ESSAY PROMPT: 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? (Two or three double-spaced pages)
Sunny Side Up
In today's age of greasy fries and triple stacked burgers, health nuts are proclaiming the old "you are what you eat" adage in an effort to curb society's harmful ways. Little do dieticians know that trans fat and high sodium levels aren't the only culprits of unhealthiness; the "milk and cereal" people of the world, enslaved to habit, are also in desperate need of change. For a whole seven years, I was one of them.
Each morning, I would be greeted by the same, familiar scene. A box of Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds loomed over an empty bowl and a silver spoon. A garish mug, purchased for a dollar ten years ago, was brimful with skim milk. Despite being emblazoned with candy hearts and endearments reserved for Valentine's Day, it refused to be kept in a cupboard for 364 days of the year.
I clung to this unchanging sight, knowing that there was one thing that would endure the fluctuations of elementary school and junior high. Wallowing in complacency, I began each day absent-mindedly staring out the window while stuffing spoonfuls of cereal into my mouth. Though my mom implored me to eat a peach or a fried egg with my morning fare, I refused, aghast that she wanted to desecrate my ritual. Life in general seemed as mundane as my breakfast; a fixed routine, regulated by periods and bells, was ingrained in my mind, and any change, if not for the better, was unwelcome.
Stumbling to the kitchen one morning, I peered, through bleary eyes, to behold the familiar shapes. The cereal box, the empty bowl, and the mug were all there.
However, my peaceful microcosm had been disturbed.
The three offenders were resting on a plate at the center of the table. To an ignorant eye they were rather unsightly - ovular shapes tainted grimy yellow with thin brown lines carved across the surface, forming the illusion of cracks. They appeared as though a child had left his tennis balls in the mud, which was baked by the harsh sun into dry clay. In any case, the intruder could've been strawberry shortcake, and I still would've been bothered.
"What is this, mama?" I demanded.
"Mimi-ah! This is 茶叶蛋 (tea leaf egg)," she explained. "I ate this back in China when I was your age. Try it!"
I stared at the strange eggs warily, for they didn't even resemble the conventional scrambled or fried egg. If anything, they took after the hatching reptile eggs on the science room posters. Perhaps, I figured, I could just stuff the thing in my mouth, feign a smile, and resume eating my milk and cereal. It would be less troublesome than rejecting her offer and then being lectured about every nutritional benefit the tea leaf egg contained. My mother watched imploringly as I grabbed a fork and speared the egg with haste. With one last look at the ugly morsel, I took a bite.
I had already started reaching over to grab the beloved box of cereal when, unexpectedly, a wave of smells and tastes crashed onto the shore of my perception. The rich aroma of soy sauce, spiced with cinnamon and star anise, created a flavor that put another bite of the tea leaf egg in the realm of possibility. While I nibbled at the yolk, the fond taste of honey glazed flakes and oat clusters faded along with the urgency of my breakfast habit.
As drab mornings slowly crawled by, the presence of the cereal box and empty bowl became altogether nonexistent at the table. Other Chinese pastries soon accompanied the arrival of the tea leaf egg. Even coffee occasionally replaced my mug of skim milk on the days when badminton tournaments required that I arrive on Saturday at an ungodly 6:00 AM. When sophomore year began, food was no longer simply delivered to my placemat. I began taking an active role in the creation of my meal with my mother's assistance, whether it was by cracking eggs onto a frying pan or filling buns with red bean paste. No longer was I pouring pre-made cereal out of a cardboard box; the diversity of breakfast colored the mornings with uncertainty and transformed me into a versatile "egg" person.
The monotony of my existence was banished as breakfast became a time of change and curiosity. Time itself was no longer governed by a series of ticks on the clock, but instead was swelling with experiences on the verge of being created. Sure, there are mornings when breakfast is just a bowl of cereal and a cup of milk, but life, full of its quirks and surprises, still goes on. It is not what is eaten that distinguishes the "milk and cereal" person from the "egg" person, but it is the perspective they bring to the breakfast table each morning that draws the line. To the University of Chicago, I bring a perspective eager to embrace life's quirks and surprises. I bring the open mind of a maturing girl ready to contribute to her environment and hopeful that it will enrich her as well. Also, I bring the knowledge of how to cook a mean scrambled egg, which always tastes better with ketchup on the side.
Questions:
- how well do I answer the prompt? do i show that i have a unique perspective/cultural tradition to contribute?
- do I show my perspective shift well in my essay?
- transitions? i feel that the second to last paragraph is especially choppy. also, do i paragraph to often? there are many paragraphs that consist of a few or one sentence.
- grammar? things that need to be rewritten?
Any advice is welcome.
