Personal Statement

27 Outstanding College Essay

Examples From Top
Universities 2021

One of the best ways to write a successful college essay for your college application is by
learning from real college essay examples that worked. I've compiled a few of my favorite essay
examples here that cover a variety of college essay topics.

Need help writing your college essay? Click here for my ultimate guide.

Or, check out my complete guide for answering the most popular college essay prompts on the
Common App. 

Some essay samples below are by students who chose to write about a challenge, while other
examples may be helpful if you’re looking to write about yourself more generally. And yes, a
few of these essays did help these students get accepted into the Ivy League, (I’m not telling you
which!) though these are all great essays regardless of where (or if) students were admitted to
their top choice school.

Looking for more college admissions essay examples about yourself? Check out more personal
statements here.
Behold, some of the best college essays of 2021 (in my humble opinion).
TABLE OF CONTENTS
(click to scroll ahead)

 Personal Statement Examples

       Burying Grandma
       Laptop Stickers
       Punk Rock Philosopher
       Grandma's Kimchi
       Travel and Language
       Dead Bird
       I Shot My Brother
       Porcelain God

       Five Families
       Food
       Happiness Spreadsheet
       Translating
       Why Behavioral Economics
       5 Family Identities
       Coffeeshops + Coffee
       Kombucha Club
       Moments Where the Seconds Stand Still
       Identifying as Trans
       iTaylor
       Figuring Out What Really Mattered
       Parents’ Relationship
       Threatened By ISIS

 UC Essay Examples
 Supplemental Essay Examples
       UChicago Supplemental Essay Examples
       Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road
       Rock, Paper, Scissors
       U of Michigan Supplemental Essay Example
       East Meets West

COMMON APP ESSAY PROMPTS

According to the 2021/2022 Common Application, the common app essays topics are as follows:

1. Background Essay: Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is
so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds
like you, then please share your story.
 2. Challenge Essay: The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental
to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it
affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?
3. Belief Essay: Reflect on a time when you questioned or challenged a belief or idea. What
prompted your thinking? What was the outcome?
4. Gratitude Essay: Reflect on something that someone has done for you that has made you
happy or thankful in a surprising way. How has this gratitude affected or motivated you?
5. Accomplishment Essay: Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a
period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others.
6. Topic Essay: Describe a topic, idea, or concept you find so engaging that it makes you
lose all track of time. Why does it captivate you? What or who do you turn to when you
want to learn more?
7. Create-Your-Own Essay: Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one
you've already written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design.

WHAT MAKES A GREAT COLLEGE ESSAY?

These application essays show many sides of a person.

The key to many of these essays is that they describe a story or an aspect of the student’s life in a
way that is dynamic: It reflects many of their values, strengths, interests, volunteer work, and life
experiences. 

Many of these essays also demonstrate vulnerability. College admissions officers reading your
college application will want to know how your values, qualities, and skills will flourish in
college--and how good your writing skills are. 

Whether it’s a supplemental essay, personal statement, Common App essay, or diversity essay,
the essays below can help you better understand what can result from following a college essay
format or applying tips for how to write a college essay to help you get into your dream school. 

COLLEGE ESSAY TIPS

We asked dozens of experts on essay writing and test scores for their take on what makes a great
college essay. Check out these five college essay tips below. 

1. Imagine how the person reading your essay will feel.

No one's idea of a good time is writing a college essay, I know. But if sitting down to write your
essay feels like a chore, and you're bored by what you're saying, you can imagine how the person
reading your essay will feel. On the other hand, if you're writing about something you love,
something that excites you, something that you've thought deeply about, chances are I'm going to
set down your application feeling excited, too—and feeling like I've gotten to know you.
This college essay tip is by Abigail McFee, Admissions Counselor for Tufts University and Tufts
‘17 graduate.

2. Write like a journalist.

"Don't bury the lede!" The first few sentences must capture the reader's attention, provide a gist
of the story, and give a sense of where the essay is heading. Think about any article you've read
—how do you decide to read it? You read the first few sentences and then decide. The same goes
for college essays. A strong lede (journalist parlance for "lead") will place your reader in the
"accept" mindset from the beginning of the essay. A weak lede will have your reader thinking
"reject"—a mindset from which it's nearly impossible to recover.

This college essay tip is by Brad Schiller, MIT graduate and CEO of Prompt, which provides
individualized feedback on thousands of students’ essays each year.

3. Don't read the Common Application prompts.

If you already have, erase them from memory and write the story you want colleges to hear. The
truth is, admission reviewers rarely know—or care—which prompt you are responding to. They
are curious to discover what you choose to show them about who you are, what you value, and
why. Even the most fluid writers are often stifled by fitting their narrative neatly into a category
and the essay quickly loses authentic voice. Write freely and choose a prompt later. Spoiler
alert...one prompt is "Share an essay on any topic of your choice. It can be one you've already
written, one that responds to a different prompt, or one of your own design. " So have at it.

