Common Application Personal Statement
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Looking for examples of past college essays that worked? These are some admissions essays that our officers thought were most successful.
ShaanMerchant '19
Nashville, TN
“Biogeochemical. It's a word, I promise!” There are shrieks andshouts in protest and support. Unacceptable insults are thrown, degrees andqualifications are questioned, I think even a piece of my grandmother'sfamously flakey parantha whizzes past my ear. Everyone is too lazy to take outa dictionary (or even their phones) to look it up, so we just hash it out. Andthen, I am crowned the victor, a true success in the Merchant household. But itis fleeting, as the small, glossy, plastic tiles, perfectly connected to formmy winning word, are snatched out from under me and thrown in a pile with allthe disgraced, “unwinning” tiles as we mix for our next game of Bananagrams.It's a similar donnybrook, this time ending with my father arguing that it isokay to use “Rambo” as a word (it totally is not).
Words and communicating have always been of tremendousimportance in my life: from silly games like Bananagrams and our road-tripfavorite “word game,” to stunted communication between opposing grandparents,each speaking a different Indian language; from trying to understand thecheesemonger behind the counter with a deep southern drawl (I just want someCamembert!), to shaping a script to make people laugh.
Words are moving and changing; they have influence andsubstance. Words, as I like them, create powerful flavor combinations in arecipe or (hopefully) powerful guffaws from a stand-up joke. They make peoplelaugh with unexpected storylines at an improv show and make people cry withmouthwatering descriptions of crisp green beans lathered with potently saltyand delightfully creamy fish sauce vinaigrette at Girl and the Goat. Wordscreate everything I love (except maybe my dog and my mom, but you know, theideas). The thought that something this small, a word, can combine to create ahuge concept, just like each small reaction that makes up differentbiogeochemical cycles (it's a stretch, I know), is truly amazing.
After those aggressive games, my family is quickly able to, inthe words of a fellow Nashvillian, “shake it off.” We gather around bowls of mygrandmother's steaming rice and cumin-spiced chicken (food is always, always atthe center of it), and enjoy. By the end of the meal, our words have changed,changed from the belligerent razzle dazzle of moments before to fart jokes andgrandparental concern over the state of our bowels.
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KatherineGlass '18
Dana Hall School, MA
A portrait of Julia Child leans precariously on my bedside tablecompeting for space with sticky notes, pennies, and a plastic alarm clock.Julia has been my role model ever since I spent an hour at the SmithsonianAmerican History Museum watching cooking show after cooking show. As shedropped eggs, burnt soufflés, and prepared a whole pig, she never took herselftoo seriously and with her goofy smile and accompanying laugh. And yet, she wasas successful in her field as anyone could ever be. Her passion completelyguided her career. She taught me that it does not matter what I choose to do,it only matters that I do it with my whole self; zealously and humorously.
Unlike Julia, I do not aspire to be a chef. Brownies out of abox may just be the highlight of my baking career. Something I have beenpassionate about for my whole life, however, is teaching. The first traces ofmy excitement came from a summer camp that I founded when I was seven yearsold. Motivated by too many imperfect summer camp experiences, I established myideal summer camp, one in which campers could choose their activities, frombanana split tutorials to wacky hat-making. So that year it began, with sevenfive-year-old campers in my backyard. For six consecutive years, I ran mysummer camp, each year tweaking and improving from the years before.
Chebeague Island, Maine, established a preschool in the springof 2012, run out of a trailer by a recent college graduate. I volunteered as anintern. For three months, I helped organize for the summer and the followingyear. I took out the trash, cleaned, and sorted toys, all while studying how toincorporate educational material into preschool activities. I wrote curriculumand researched preschool regulations to ensure that we were in compliance. Wecreated a safe classroom, an academic plan for the upcoming year, and a balancebetween learning and playing in the classroom. By the end of the summer theintern became the co-director of the summer preschool program.
This past June, I returned to the trailer to find the space andprogram in complete disarray. Since the previous summer, the preschool had seentwo new directors and the latest was spread thin, juggling maintenance,finances and curriculum planning. My progress had not endured. After sulkingfor a week, I decided I was better suited to envelop Julia’s mentality. Whatdid she do when she flipped a burger onto the ground? She smiled, laughed atthe camera, picked it up, reshaped it a little, and kept right on going. Sothat’s what I did. I brought in a group of friends to clean and organize thetrailer. I initiated a “lobster-roll” fundraiser, and Island lobstermen donatedlobsters while their wives came together to pick meat from the shells. It waswildly successful and thrived on the community’s spirit. Then I worked toreinstate some sort of educational value into the summer program. We danced toSpanish and Ghanaian music, crafted wacky hats, and read books about thelobstering industry, an aspect of their community that is so significant.
My past two summers have been exhausting and all too frequently frustrating butultimately the Chebeague Island Preschool, along with many other teachingexperiences, has exposed me to the ground level of education policy in theUnited States. After this past summer my goal is to become a future U.S.Secretary of Education.
So my portrait of Julia is by my bedside to remind me. Remind methat throughout the tedium of my extremely busy life there is something that Iam passionate about. To remind me that personality and humor are essential tosuccess. And remind me that the sort of passion I need to succeed is not thetype that will let me give in to small setbacks along the way.
BridgetCollins '19
North Andover, MA
I have always loved riding in cars. After a long day in firstgrade, I used to fall asleep to the engine purring in my mother's HondaOdyssey, even though it was only a 5-minute drive home. As I grew, andgraduated into the shotgun seat, it became natural and enjoyable to look outthe window. Seeing my world passing by through that smudged glass, I woulddaydream what I could do with it.
