"My time with her count." - CommonApp essay - Evaluate a significant experience

This is the first draft of this essay - I just finished it, and haven't edited it AT ALL yet. I basically want to know if I'm headed in the right direction, and if there are any suggestions, etc. Thank you!

The doors of the white van were finally closing, and the last of the kids were finding a seat, lap, or piece of the floor to sit on. I squinted in the mid-afternoon sun, trying to find her sweet little face through the grimy windows. My eyes scanned the faces, all of them a deep brown with dark eyes and, as of today, with huge grins plastered on their faces. I couldn't help but smile as I looked at them all, but there was only one I needed to find. Just as the panic crept its way into my chest, there she was. She was pressed again the very back window, her pink shirt stuck to the glass. As my eyes met hers, I realized she had been looking at me the entire time. My smile widened, and I waved at her. The van rumbled to a start, and just as it began to pull away, she shot me a thumbs-up through the window, and my heart nearly fell to pieces.

It had been three days since we had first set foot on the farm. It had taken a two hour plane trip to Phnom Penh, Cambodia, a five hour bus ride to Battambong, and another two hour van trek on the unpaved paths of rural Battambong to finally get us to this farm, located in the middle of absolutely nowhere. We had arrived that first day sweaty, tired, and more than a little apprehensive. As we stood on the outskirts of the farm, our translators told us just one simple fact. "These people, especially the children, have never seen any type of foreigner before," they said, "and it's very likely that they never will again." In the silence that followed, one thing was left unspoken - so make it count.

We were told that we would be rotating through three "stations" each day. We would alternate between creating a compost pile, planting a new field of crops, and playing with the local children that had come to visit. Of course, all twenty of us were most eager to play with the kids - it was the primary reason we had all come on this trip. My group, made up of four girls (including myself), drew the lucky card and were first to play with the kids. Our instructions were fairly simple. We were to do something easy to follow, because the kids didn't understand a word of English. We had opted to do the simplest thing we could think of - we were teaching the kids how to dance the YMCA. I had been nominated, mostly against my will, to lead the instruction.

As I stood in front of them, my friend Julie hit the play button of our boombox. Suddenly, thirty pairs of wide brown eyes were staring at me, clueless as to what to do and not a hint of amusement present on their faces. I felt like a complete idiot as I jumped, clapped, and disco-pointed my way through half of the song, praying that eventually, they would start to follow me. My prayers were soon answered as one little girl in a bright pink t-shirt jumped to the front of the group, shouted something in Khmer (the Cambodian dialect), and started copying me. The shift was miraculous - in seconds, they were all mirroring the two of us, smiles sneaking across their dirt-streaked faces. I grinned at the little girl next to me, wanting to badly to thank her. Without words at my disposal, I did the only thing I could think of - I gave her a thumbs-up. Her brows knit with confusion - she clearly didn't recognize what I thought was an international symbol - and she finally grinned back at me. I had a new dance partner, and a new favorite child.

For the next three days, our group returned to dance with the kids, choosing new songs every day. Each day, my little girl stuck right by my side, teaching her friends and peers what we were failing to teach them. I watched as all of the kids warmed up to us, their giggles bursting the silence that had previously existed because of our language barrier. Each day, I thanked my little helper the only way I knew how - my classic thumbs-up. Though she may not have understood it, she always smiled back.

Before we knew it, our three days were up. The compost pile was complete, the field was tilled and full of seeds, and we had thirty very tiny new friends. That afternoon, a filthy white van pulled up to the farm to take all the kids back to their homes and away from us. The tears welled up in all of our eyes as we watched the kids we had grown so fond of pile into the van, their smiling faces blurred behind grimy windows. My eyes finally landed on my little helper, and I waved at her. The van was revving up to leave, and I watched in awe as her tiny little hand formed itself into a thumbs-up. A single tear rolled down my cheek as I realized that in one tiny action, she was thanking me. I had made my time with her count.

So fire away. :) I can take criticism, no matter how harsh.

You're on the right track in describing the experience. You do so vividly, although you will need to do some pruning (metaphor chosen in deference to your agricultural experience) in order to now do what the prompt asks you to do, not just tell but evaluate a significant experience.


Hmmm... How did you know this? Could you, perhaps, demonstrate your capacity for empathy by imagining all of the different thoughts or feelings this girl might have had for you and all of the different things she might have been feeling while driving away from an experience that, for her, was much bigger than just her time with you? Is it possible that she was simply saying goodbye or that, sensing your sorrow, was trying to tell you that everything was going to be okay?

Speaking of the thumbs up gesture, this might be an opening for you to show some retrospective awareness of your cultural lack of knowledge. That gesture is not universal. In China, it means "one" as an upraised index finger would mean to you. In Iran, the gesture is vulgar, as an upraised middle finger would be here.

What else about the experience was significant for you? Did you only care about playing with the children or did you learn something of value from the agricultural work? These are just some of the questions you might ask yourself in order to turn this lovely descriptive essay into a thoughtful reflection on a significant experience.

Okay thanks, that's actually really really helpful. What if I added quite a bit to the ending, such as this? This cuts the last paragraph, then expands.