This college essay tip is by Brennan Barnard, director of college counseling at the Derryfield
School in Manchester, N.H. and contributor to the NYT, HuffPost, and Forbes on intentionally
approaching college admissions.

4. Show your emotions.

Adding feelings to your essays can be much more powerful than just listing your achievements.
It allows reviewers to connect with you and understand your personality and what drives you. In
particular, be open to showing vulnerability. Nobody expects you to be perfect and
acknowledging times in which you have felt nervous or scared shows maturity and self-
awareness.

This college essay tip is by Charles Maynard, Oxford and Stanford University Graduate and
founder of Going Merry, which is a one-stop shop for applying to college scholarships

5. Revise often and early. 

Your admissions essay should go through several stages of revision. And by revisions, we don’t
mean quick proofreads. Ask your parents, teachers, high school counselors or friends for their
eyes and edits. It should be people who know you best and want you to succeed. Take their
constructive criticism in the spirit for which they intend—your benefit.
This college essay tip is by Dhivya Arumugham, Kaplan Test Prep's director of SAT and ACT
programs.
PERSONAL STATEMENT EXAMPLES
THE "BURYING GRANDMA" EXAMPLE
COLLEGE ESSAY
Written for the Common App college application essays "Tell us your story" prompt. This essay
could work for prompts 1 and 7 for the Common App.

They covered the precious mahogany coffin with a brown amalgam of rocks, decomposed
organisms, and weeds. It was my turn to take the shovel, but I felt too ashamed to dutifully send
her off when I had not properly said goodbye. I refused to throw dirt on her. I refused to let go of
my grandmother, to accept a death I had not seen coming, to believe that an illness could not
only interrupt, but steal a beloved life.

When my parents finally revealed to me that my grandmother had been battling liver cancer, I
was twelve and I was angry--mostly with myself. They had wanted to protect me--only six years
old at the time--from the complex and morose concept of death. However, when the end
inevitably arrived, I wasn’t trying to comprehend what dying was; I was trying to understand
how I had been able to abandon my sick grandmother in favor of playing with friends and
watching TV. Hurt that my parents had deceived me and resentful of my own oblivion, I
committed myself to preventing such blindness from resurfacing.

I became desperately devoted to my education because I saw knowledge as the key to freeing
myself from the chains of ignorance. While learning about cancer in school I promised myself
that I would memorize every fact and absorb every detail in textbooks and online medical
journals. And as I began to consider my future, I realized that what I learned in school would
allow me to silence that which had silenced my grandmother. However, I was focused not with
learning itself, but with good grades and high test scores. I started to believe that academic
perfection would be the only way to redeem myself in her eyes--to make up for what I had not
done as a granddaughter.  

However, a simple walk on a hiking trail behind my house made me open my own eyes to the
truth. Over the years, everything--even honoring my grandmother--had become second to school
and grades. As my shoes humbly tapped against the Earth, the towering trees blackened by the
forest fire a few years ago, the faintly colorful pebbles embedded in the sidewalk, and the wispy
white clouds hanging in the sky reminded me of my small though nonetheless significant part in
a larger whole that is humankind and this Earth. Before I could resolve my guilt, I had to broaden
my perspective of the world as well as my responsibilities to my fellow humans.   

Volunteering at a cancer treatment center has helped me discover my path. When I see patients
trapped in not only the hospital but also a moment in time by their diseases, I talk to them. For
six hours a day, three times a week, Ivana is surrounded by IV stands, empty walls, and busy
nurses that quietly yet constantly remind her of her breast cancer. Her face is pale and tired, yet
kind--not unlike my grandmother’s. I need only to smile and say hello to see her brighten up as
life returns to her face. Upon our first meeting, she opened up about her two sons, her hometown,
and her knitting group--no mention of her disease. Without even standing up, the three of us—
Ivana, me, and my grandmother--had taken a walk together.

Cancer, as powerful and invincible as it may seem, is a mere fraction of a person’s life. It’s easy
to forget when one’s mind and body are so weak and vulnerable. I want to be there as an
oncologist to remind them to take a walk once in a while, to remember that there’s so much more
to life than a disease. While I physically treat their cancer, I want to lend patients emotional
support and mental strength to escape the interruption and continue living. Through my work, I
can accept the shovel without burying my grandmother’s memory.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

LEARN HOW TO WRITE YOUR COLLEGE

ESSAY
THE "LAPTOP STICKERS" COLLEGE
ESSAY EXAMPLE
My laptop is like a passport. It is plastered with stickers all over the outside, inside, and bottom.
Each sticker is a stamp, representing a place I've been, a passion I've pursued, or community I've
belonged to. These stickers make for an untraditional first impression at a meeting or
presentation, but it's one I'm proud of. Let me take you on a quick tour:

"We < 3 Design," bottom left corner. Art has been a constant for me for as long as I can
remember. Today my primary engagement with art is through design. I've spent entire weekends
designing websites and social media graphics for my companies. Design means more to me than
just branding and marketing; it gives me the opportunity to experiment with texture, perspective,
and contrast, helping me refine my professional style.

