Hey everyone! My application for NYU is due on Thursday (running out of time!!), and I am having a very difficult time trying to write the essay for my portfolio. Here is the prompt:
Dramatic Essay - Introduce yourself. Describe an unforgettable event in your life and how it changed your perception of yourself or the view of someone close to you. This event can be dramatic and/or comedic. The assignment may be written as a short story in the first person or as an essay.
I was wondering if this paper actually answers the prompt effectively, and if the subject is appropriate. If you have any corrections, comments, suggestions I would sincerely appreciate anything you have to say. Thank you very much!
I am still afraid of chairlifts.
It was a frigid winter day in Salt Lake City, and it was early morning, around five o'clock. My father was rounding up my cousins, my sister, and my uncle, and I was busy suiting up in snow gear. We ventured outside into the cold, in order to load the car with the proper equipment. When everyone was ready to go, we piled into the tan SUV and took off down the road.
The mountain, named Deer Valley, was enormous and was plastered with fresh powder from the night before. People swarmed the face of the mountain, looking like ants tumbling down an anthill. We parked the car, unloaded our gear, and bought our lift tickets. After making sure we all were properly dressed, my father told me to go with him, prompting the others to do whatever they wanted. I was nine years old at the time.
My father and I donned our skis, and we pushed ourselves to the nearest chairlift. The line was quite lengthy, but the lift was moving rather quickly. I had not been a skier for long, and the size of the mountain, coupled with the size and speed of the chairlift, was overwhelming, and very intimidating. While I told my dad about my worries, he assured me that I would be fine, and that it was not a big deal. My heart was beating in my throat, and I prayed the line would start moving slower.
After fifteen minutes, it was our turn to board the lift. This particular chair was a triple, seating my father, an additional skier, and myself. We approached the red line indicating where we should stand, as the chair swung around quickly, and the lift operator took hold of it to slow it down. We were on the lift, moving at a swift pace.
As we burst out of the station, my nostrils instantly froze, and my eyes began to water. I looked around at the tress, looked up at my father, and made the unfortunate mistake of looking down. We were being elevated even higher above the waves of skiers and fresh snowfall, the chair bouncing steadily in the wind. All I could concentrate on was my intense fear of heights, and every imaginable negative outcome of the situation. My father put his hand on my back, and patted me reassuringly. It only made me feel a little safer.
We were still ascending, sometimes raised much higher above the ground, sometimes much closer to the ground. I closed my eyes. The beautiful scenery was passing by, yet I could only think about the lift snapping from its wire support. My father and the random stranger were making small talk, as I tried to shake the feeling of vertigo that consumed me.
At long last, we reached the top of the mountain as signs that read, "Prepare to Unload, Ski Tips Up," came into view. I uneasily wriggled in my seat, trying to find the best, most efficient way to dismount the chair. As we sped into the stop, time slowed to a crawl, and I could only see the landing, nothing more.
The way the exit was laid out was intimidating. There was a steep slope once you were off the lift, and a complete ninety-degree drop off before the landing. On the other side, where the chairlifts headed back down the mountain, there was also a steep drop, but nowhere near as bad.
Time began to speed up again as we reached the platform, and I felt a little more confident in my ability to exit the lift. Just when we were supposed to stand up and unload, the unknown stranger, who was on my right side, extended his arm to steady himself, blocking me from standing and moving forward. My father, who was on my left side, noticed immediately, and while the unknown man exited safely, my father and I were swinging around the curve, being directed back down the mountain. My father grabbed my torso, and I shut my eyes tightly as we jumped from our seat.
We were falling. We were in the air, and I could feel time slowing again, slowing in the darkness of my eyelids, time encasing our sharp descent. All I could think about was how, on the entire ride up, I could only focus on the negative, not taking time to realize where I was, or how fortunate I was to be there. That ten minute ride could have been my last ten minutes; minutes only filled with fear and regret. The chairlift's descent became an accurate portrayal of my life; something I then vowed would never happen again.
In an instant, my perspective changed. Although I was scared, I felt comforted wrapped in my father's arms, being tightly held and protected. I felt the warmth of his protection, the assurance in his hands and, although it was only an instant, the security that he would provide me for the rest of my life. Most of all, I felt loved, loved by my father who would do anything to keep me safe. It was then, falling through the darkness, emptiness, and cold that I realized what love really is, and how important it is to protect it. The relationship of love to life was never more apparent to me. I have to hold on to people, places, and pleasures that I love with all my heart, with a firm grip and never let go, no matter the circumstances. The only way to love and be loved is to pay attention to the positive, not the negative.
From then on, I would meet people, try new things, be with my family, and find a profession that I would enjoy doing, keeping them as close to me as possible. Life goes by too fast to not cherish such things, to not do what you love, and to not be with people you love.
I am still afraid of chairlifts, but I try to make the best of them. I try not to focus on my fears, but instead I admire the view and take a moment to enjoy the beauty and wonder that envelops me. I snowboard now, and while I continue to hold reservations when it comes to boarding chairlifts, I take solace in the fact that I am doing something that I love, regardless of what it takes to do it. After all, the end of the lift always comes sooner than you think.
What happened after this incident is somewhat hazy, but I distinctly remember the last image I witnessed. As my eyes opened, I felt tears pour out of the newly opened floodgates. My father, although he was not crying, was clearly in pain. I was safe, and unharmed. I was lying on my side, still wrapped in my father's arms, watching as the medics came rushing toward us.
