The prompt is "Tell us about an intellectual experience, project, class, or book that has influenced or inspired you." Any suggestions, especially with my conclusion, are appreciated.
With dwindling patience and a growing feeling of panic in the pit of my stomach, I tried desperately to unravel and comprehend the massive web of pink, blue and green lines on the wall in front of me. The crowd of smartly dressed Parisian men and women pushed past me in an effort to make it onto the train before the doors closed. Each sign that could have possibly given me any assistance was written in an unfamiliar language, and I could not help wishing that I had spent the last three years of school in French class rather than Spanish. Clearly, it had been ludicrous to suggest that I, a vacationing fifteen-year-old who spoke only English and limited Spanish, was capable of being on my own in a city so foreign to me, even for only an hour.
I had exactly fifteen minutes to find my way back to the hotel to meet my parents. Fifteen minutes to learn to read French, to decipher the intimidating subway map, and to run from the subway station to the motel. And to think it had all seemed like such a good idea an hour ago. I stared hopelessly at the web of lines until I saw the word "Argentine". The same word was on the signs posted on every wall of the station. Finally, I at least knew where I was. Perhaps there was hope for me.
After a few more seconds of scanning the map, I found the name of my destination, Marx Dormoy. Quickly and carefully, I planned my course of action, when to switch trains, at which station, and which way to go once I got on the next train. Within moments, I was departing the train at Franklin D. Roosevelt, my first stop. Finding my way around the station itself proved even more difficult than deciphering the map itself. I searched the signs for slightly familiar words, hoping to draw on my knowledge of the Spanish language, similar enough to French, to determine what the signs were telling me. Eventually, I found my way through the next three stops, finally arriving to meet my parents near Marx Dormoy, only five minutes late.
Before then, I would have thought of an "intellectual experience" as something that I could only have in school, however this is the only way I can define my day in Paris. Although the incident was far from pleasant at the time, I had to think critically and problem-solve to decipher the map, and was even able to draw on my foreign language experience to interpret the French signs. I hope to have the opportunity to further develop my knowledge and skills at Brown.
With dwindling patience and a growing feeling of panic in the pit of my stomach, I tried desperately to unravel and comprehend the massive web of pink, blue and green lines on the wall in front of me. The crowd of smartly dressed Parisian men and women pushed past me in an effort to make it onto the train before the doors closed. Each sign that could have possibly given me any assistance was written in an unfamiliar language, and I could not help wishing that I had spent the last three years of school in French class rather than Spanish. Clearly, it had been ludicrous to suggest that I, a vacationing fifteen-year-old who spoke only English and limited Spanish, was capable of being on my own in a city so foreign to me, even for only an hour.
I had exactly fifteen minutes to find my way back to the hotel to meet my parents. Fifteen minutes to learn to read French, to decipher the intimidating subway map, and to run from the subway station to the motel. And to think it had all seemed like such a good idea an hour ago. I stared hopelessly at the web of lines until I saw the word "Argentine". The same word was on the signs posted on every wall of the station. Finally, I at least knew where I was. Perhaps there was hope for me.
After a few more seconds of scanning the map, I found the name of my destination, Marx Dormoy. Quickly and carefully, I planned my course of action, when to switch trains, at which station, and which way to go once I got on the next train. Within moments, I was departing the train at Franklin D. Roosevelt, my first stop. Finding my way around the station itself proved even more difficult than deciphering the map itself. I searched the signs for slightly familiar words, hoping to draw on my knowledge of the Spanish language, similar enough to French, to determine what the signs were telling me. Eventually, I found my way through the next three stops, finally arriving to meet my parents near Marx Dormoy, only five minutes late.
Before then, I would have thought of an "intellectual experience" as something that I could only have in school, however this is the only way I can define my day in Paris. Although the incident was far from pleasant at the time, I had to think critically and problem-solve to decipher the map, and was even able to draw on my foreign language experience to interpret the French signs. I hope to have the opportunity to further develop my knowledge and skills at Brown.