"Common Threads," bottom right corner. A rectangular black and red sticker displaying the
theme of the 2017 TEDxYouth@Austin event. For years I've been interested in the street artists
and musicians in downtown Austin who are so unapologetically themselves. As a result, I've
become more open-minded and appreciative of unconventional lifestyles. TED gives me the
opportunity to help other youth understand new perspectives, by exposing them to the diversity
of Austin where culture is created, not just consumed.

Poop emoji, middle right. My 13-year-old brother often sends his messages with the poop emoji
'echo effect,' so whenever I open a new message from him, hundreds of poops elegantly cascade
across my screen. He brings out my goofy side, but also helps me think rationally when I am
overwhelmed. We don't have the typical "I hate you, don't talk to me" siblinghood (although
occasionally it would be nice to get away from him); we're each other's best friends. Or at least
he's mine.

"Lol ur not Harry Styles," upper left corner. Bought in seventh grade and transferred from my
old laptop, this sticker is torn but persevering with layers of tape. Despite conveying my fangirl-
y infatuation with Harry Styles' boyband, One Direction, for me Styles embodies an artist-
activist who uses his privilege for the betterment of society. As a $42K donor to the Time's Up
Legal Defense Fund, a hair donor to the Little Princess Trust, and promoter of LGBTQ+
equality, he has motivated me to be a more public activist instead of internalizing my beliefs.

"Catapult," middle right. This is the logo of a startup incubator where I launched my first
company, Threading Twine. I learned that business can provide others access to fundamental
human needs, such as economic empowerment of minorities and education. In my career, I hope
to be a corporate advocate for the empowerment of women, creating large-scale impact and
deconstructing institutional boundaries that obstruct women from working in high-level
positions. Working as a women's rights activist will allow me to engage in creating lasting
movements for equality, rather than contributing to a cycle that elevates the stances of wealthy
individuals.

"Thank God it's Monday," sneakily nestled in the upper right corner. Although I attempt to
love all my stickers equally (haha), this is one of my favorites. I always want my association
with work to be positive.

And there are many others, including the horizontal, yellow stripes of the Human Rights
Campaign; "The Team," a sticker from the Model G20 Economics Summit where I
collaborated with youth from around the globe; and stickers from "Kode with Klossy," a
community of girls working to promote women's involvement in underrepresented fields.

When my computer dies (hopefully not for another few years), it will be like my passport
expiring. It'll be difficult leaving these moments and memories behind, but I probably won't want
these stickers in my 20s anyways (except Harry Styles, that's never leaving). My next set of
stickers will reveal my next set of aspirations. They hold the key to future paths I will navigate,
knowledge I will gain, and connections I will make.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "PUNK ROCK PHILOSOPHER"

COLLEGE ESSAY EXAMPLE
This was written for the Common App college application essays, and works for prompts 1 and 7
(or none of them, because the author is that cool):

I am on Oxford Academy’s Speech and Debate Team, in both the Parliamentary Debate division
and the Lincoln-Douglass debate division. I write screenplays, short stories, and opinionated
blogs and am a regular contributor to my school literary magazine, The Gluestick. I have
accumulated over 300 community service hours that includes work at homeless shelters,
libraries, and special education youth camps. I have been evaluated by the College Board and
have placed within the top percentile.

But I am not any of these things. I am not a test score, nor a debater, nor a writer. I am an anti-
nihilist punk rockphilosopher. And I became so when I realized three things:

1) That the world is ruled by underwear. There is a variety of underwear for a variety of people.
You have your ironed briefs for your businessmen, your soft cottons for the average, and hemp-
based underwear for your environmental romantics. But underwear do not only tell us about who
we are, they also influence our daily interactions in ways most of us don't even understand. For
example, I have a specific pair of underwear that is holey, worn out but surprisingly comfortable.
And despite how trivial underwear might be, when I am wearing my favorite pair, I feel as if I
am on top of the world. In any case, these articles of clothing affect our being and are the unsung
heroes of comfort.

