realize that my understanding of the extracellular matrix and interactions with the cell isn't as strong as it ought to be. Yet, after attempting to explain it, I find that I have actually found the explanation. I am not the student in this class, yet still I learn.
My class is quiet, but is attentive. I talk to them about my research, how my clash with cancer angiogenesis proceeds. My developments in mathematical modelling haven't been the result of days of algorithm coding and equation solving, but these simple 30 minute sessions, when I sit back and think about my project so far. Even as I complain to Polaris about how my surface area algorithm for the cancer modelling is slow, I find new ways to make it faster. Orion's Belt reminds me of Linkin Logs, a visual that allows me to tackle the algorithm in a whole new way.
People often see my session with the stars much like a Unix programmer piping their output to /dev/null, as a fool's folly. Yet behind all of it is a purpose. The stars might not receive my sound waves for 2 billion years, yet in that short 30 minutes I sit outside,I learn productively, discover different methods, and make new connections.
By now, the ambiance is darker,the stars glow brighter, and the crickets have started chirping in unison. A quick glance at my watch tells me that my class has ended, and ceremoniously, I get up from my rickety lawn chair and make an exit from my lecture hall. As I make the journey, I think about the new algorithm that I'm going to code and the new journey that my research will take me. They say it is darkest before the dawn. For me, I find my dawn in the darkness.
This is a rough draft I came up with for the 3rd common app essay (the prompt is listed below). Any suggestions, feedback, and advice is appreciated.
Prompt:
Describe a place or environment where you are perfectly content. What do you do or experience there, and why is it meaningful to you?
Essay:
3 years of physics has told me that darkness is the absence of light rays in an environment. In the very same optics chapters, I've learned that reflections are caused by light bouncing off surfaces. Yet, I find it most surprising that I do my best self reflection in the dark.
The time is 9:00, and my students are just filling in. "Good evening, class. I hope you all had a fine day. Today's lesson is going to be on the various functions of the cell. But first let me take attendance". I scan and see Sirius, Betelgeuse, and Polaris all shining brightly at me. In the corner, Aldebaran looks like he's going to fall asleep.
Throughout the day, teachers dump upon me an amount of knowledge that is near impossible to absorb in such a stressful environment. Now, however, I am ready to go back and tackle the information that was given to me.
I settle back in this uneven plastic chair that rocks back and forth on the pavement, tipped by the gentle breeze that surrounds the night. All of a sudden, I am back in the classroom; this time, as the teacher. I take a moment to collect my thoughts and begin lecturing to the stars. Hydrolytic enzymes. Microfilaments and their effect on cell motility. As I teach biology to these giant balls of gas, I find the gaps in my own knowledge. My attempts to describe cellular movement fail, as I realize that my understanding of the extracellular matrix and interactions with the cell isn't as strong as it ought to be. Yet, after attempting to explain it, I find that I have actually found the explanation. I am not the student in this class, yet still I learn.
My class is quiet, but is attentive. I talk to them about my research, how my clash with cancer angiogenesis proceeds. My developments in mathematical modelling haven't been the result of days of algorithm coding and equation solving, but these simple 30 minute sessions, when I sit back and think about my project so far. Even as I complain to Polaris about how my surface area algorithm for the cancer modelling is slow, I find new ways to make it faster. Orion's Belt reminds me of Linkin Logs, a visual that allows me to tackle the algorithm in a whole new way.
People often see my session with the stars much like a Unix programmer piping their output to /dev/null, as a fool's folly. Yet behind all of it is a purpose. The stars might not receive my sound waves for 2 billion years, yet in that short 30 minutes I sit outside,I learn productively, discover different methods, and make new connections.
By now, the ambiance is darker,the stars glow brighter, and the crickets have started chirping in unison. A quick glance at my watch tells me that my class has ended, and ceremoniously, I get up from my rickety lawn chair and make an exit from my lecture hall. As I make the journey, I think about the new algorithm that I'm going to code and the new journey that my research will take me. They say it is darkest before the dawn. For me, I find my dawn in the darkness.
