Question:The quality of Rice's academic life and the Residential College System are heavily influenced by the unique life experiences and cultural traditions each student brings. What perspective do you feel that you will contribute to life at Rice?
Ok this is a reallly rough draft, so i know it still needs a lot of work and its really choppy but i was just wondering if the content is good for the essay question. Is the topic of religion too intense? Also, i'm going to add a paragraph or two at the end about how this experience specifically will contribute to life at rice, so here it is:
We are all lining up outside the door, waiting to get a peek at what is inside. The heat is intense, my knee length skirt being burdensome and sticking to my legs. But, I can feel the mounting excitement and expectation. To any of my friends at home, what I was about to do, and hear, they think would be a hoax, staged, set up. But I know, if I am to hear anything, than it's real. The past three weeks that I've spent fasting, praying, singing hymns, and loving God were enough of a dedication for me to feel more in touch with my Orthodox religion than ever before. Finally, I cross the threshold and see the marble tomb lying in the center. They quietly instruct us what to do: put your ear up against the cold marble, knock, and wait for Saint Nectarios to come knocking back. There's three of us surrounding the tomb, all expecting to hear absolutely nothing, but hoping, and praying, that we will hear even the faintest sounds. I put my ear to the tomb, I knock, and I wait. I hear nothing, figuring that it is all a myth anyway and telling myself that that's what I expected all along. But, I put my ear to the tomb again, knowing that I will probably never again be at this quaint monastery in the hills of the Greek island of Aegina. And this time I hear a scratching, first faint, and then much louder. The three of us quickly jerk our heads up, and at once ask each other "was that you?". But, no, it wasn't any of us, the only thing that made that sound was St. Nectarios himself, dead for the last ninety years, but still very much alive. Never before has my belief in my faith been as strong as it was in the moment that I walked away from that tomb, fully confident that I would never question my religion again. As I walk into the gift shop I had bypassed earlier, thinking that I had already bought enough icons on this trip, I buy one of St. Nectarios so I can always remember what I heard, and what I felt on a small island in the Aegean sea off the coast of Greece.
Ok this is a reallly rough draft, so i know it still needs a lot of work and its really choppy but i was just wondering if the content is good for the essay question. Is the topic of religion too intense? Also, i'm going to add a paragraph or two at the end about how this experience specifically will contribute to life at rice, so here it is:
We are all lining up outside the door, waiting to get a peek at what is inside. The heat is intense, my knee length skirt being burdensome and sticking to my legs. But, I can feel the mounting excitement and expectation. To any of my friends at home, what I was about to do, and hear, they think would be a hoax, staged, set up. But I know, if I am to hear anything, than it's real. The past three weeks that I've spent fasting, praying, singing hymns, and loving God were enough of a dedication for me to feel more in touch with my Orthodox religion than ever before. Finally, I cross the threshold and see the marble tomb lying in the center. They quietly instruct us what to do: put your ear up against the cold marble, knock, and wait for Saint Nectarios to come knocking back. There's three of us surrounding the tomb, all expecting to hear absolutely nothing, but hoping, and praying, that we will hear even the faintest sounds. I put my ear to the tomb, I knock, and I wait. I hear nothing, figuring that it is all a myth anyway and telling myself that that's what I expected all along. But, I put my ear to the tomb again, knowing that I will probably never again be at this quaint monastery in the hills of the Greek island of Aegina. And this time I hear a scratching, first faint, and then much louder. The three of us quickly jerk our heads up, and at once ask each other "was that you?". But, no, it wasn't any of us, the only thing that made that sound was St. Nectarios himself, dead for the last ninety years, but still very much alive. Never before has my belief in my faith been as strong as it was in the moment that I walked away from that tomb, fully confident that I would never question my religion again. As I walk into the gift shop I had bypassed earlier, thinking that I had already bought enough icons on this trip, I buy one of St. Nectarios so I can always remember what I heard, and what I felt on a small island in the Aegean sea off the coast of Greece.