2) When I realized I cannot understand the world. I recently debated at the Orange County
Speech League Tournament, within the Parliamentary Division. This specific branch of debate is
an hour long, and consists of two parties debating either side of a current political issue. In one
particular debate, I was assigned the topic: “Should Nation States eliminate nuclear arms?” It so
happened that I was on the negative side and it was my job to convince the judges that countries
should continue manufacturing nuclear weapons. During the debate, something strange
happened: I realized that we are a special breed of species, that so much effort and resources are
invested to ensure mutual destruction. And I felt that this debate in a small college classroom had
elucidated something much more profound about the scale of human existence. In any case, I
won 1st place at the tournament, but as the crowd cheered when my name was called to stand
before an audience of hundreds of other debaters, and I flashed a victorious smile at the cameras,
I couldn’t help but imagine that somewhere at that moment a nuclear bomb was being
manufactured, adding to an ever-growing stockpile of doom. And that's when I realized that the
world was something I will never understand.

3) When I realized I was a punk rocker philosopher. One summer night, my friend took me to an
underground hardcore punk rock show. It was inside a small abandoned church. After the show, I
met and became a part of this small community. Many were lost and on a constant soul-search,
and to my surprise, many, like myself, did not have a blue Mohawk or a nose piercing. Many
were just ordinary people discussing Nietzsche, string theory, and governmental ideologies.
Many were also artists creating promotional posters and inventive slogans for stickers. They
were all people my age who could not afford to be part of a record label and did something
extraordinary by playing in these abandoned churches, making their own CDs and making
thousands of promotional buttons by hand. I realized then that punk rock is not about music nor
is it a guy with a blue Mohawk screaming protests. Punk rock is an attitude, a mindset, and very
much a culture. It is an antagonist to the conventional. It means making the best with what you
have to contribute to a community. This was when I realized that I was a punk rock philosopher.

The world I come from consists of underwear, nuclear bombs, and punk rockers. And I love this
world. My world is inherently complex, mysterious, and anti-nihilist. I am David Phan,
somebody who spends his weekends debating in a three piece suit, other days immersed within
the punk rock culture, and some days writing opinionated blogs about underwear.

But why college? I want a higher education. I want more than just the textbook fed classrooms in
high school. A community which prizes revolutionary ideals, a sharing of multi-dynamical
perspectives, an environment that ultimately acts as a medium for movement, similar to the punk
rock community. I do not see college as a mere stepping stone for a stable career or a prosperous
life, but as a supplement for knowledge and self-empowerment; it is a social engine that will
jettison us to our next paradigm shift.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

ARE YOU A HIGH-ACHIEVING, LOW-INCOME STUDENT

LOOKING FOR OPPORTUNITIES TO RECEIVE COLLEGE ESSAY
& APPLICATION GUIDANCE?

THE MATCHLIGHTERS SCHOLARSHIP MIGHT BE FOR YOU—

APPLY TODAY.
THE "GRANDMA'S KIMCHI" COLLEGE
ESSAY EXAMPLE
This essay could work for prompts 1 and 7 for the Common App.

Every Saturday morning, I’d awaken to the smell of crushed garlic and piquant pepper. I would
stumble into the kitchen to find my grandma squatting over a large silver bowl, mixing fat lips of
fresh cabbages with garlic, salt, and red pepper. That was how the delectable Korean dish,
kimchi, was born every weekend at my home.

My grandma’s specialty always dominated the dinner table as kimchi filled every plate. And like
my grandma who had always been living with us, it seemed as though the luscious smell of
garlic would never leave our home. But even the prided recipe was defenseless against the
ravages of Alzheimer’s that inflicted my grandma’s mind.

Dementia slowly fed on her memories until she became as blank as a brand-new notebook. The
ritualistic rigor of Saturday mornings came to a pause, and during dinner, the artificial taste of
vacuum-packaged factory kimchi only emphasized the absence of the family tradition. I would
look at her and ask, “Grandma, what’s my name?” But she would stare back at me with a
clueless expression. Within a year of diagnosis, she lived with us like a total stranger.

One day, my mom brought home fresh cabbages and red pepper sauce. She brought out the old
silver bowl and poured out the cabbages, smothering them with garlic and salt and pepper. The
familiar tangy smell tingled my nose. Gingerly, my grandma stood up from the couch in the
living room, and as if lured by the smell, sat by the silver bowl and dug her hands into the spiced
cabbages. As her bony hands shredded the green lips, a look of determination grew on her face.
Though her withered hands no longer displayed the swiftness and precision they once did, her
face showed the aged rigor of a professional. For the first time in years, the smell of garlic filled
the air and the rattling of the silver bowl resonated throughout the house.

That night, we ate kimchi. It wasn’t perfect; the cabbages were clumsily cut and the garlic was a
little too strong. But kimchi had never tasted better. I still remember my grandma putting a piece
in my mouth and saying, “Here, Dong Jin. Try it, my boy.”