She always smiled. They all did. Each one of those kids, by the end of our time with them, had laughed with us (or at us, I suppose), smiled with us, even danced with us. At first, it didn't seem that significant; they were kids, we were playing, of course they were happy. However, it only took one glance around the tiny farm to realize how phenomenal it truly was. We were in the middle of nowhere, on a farm in which life consisted of no more than the food you grew and the clothes on your back. Most of these kids would never go to school or leave this farm. But beyond that, this was a place of deep-rooted pain. Just past our happy, dancing circle of children, an elderly Cambodian couple sat on the deck of their shack. They were by far the oldest people on the farm, the next oldest being in their twenties. These two had been two of the very few survivors of the Khmer Rouge's reign of terror. They had lost their home, their livelihood, and their entire family in the Killing Fields, leaving only the very youngest of their grandchildren. Their physical and emotional scars were evident, even though they tried to hide them. Behind their smiles was a pain that could never go away, the pain of an entire nation. It seemed an impossible burden to lift.

These kids, however, made me believe otherwise. Maybe they would never move past this farm, though the thought was heartbreaking. They would, however, have the opportunity to move past the pain of the Killing Fields, as they were the first generation that hadn't been directly affected by the Khmer Rouge. They had the opportunity to outgrow it, to make more of their lives than simply trying to rebuild what their lives had been before the Khmer Rouge took it all away. They would lead happy, full lives, whether or not they were of the same standards as mine or any of my classmates. With each of their smiles, I started to believe that maybe it was possible to find happiness again.

Before we knew it, our three days were up. The compost pile was complete, the field was tilled and full of seeds, and we had thirty very tiny new friends. That afternoon, a filthy white van pulled up to the farm to take all the kids back to their homes and away from us. The tears welled up in all of our eyes as we watched the kids we had grown so fond of pile into the van, their smiling faces blurred behind grimy windows. My eyes finally landed on my little helper, and I waved at her. The van was revving up to leave, and I watched in awe as her tiny little hand formed itself into a thumbs-up. A single tear rolled down my cheek as I realized that in one tiny action, she was thanking me. Because of her, I left Cambodia realizing that anything, whether it be a language barrier or a national sadness, could be overcome. I had truly made my time with her count.

***EDIT: I realize that I'll probably need to cut quite a bit, as the essay is now about 1200 words, and that's excessive, right?

Don't worry about the word count unless one is given. Just worry about making sure that every sentence is engaging and necessary.

I like the content that you added, which shows that you have some curiosity about and knowledge of the region you were visiting and which also now at least hints at self-awareness in the realm of cultural competency.

I'm still struggling with your assumption that she was thanking you. Perhaps she was simply saying "I liked you too. Goodbye!"or "Let's dance again someday." You just don't know. Why does this matter? Americans abroad are always assuming that those with whom they have had contact are grateful to them. Perhaps this was true in this case, but also perhaps not. Why not stay with being touched that, even though you did not learn her language, she tried to learn yours and spoke to you in it as the bus rolled away? That mute gesture -- possibly misunderstood on both sides (who knows what she thought you meant by it?) -- speaks volumes of the effort of people to reach one another across cultural and economic divides. To me, that's much more emotionally powerful than simplistically assuming she was thanking you.

That's not entirely the point...but if that's how it comes across, then I'll try to change it. I just mean that there was some form of communication - she understood me in some way. I guess thank is a bad word choice...

Feel your way through this question. It's important. You're very insightful as well as expressive. It will be worth your while to reflect further on this genuine moment of contact.

^Isnt phenomenal a bit too powerful of a word for this context?

My eyes finally landed on my little helper, and I waved at her. The van was revving up to leave, and I watched in awe as her tiny little hand formed itself into a thumbs-up.

^She could have also been signalling to you that you did a good job. It does show appreciation, which can be interpreted as being thankful. It could have also been a 'nice knowin ya' or 'this was cool' kind of thing.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I realized that in one tiny action, she was thanking me. Because of her, I left Cambodia realizing that anything, whether it be a language barrier or a national sadness, could be overcome.

^Did you realize this, just because of a thumbs up? I find it quite amazing, how you 'realized' that 'ANYTHING' can be overcome, just because your little helper gave you a thumbs up...perhaps 'anything' is a bit too broad of a word.

Also, earlier, you had focused on the 'physical and emotional scars' of the two elderly people. Then, you say, that the young ones ' were the first generation that hadn't been directly affected by the Khmer Rouge'

^So, whilst the previous generation are 'sad', you kind of suggest that the younglings are not necessarily, 'sad', but are perhaps more oppressed due to the movement but do have the opportunities to 'outgrow it'. Alright, but then in that case, does it necessarily make it a 'national sadness'. From what I can interpret from your essay, the youthful are more hopeful, than sad.

I was in Tanzania last year, and did some volunteer work with some Masaii tribes, and even though the children's living standards and circumstances are totally different from mine, they did not seem 'sad'. Perhaps, it is 'saddening' to see people's lives be completely contrasted to ours.


^What exactly are you trying to say? I think your essay is quite well written, and naturally, the hardest parts to write are the introduction and the conclusion and these should aim to be the most striking in some way. Particularly the conclusion in my opinion. What are you trying to conclude here? Also, you should mention how this experience has 'influnced' you as a person.