In elementary school, I already knew my career path: I was goingto be Emperor of the World. While I sat in the car and watched the miles passby, I developed the plan for my empire. I reasoned that, for the world to runsmoothly, it would have to look presentable. I would assign people, aptly namedFixer-Uppers, to fix everything that needed fixing. That old man down thestreet with chipping paint on his house would have a fresh coat in no time. Theboy who accidentally tossed his Frisbee onto the roof of the school would getit back. The big pothole on Elm Street that my mother managed to hit everysingle day on the way to school would be filled-in. It made perfect sense! Allthe people that didn't have a job could be Fixer-Uppers. I was like aten-year-old FDR.
Seven years down the road, I still take a second glance at thesidewalk cracks and think of my Fixer-Uppers, but now I'm doing so from thedriver's seat. As much as I would enjoy it, I now accept that I won't becomeEmperor of the World, and that the Fixer-Uppers will have to remain in my carride imaginings. Or do they? I always pictured a Fixer-Upper as a smiling manin an orange T-Shirt. Maybe instead, a Fixer-Upper could be a tall girl with adeep love for Yankee Candles. Maybe it could be me.
Bridget the Fixer-Upper will be slightly different than theimaginary one who paints houses and fetches Frisbees. I was lucky enough todiscover what I am passionate about when I was a freshman in high school. Aself-admitted Phys. Ed. addict, I volunteered to help out with the Adapted PEclass. On my first day, I learned that it was for developmentally-disabledstudents.To be honest, I was really nervous. I hadn't had too much interactionwith special needs students before, and wasn't sure how to handle myself aroundthem. Long story short, I got hooked. Three years have passed helping out inAPE and eventually becoming a teacher in the Applied Behavior Analysis summerprogram. I love working with the students and watching them progress.
When senior year arrived, college meetings began, and mycounselor asked me what I wanted to do for a career, I didn't say Emperor ofthe World. Instead, I told him I wanted to become a board-certified behavioranalyst. A BCBA helps develop learning plans for students with autism and otherdisabilities. Basically, I would get to do what I love for the rest of my life.He laughed and told me that it was a nice change that a seventeen-year-old knewso specifically what she wanted to do. I smiled, thanked him, and left. But itoccurred to me that, while my desired occupation was decided, my true goal inlife was still to become a Fixer-Upper. So, maybe I'll be like Sue Storm andher alter-ego, the Invisible Woman. I'll do one thing during the day, thenspend my off-hours helping people where I can. Instead of flying like Sue,though, I'll opt for a nice performance automobile. My childhood self wouldappreciate that.
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AubreyAnderson '19
Eugene, OR
My eyes are flickering across the pages as I sit in my roomreading a book, but my mind is elsewhere. I'm focused on quantum computing andcryptography. Suddenly, I'm starting to understand Shor's quantum factoringalgorithm. It doesn't make sense why that understanding is arising now, butthat's what happens to me. I jump up from my bed to type at my computer, tryingto take advantage of the moment of clarity. My mind is completely focused onthe task at hand. I switch off my music, plunging myself into a place of utmostconcentration. Each minute I spend writing, my understanding increases.
This mental state where everything starts to make sense is theplace I feel most content. It's an exciting place to be. I'm discovering howthings link up for myself. I feel a sense of relief and vindication forchoosing “Quantum Computing and Its Effect on Modern Cryptography” as the topicof my senior paper. Trying to teach myself about quantum computing and itsrelation to cryptographic problems didn't turn out to be as crazy as my friendstold me it would be.
This state of discovery is something I strive for on a dailybasis. My goal is to make all the ideas in my mind fit together like the gearsof a Swiss watch. Whether it's learning a new concept in linear algebra,talking to someone about a programming problem, or simply zoning out while Iread, there is always some part of my day that pushes me towards this place ofcohesion: an idea that binds together some set of the unsolved mysteries in my mind.
The instant I get an idea for a project I'm working on, thatidea stays at the front of my mind until I get a chance to fully process it.The time I spend processing these ideas is the best part of my day. It's achance to see how the most unrelated parts of my life fit together. They alwaysseem to, somehow.
When my history teacher assigned a final project for theCommunist Russia unit, she dictated that it could be anything but an essay.While brainstorming ideas, I overheard a friend mention baking. That sent mymind into a flurry of ideas. As I thought through my various baking projects,an image of a hammer-and-sickle shaped brioche flashed into my thoughts. Tomake it an actual academic project, I decided to include analysis in the formof small flags topping the the loaves which presented the various pros and consof Communism. While I made the requisite four batches of dough, I settled intomy place of discovery as I figured out how to create the communist symbol frombread. Each part came to life as a combination of chocolate, orange, and plainbrioche. The day we brought our projects to class, the communist symbol quicklyfell apart as it was utilized as food for my hungry classmates. Apparently ournew class motto should be “To each according to his appetite.”
Seeing how things fit together and work in the world is mypassion. People always seem so anxious to know why things aren't going the waythey expect them to. I like to have the full picture so I can help themunderstand the phenomenon to the best of my ability. I pay attention to andglean knowledge from everything. Much of this information is useful as a waymake sense of why the world works. I want to understand the big picture and itsrelation to the minutia of the world because that is the best way for me togain the broadest and deepest understanding. The moments when my knowledgebecomes cohesive are where I am perfectly content.
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