Seeing grandma again this summer, that moment of clarity seemed ephemeral. Her disheveled
hair and expressionless face told of the aggressive development of her illness.

But holding her hands, looking into her eyes, I could still smell that garlic. The moments of
Saturday mornings remain ingrained in my mind. Grandma was an artist who painted the
cabbages with strokes of red pepper. Like the sweet taste of kimchi, I hope to capture those
memories in my keystrokes as I type away these words.

A piece of writing is more than just a piece of writing. It evokes. It inspires. It captures what time
takes away.
My grandma used to say: “Tigers leave furs when they die, humans leave their names.” Her
legacy was the smell of garlic that lingered around my house. Mine will be these words.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "TRAVEL AND LANGUAGE"

COLLEGE ESSAY EXAMPLE
Written for the Common App college application essays "Tell us your story" prompt. This essay
could work for prompts 1 and 7 for the Common App.

When I was very little, I caught the travel bug. It started after my grandparents first brought me
to their home in France and I have now been to twenty-nine different countries. Each has given
me a unique learning experience.

At five, I marveled at the Eiffel Tower in the City of Lights. When I was eight, I stood in the
heart of Piazza San Marco feeding hordes of pigeons, then glided down Venetian waterways on
sleek gondolas. At thirteen, I saw the ancient, megalithic structure of Stonehenge and walked
along the Great Wall of China, amazed that the thousand-year-old stones were still in place.

It was through exploring cultures around the world that I first became interested in language.
It began with French, which taught me the importance of pronunciation. I remember once asking
a store owner in Paris where Rue des Pyramides was. But when I pronounced it PYR–a–mides
instead of pyr–A–mides, with more accent on the A, she looked at me bewildered.

In the eighth grade, I became fascinated with Spanish and aware of its similarities with English
through cognates. Baseball in Spanish, for example, is béisbol, which looks different but sounds
nearly the same. This was incredible to me as it made speech and comprehension more fluid, and
even today I find that cognates come to the rescue when I forget how to say something in
Spanish.

Then, in high school, I developed an enthusiasm for Chinese. As I studied Chinese at my school,
I marveled how if just one stroke was missing from a character, the meaning is lost. I loved how
long words were formed by combining simpler characters, so Huǒ (火) meaning fire and Shān
(山) meaning mountain can be joined to create Huǒshān (火山), which means volcano. I love
spending hours at a time practicing the characters and I can feel the beauty and rhythm as I form
them.

Interestingly, after studying foreign languages, I was further intrigued by my native tongue.
Through my love of books and fascination with developing a sesquipedalian lexicon (learning
big words), I began to expand my English vocabulary. Studying the definitions prompted me to
inquire about their origins, and suddenly I wanted to know all about etymology, the history of
words. My freshman year I took a world history class and my love for history grew
exponentially. To me, history is like a great novel, and it is especially fascinating because it took
place in my own world.

But the best dimension that language brought to my life is interpersonal connection. When I
speak with people in their native language, I find I can connect with them on a more intimate
level. I’ve connected with people in the most unlikely places, finding a Bulgarian painter to use
my few Bulgarian words with in the streets of Paris, striking up a conversation in Spanish with
an Indian woman who used to work at the Argentinian embassy in Mumbai, and surprising a
library worker by asking her a question in her native Mandarin.

I want to study foreign language and linguistics in college because, in short, it is something that I
know I will use and develop for the rest of my life. I will never stop traveling, so attaining
fluency in foreign languages will only benefit me. In the future, I hope to use these skills as the
foundation of my work, whether it is in international business, foreign diplomacy, or translation.

I think of my journey as best expressed through a Chinese proverb that my teacher taught me, “I
am like a chicken eating at a mountain of rice.” Each grain is another word for me to learn as I
strive to satisfy my unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

Today, I still have the travel bug, and now, it seems, I am addicted to language too.

Click here for this student's amazing Instagram photos.

TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE "DEAD BIRD" EXAMPLE COLLEGE
ESSAY EXAMPLE
This was written for a Common App college application essay prompt that no longer exists,
which read: Evaluate a significant experience, risk, achievement, ethical dilemma you have faced
and its impact on you.

 Smeared blood, shredded feathers. Clearly, the bird was dead. But wait, the slight fluctuation of
its chest, the slow blinking of its shiny black eyes. No, it was alive.

I had been typing an English essay when I heard my cat's loud meows and the flutter of wings. I
had turned slightly at the noise and had found the barely breathing bird in front of me.

The shock came first. Mind racing, heart beating faster, blood draining from my face. I
instinctively reached out my hand to hold it, like a long-lost keepsake from my youth. But then I
remembered that birds had life, flesh, blood.

Death. Dare I say it out loud? Here, in my own home?