Thank you so much! :)
Also, here's a photo of a tea egg for those who are unfamiliar. I don't know if I described it too well...
i14.photobucket.com/albums/a306/digitalmuse/Food/Marbled_Tea_Eggs.jpg
Sunny Side Up
In today's age of greasy fries and triple stacked burgers, health nuts are proclaiming the old "you are what you eat" adage in an effort to curb society's harmful ways. Little do dieticians know that trans fat and high sodium levels aren't the only culprits of unhealthiness; the "milk and cereal" people of the world, enslaved to habit, are also in desperate need of change. For a whole seven years, I was one of them.
Each morning, I would be greeted by the same, familiar scene. A box of Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds loomed over an empty bowl and a silver spoon. A garish mug, purchased for a dollar ten years ago, was brimful with skim milk. Despite being emblazoned with candy hearts and endearments reserved for Valentine's Day, it refused to be kept in a cupboard for 364 days of the year.
I clung to this unchanging sight, knowing that there was one thing that would endure the fluctuations of elementary school and junior high. Wallowing in complacency, I began each day absent-mindedly staring out the window while stuffing spoonfuls of cereal into my mouth. Though my mom implored me to eat a peach or a fried egg with my morning fare, I refused, aghast that she wanted to desecrate my ritual. Life in general seemed as mundane as my breakfast; a fixed routine, regulated by periods and bells, was ingrained in my mind, and any change, if not for the better, was unwelcome.
Stumbling to the kitchen one morning, I peered, through bleary eyes, to behold the familiar shapes. The cereal box, the empty bowl, and the mug were all there.
However, my peaceful microcosm had been disturbed.
The three offenders were resting on a plate at the center of the table. To an ignorant eye they were rather unsightly - ovular shapes tainted grimy yellow with thin brown lines carved across the surface, forming the illusion of cracks. They appeared as though a child had left his tennis balls in the mud, which was baked by the harsh sun into dry clay. In any case, the intruder could've been strawberry shortcake, and I still would've been bothered.
"What is this, mama?" I demanded.
"Mimi-ah! This is 茶叶蛋 (tea leaf egg)," she explained. "I ate this back in China when I was your age. Try it!"
I stared at the strange eggs warily, for they didn't even resemble the conventional scrambled or fried egg. If anything, they took after the hatching reptile eggs on the science room posters. Perhaps, I figured, I could just stuff the thing in my mouth, feign a smile, and resume eating my milk and cereal. It would be less troublesome than rejecting her offer and then being lectured about every nutritional benefit the tea leaf egg contained. My mother watched imploringly as I grabbed a fork and speared the egg with haste. With one last look at the ugly morsel, I took a bite.
I had already started reaching over to grab the beloved box of cereal when, unexpectedly, a wave of smells and tastes crashed onto the shore of my perception. The rich aroma of soy sauce, spiced with cinnamon and star anise, created a flavor that put another bite of the tea leaf egg in the realm of possibility. While I nibbled at the yolk, the fond taste of honey glazed flakes and oat clusters faded along with the urgency of my breakfast habit.
As drab mornings slowly crawled by, the presence of the cereal box and empty bowl became altogether nonexistent at the table. Other Chinese pastries soon accompanied the arrival of the tea leaf egg. Even coffee occasionally replaced my mug of skim milk on the days when badminton tournaments required that I arrive on Saturday at an ungodly 6:00 AM. When sophomore year began, food was no longer simply delivered to my placemat. I began taking an active role in the creation of my meal with my mother's assistance, whether it was by cracking eggs onto a frying pan or filling buns with red bean paste. No longer was I pouring pre-made cereal out of a cardboard box; the diversity of breakfast colored the mornings with uncertainty and transformed me into a versatile "egg" person.
The monotony of my existence was banished as breakfast became a time of change and curiosity. Time itself was no longer governed by a series of ticks on the clock, but instead was swelling with experiences on the verge of being created. Sure, there are mornings when breakfast is just a bowl of cereal and a cup of milk, but life, full of its quirks and surprises, still goes on. It is not what is eaten that distinguishes the "milk and cereal" person from the "egg" person, but it is the perspective they bring to the breakfast table each morning that draws the line. To the University of Chicago, I bring a perspective eager to embrace life's quirks and surprises. I bring the open mind of a maturing girl ready to contribute to her environment and hopeful that it will enrich her as well. Also, I bring the knowledge of how to cook a mean scrambled egg, which always tastes better with ketchup on the side.
Questions:
- how well do I answer the prompt? do i show that i have a unique perspective/cultural tradition to contribute?
- do I show my perspective shift well in my essay?
- transitions? i feel that the second to last paragraph is especially choppy. also, do i paragraph to often? there are many paragraphs that consist of a few or one sentence.
- grammar? things that need to be rewritten?
Any advice is welcome.
Thank you so much! :)
Also, here's a photo of a tea egg for those who are unfamiliar. I don't know if I described it too well...
i14.photobucket.com/albums/a306/digitalmuse/Food/Marbled_Tea_Eggs.jpg
