Imagine looking through a window at any environment that is particularly significant to you. Reflect on the scene, paying close attention to the relation between what you are
seeing and why it is meaningful to you. Please limit your statement to 300 words.
350 words too long?
"Oi primo, como foi a sua viajem?"
"Errr... muito obrigado," I responded nervously. My Brazilian cousin smirked. Was it that obvious that I don't speak Portuguese? My mother was born in Brazil, which automatically makes me a Brazilian citizen. But, having lived in the United States all my life, I wondered if I was Brazilian in any way other than legal status.
For weeks I had jittered with anticipation. White sand. Warm water. Plenty of bikini-clad girls. That was my postcard, picture-perfect image of Rio de Janiero, home of Copacabana and Carnival. Therefore, it was with reluctance and an edge of chagrin that I agreed to give up a few of my precious hours in the city in order to see its other side - favelas (slums) and abject poverty. Almost immediately after I left the airport, I traveled to the institute where my great uncle had served as a missionary, a place where my mother and her cousins spent hours playing with slum kids in their childhood. Like the language, this part of Brazil was completely foreign to me. I trekked up the steep embankment through a jungle of shanty houses stacked precariously on top of one another, ducking under vines of pirated electricity and intricate webs of water pipes. Among these dilapidated dwellings I expected to find downtrodden people overcome by poverty. Rather, I found a community more vibrant than in the manicured suburbs of my hometown. While I expected to be treated as an outsider I was instead greeted warmly by strangers eager to hear my story. As I ventured out of my reserved shell, smiling and making eye contact with the people I encountered, the language barrier began to crumble. After about three hours, we returned to the bottom of the hill. As I sat in the car waiting to leave, I took one last look out the window. A child from the favela smiled and waved. What I saw out that window you would never find on a postcard. I saw what Brazil now means to me. I finally felt - almost - a Brasileiro.
I really love this essay.
However, if the application says 300 words, it means 300 words. Don't go above it. You might think admissions won't catch on, but they will.
... Rio de Janiero, home of Copacabana and Carnival .
... the people I encountered, the language barrier began to crumbled . After about three hours, we returned to the bottom of the hill.Later, as I sat in the car waiting to leave, ...
There are just a few words you can cut out. I know it sucks to shrink it and don't lose the essence, but you need to cut out those last few words. With these edits you lost 15 words..Good luck!
Check mine?