Within seconds, my reflexes kicked in. Get over the shock. Gloves, napkins, towels. Band-aid?
How does one heal a bird? I rummaged through the house, keeping a wary eye on my cat.
Donning yellow rubber gloves, I tentatively picked up the bird. Never mind the cat's hissing and
protesting scratches, you need to save the bird. You need to ease its pain.

But my mind was blank. I stroked the bird with a paper towel to clear away the blood, see the
wound. The wings were crumpled, the feet mangled. A large gash extended close to its jugular
rendering its breathing shallow, unsteady. The rising and falling of its small breast slowed. Was
the bird dying? No, please, not yet. 

Why was this feeling so familiar, so tangible?

Oh. Yes. The long drive, the green hills, the white church, the funeral. The Chinese mass, the
resounding amens, the flower arrangements. Me, crying silently, huddled in the corner. The
Hsieh family huddled around the casket. Apologies. So many apologies. Finally, the body
lowered to rest. The body. Kari Hsieh. Still familiar, still tangible.

Hugging Mrs. Hsieh, I was a ghost, a statue. My brain and my body competed. Emotion wrestled
with fact. Kari Hsieh, aged 17, my friend of four years, had died in the Chatsworth Metrolink
Crash on Sep. 12, 2008. Kari was dead, I thought. Dead.

But I could still save the bird.

My frantic actions heightened my senses, mobilized my spirit. Cupping the bird, I ran outside,
hoping the cool air outdoors would suture every wound, cause the bird to miraculously fly away.
Yet there lay the bird in my hands, still gasping, still dying. Bird, human, human, bird. What was
the difference? Both were the same. Mortal.

But couldn't I do something? Hold the bird longer, de-claw the cat? I wanted to go to my
bedroom, confine myself to tears, replay my memories, never come out. 

The bird's warmth faded away. Its heartbeat slowed along with its breath. For a long time, I
stared thoughtlessly at it, so still in my hands.

Slowly, I dug a small hole in the black earth. As it disappeared under handfuls of dirt, my own
heart grew stronger, my own breath more steady.

The wind, the sky, the dampness of the soil on my hands whispered to me, “The bird is dead.
Kari has passed. But you are alive.” My breath, my heartbeat, my sweat sighed back, “I am alive.
I am alive. I am alive.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "I SHOT MY BROTHER" COLLEGE

ESSAY EXAMPLE
This essay could work for prompts 1, 2 and 7 for the Common App.

From page 54 of the maroon notebook sitting on my mahogany desk:

“Then Cain said to the Lord, “My punishment is greater than I can bear. I shall be a fugitive and
a wanderer on the earth and whoever finds me will kill me.” - Genesis 4:13

Here is a secret that no one in my family knows: I shot my brother when I was six. Luckily, it
was a BB gun. But to this day, my older brother Jonathan does not know who shot him. And I
have finally promised myself to confess this eleven year old secret to him after I write this essay.

The truth is, I was always jealous of my brother. Our grandparents, with whom we lived as
children in Daegu, a rural city in South Korea, showered my brother with endless accolades: he
was bright, athletic, and charismatic.

“Why can’t you be more like Jon?” my grandmother used to nag, pointing at me with a carrot
stick. To me, Jon was just cocky. He would scoff at me when he would beat me in basketball,
and when he brought home his painting of Bambi with the teacher’s sticker “Awesome!” on top,
he would make several copies of it and showcase them on the refrigerator door. But I retreated to
my desk where a pile of “Please draw this again and bring it to me tomorrow” papers lay,
desperate for immediate treatment. Later, I even refused to attend the same elementary school
and wouldn’t even eat meals with him.

Deep down I knew I had to get the chip off my shoulder. But I didn’t know how.

That is, until March 11th, 2001.

That day around six o’clock, juvenile combatants appeared in Kyung Mountain for their weekly
battle, with cheeks smeared in mud and empty BB guns in their hands. The Korean War game
was simple: to kill your opponent you had to shout “pow!” before he did. Once we situated
ourselves, our captain blew the pinkie whistle and the war began. My friend Min-young and I hid
behind a willow tree, eagerly awaiting our orders.

Beside us, our comrades were dying, each falling to the ground crying in “agony,” their hands
clasping their “wounds.” Suddenly a wish for heroism surged within me: I grabbed Min-young’s
arms and rushed towards the enemies’ headquarters, disobeying our orders to remain sentry duty.
To tip the tide of the war, I had to kill their captain. We infiltrated the enemy lines, narrowly
dodging each attack. We then cleared the pillars of asparagus ferns until the Captain’s lair came
into view. I quickly pulled my clueless friend back into the bush.

Hearing us, the alarmed captain turned around: It was my brother.

He saw Min-young’s right arm sticking out from the bush and hurled a “grenade,” (a rock),
bruising his arm.