Dramatic Essay - Introduce yourself. Describe an unforgettable event in your life and how it changed your perception of yourself or the view of someone close to you. This event can be dramatic and/or comedic. The assignment may be written as a short story in the first person or as an essay.
I was wondering if this paper actually answers the prompt effectively, and if the subject is appropriate. If you have any corrections, comments, suggestions I would sincerely appreciate anything you have to say. Thank you very much!
I am still afraid of chairlifts.
It was a frigid winter day in Salt Lake City, and it was early morning, around five o'clock. My father was rounding up my cousins, my sister, and my uncle, and I was busy suiting up in snow gear. We ventured outside into the cold, in order to load the car with the proper equipment. When everyone was ready to go, we piled into the tan SUV and took off down the road.
The mountain, named Deer Valley, was enormous and was plastered with fresh powder from the night before. People swarmed the face of the mountain, looking like ants tumbling down an anthill. We parked the car, unloaded our gear, and bought our lift tickets. After making sure we all were properly dressed, my father told me to go with him, prompting the others to do whatever they wanted. I was nine years old at the time.
My father and I donned our skis, and we pushed ourselves to the nearest chairlift. The line was quite lengthy, but the lift was moving rather quickly. I had not been a skier for long, and the size of the mountain, coupled with the size and speed of the chairlift, was overwhelming, and very intimidating. While I told my dad about my worries, he assured me that I would be fine, and that it was not a big deal. My heart was beating in my throat, and I prayed the line would start moving slower.
After fifteen minutes, it was our turn to board the lift. This particular chair was a triple, seating my father, an additional skier, and myself. We approached the red line indicating where we should stand, as the chair swung around quickly, and the lift operator took hold of it to slow it down. We were on the lift, moving at a swift pace.
As we burst out of the station, my nostrils instantly froze, and my eyes began to water. I looked around at the tress, looked up at my father, and made the unfortunate mistake of looking down. We were being elevated even higher above the waves of skiers and fresh snowfall, the chair bouncing steadily in the wind. All I could concentrate on was my intense fear of heights, and every imaginable negative outcome of the situation. My father put his hand on my back, and patted me reassuringly. It only made me feel a little safer.
We were still ascending, sometimes raised much higher above the ground, sometimes much closer to the ground. I closed my eyes. The beautiful scenery was passing by, yet I could only think about the lift snapping from its wire support. My father and the random stranger were making small talk, as I tried to shake the feeling of vertigo that consumed me.
At long last, we reached the top of the mountain as signs that read, "Prepare to Unload, Ski Tips Up," came into view. I uneasily wriggled in my seat, trying to find the best, most efficient way to dismount the chair. As we sped into the stop, time slowed to a crawl, and I could only see the landing, nothing more.
The way the exit was laid out was intimidating. There was a steep slope once you were off the lift, and a complete ninety-degree drop off before the landing. On the other side, where the chairlifts headed back down the mountain, there was also a steep drop, but nowhere near as bad.
Time began to speed up again as we reached the platform, and I felt a little more confident in my ability to exit the lift. Just when we were supposed to stand up and unload, the unknown stranger, who was on my right side, extended his arm to steady himself, blocking me from standing and moving forward. My father, who was on my left side, noticed immediately, and while the unknown man exited safely, my father and I were swinging around the curve, being directed back down the mountain. My father grabbed my torso, and I shut my eyes tightly as we jumped from our seat.
We were falling. We were in the air, and I could feel time slowing again, slowing in the darkness of my eyelids, time encasing our sharp descent. All I could think about was how, on the entire ride up, I could only focus on the negative, not taking time to realize where I was, or how fortunate I was to be there. That ten minute ride could have been my last ten minutes; minutes only filled with fear and regret. The chairlift's descent became an accurate portrayal of my life; something I then vowed would never happen again.
In an instant, my perspective changed. Although I was scared, I felt comforted wrapped in my father's arms, being tightly held and protected. I felt the warmth of his protection, the assurance in his hands and, although it was only an instant, the security that he would provide me for the rest of my life. Most of all, I felt loved, loved by my father who would do anything to keep me safe. It was then, falling through the darkness, emptiness, and cold that I realized what love really is, and how important it is to protect it. The relationship of love to life was never more apparent to me. I have to hold on to people, places, and pleasures that I love with all my heart, with a firm grip and never let go, no matter the circumstances. The only way to love and be loved is to pay attention to the positive, not the negative.
From then on, I would meet people, try new things, be with my family, and find a profession that I would enjoy doing, keeping them as close to me as possible. Life goes by too fast to not cherish such things, to not do what you love, and to not be with people you love.
I am still afraid of chairlifts, but I try to make the best of them. I try not to focus on my fears, but instead I admire the view and take a moment to enjoy the beauty and wonder that envelops me. I snowboard now, and while I continue to hold reservations when it comes to boarding chairlifts, I take solace in the fact that I am doing something that I love, regardless of what it takes to do it. After all, the end of the lift always comes sooner than you think.
What happened after this incident is somewhat hazy, but I distinctly remember the last image I witnessed. As my eyes opened, I felt tears pour out of the newly opened floodgates. My father, although he was not crying, was clearly in pain. I was safe, and unharmed. I was lying on my side, still wrapped in my father's arms, watching as the medics came rushing toward us.
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