“That’s not fair!” I roared in the loudest and most unrecognizable voice I could manage.

Startled, the Captain and his generals abandoned their post. Vengeance replaced my wish for
heroism and I took off after the fleeing perpetrator. Streams of sweat ran down my face and I
pursued him for several minutes until suddenly I was arrested by a small, yellow sign that read in
Korean: DO NOT TRESPASS: Boar Traps Ahead. (Two summers ago, my five year old cousin,
who insisted on joining the ranks, had wandered off-course during the battle; we found him at
the bottom of a 20 ft deep pit with a deep gash in his forehead and shirt soaked in blood) “Hey,
stop!” I shouted, heart pounding. “STOP!” My mind froze. My eyes just gazed at the fleeing
object; what should I do?

I looked on as my shivering hand reached for the canister of BBs. The next second, I heard two
shots followed by a cry. I opened my eyes just enough to see two village men carrying my
brother away from the warning sign. I turned around, hurled my BB gun into the nearby Kyung
Creek and ran home as fast as I could.

***

Days passed. My brother and I did not talk about the incident.

‘Maybe he knew it was me,’ I thought in fear as I tried to eavesdrop on his conversation with
grandpa one day. When the door suddenly opened, I blurted, “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said pushing past me, “Just a rough sleep.”

But in the next few weeks, something was happening inside me.

All the jealousy and anger I’d once felt had been replaced by a new feeling: guilt.
That night when my brother was gone I went to a local store and bought a piece of chocolate
taffy, his favorite. I returned home and placed it on my brother’s bed with a note attached:
“Love, Grandma.”

Several days later, I secretly went into his room and folded his unkempt pajamas.

Then, other things began to change. We began sharing clothes (something we had never done),
started watching Pokémon episodes together, and then, on his ninth birthday, I did something
with Jon that I hadn’t done in six years: I ate dinner with him. I even ate fishcakes, which he
loved but I hated. And I didn’t complain.

Today, my brother is one of my closest friends. Every week I accompany him to Carlson
Hospital where he receives treatment for his obsessive compulsive disorder and schizophrenia.
While in the waiting room, we play a noisy game of Zenga, comment on the Lakers’
performance or listen to the radio on the registrar’s desk.

Then, the door to the doctor’s office opens.

“Jonathan Lee, please come in.”

I tap his shoulder and whisper, “Rock it, bro.”

After he leaves, I take out my notebook and begin writing where I left off.

Beside me, the receptionist’s fingers hover over the radio in search of a new station, eventually
settling on one. I hear LeAnn Rimes singing “Amazing Grace.” Her voice slowly rises over the
noise of the bustling room.

“’Twas Grace that taught my heart to fear. And Grace, my fears relieved...”

Smiling, I open Jon’s Jansport backpack and neatly place this essay inside and a chocolate taffy
with a note attached.

Twenty minutes have passed when the door abruptly opens.

“Guess what the doctor just said?” my brother cries, unable to hide his exhilaration.

I look up and I smile too.

For analysis of what makes this essay amazing, go here.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "PORCELAIN GOD" COLLEGE

ESSAY EXAMPLE
Essay written for the "topic of your choice" prompt for the 2012 Common Application college
application essays.

Bowing down to the porcelain god, I emptied the contents of my stomach. Foaming at the mouth,
I was ready to pass out. My body couldn’t stop shaking as I gasped for air, and the room started
spinning.

Ten minutes prior, I had been eating dinner with my family at a Chinese restaurant, drinking
chicken-feet soup. My mom had specifically asked the waitress if there were peanuts in it,
because when I was two we found out that I am deathly allergic to them. When the waitress
replied no, I went for it. Suddenly I started scratching my neck, feeling the hives that had started
to form. I rushed to the restroom to throw up because my throat was itchy and I felt a weight on
my chest. I was experiencing anaphylactic shock, which prevented me from taking anything but
shallow breaths. I was fighting the one thing that is meant to protect me and keep me alive – my
own body.

At five years old, I couldn’t comprehend what had happened. All I knew was that I felt sick, and
I was waiting for my mom to give me something to make it better. I thought my parents were
superheroes; surely they would be able to make well again. But I became scared when I heard the
fear in their voices as they rushed me to the ER.

After that incident, I began to fear. I became scared of death, eating, and even my own body. As
I grew older, I became paranoid about checking food labels and I avoided eating if I didn’t know
what was in the food. I knew what could happen if I ate one wrong thing, and I wasn’t willing to
risk it for a snack. Ultimately, that fear turned into resentment; I resented my body for making
me an outsider.

In the years that followed, this experience and my regular visits to my allergy specialist inspired
me to become an allergy specialist. Even though I was probably only ten at the time, I wanted to
find a way to help kids like me. I wanted to find a solution so that nobody would have to feel the
way I did; nobody deserved to feel that pain, fear, and resentment. As I learned more about the
medical world, I became more fascinated with the body’s immune responses, specifically, how a
body reacts to allergens. This past summer, I took a month-long course on human immunology at
Stanford University. I learned about the different mechanisms and cells that our bodies use in
order to fight off pathogens. My desire to major in biology in college has been stimulated by my
fascination with the human body, its processes, and the desire to find a way to help people with
allergies. I hope that one day I can find a way to stop allergic reactions or at least lessen the
symptoms, so that children and adults don’t have to feel the same fear and bitterness that I felt.

To find out if your essay passes the Great College Essay Test like this one did, go here.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "FIVE FAMILIES" COLLEGE ESSAY

EXAMPLE
This essay could work for prompts 1, 2, 5 and 7 for the Common App.
When I was 16, I lived with the Watkins family in Wichita, Kansas. Mrs. Watkins was the
coordinator of the foreign exchange student program I was enrolled in. She had a nine year old
son named Cody. I would babysit Cody every day after school for at least two to three hours. We
would play Scrabble or he would read to me from Charlotte’s Web or The Ugly Duckling. He
would talk a lot about his friends and school life, and I would listen to him and ask him the
meanings of certain words. He was my first friend in the New World.

My second family was the Martinez family, who were friends of the Watkins’s. The host dad
Michael was a high school English teacher and the host mom Jennifer (who had me call her
“Jen”) taught elementary school. She had recently delivered a baby, so she was still in the
hospital when I moved into their house. The Martinez family did almost everything together. We
made pizza together, watched Shrek on their cozy couch together, and went fishing on Sunday
together. On rainy days, Michael, Jen and I would sit on the porch and listen to the rain, talking
about our dreams and thoughts. Within two months I was calling them mom and dad.

After I finished the exchange student program, I had the option of returning to Korea but I
decided to stay in America. I wanted to see new places and meet different people. Since I wasn’t
an exchange student anymore, I had the freedom--and burden--of finding a new school and host
family on my own. After a few days of thorough investigation, I found the Struiksma family in
California. They were a unique group.

The host mom Shellie was a single mom who had two of her own sons and two Russian
daughters that she had adopted. The kids always had something warm to eat, and were always on
their best behavior at home and in school. It would be fair to say that this was all due to Shellie’s
upbringing. My room was on the first floor, right in front of Shellie’s hair salon, a small business
that she ran out of her home. In the living room were six or seven huge amplifiers and a gigantic
chandelier hung from the high ceiling. The kitchen had a bar. At first, the non-stop visits from
strangers made me nervous, but soon I got used to them. I remember one night, a couple barged
into my room while I was sleeping. It was awkward.

After a few months I realized we weren’t the best fit. In the nicest way possible, I told them I had
to leave. They understood.

The Ortiz family was my fourth family. Kimberly, the host mom, treated me the same way she
treated her own son. She made me do chores: I fixed dinner, fed their two dogs Sassy and Lady,
and once a week I cleaned the bathroom. I also had to follow some rules: No food in my room,
no using the family computer, no lights on after midnight, and no ride unless it was an
emergency. The first couple of months were really hard to get used to, but eventually I adjusted.

I lived with the Ortiz family for seven months like a monk in the deep forest. However, the host
dad Greg’s asthma got worse after winter, so he wanted to move to the countryside. It was
unexpected and I only had a week to find a new host family. I asked my friend Danielle if I could
live with her until I found a new home. That’s how I met the Dirksen family, my fifth family.

The Dirksen family had three kids. They were all different. Danielle liked bitter black coffee,
Christian liked energy drinks, and Becca liked sweet lemon tea. Dawn, the host mom didn’t like
winter, and Mark, the host dad, didn’t like summer. After dinner, we would all play Wii Sports
together. I was the king of bowling, and Dawn was the queen of tennis. I don’t remember a
single time that they argued about the games. Afterward, we would gather in the living room and
Danielle would play the piano while the rest of us sang hymns.

Of course, those 28 months were too short to fully understand all five families, but I learned
from and was shaped by each of them. By teaching me English, nine year-old Cody taught me
the importance of being able to learn from anyone; the Martinez family showed me the value of
spending time together as a family; the Struiksma family taught me to reserve judgment about
divorced women and adopted children; Mrs. Ortiz taught me the value of discipline and the
Dirksen family taught me the importance of appreciating one another’s different qualities.

Getting along with other people is necessary for anyone and living with five families has made
me more sensitive to others’ needs: I have learned how to recognize when someone needs to talk,
when I should give advice and when to simply listen, and when someone needs to be left alone;
in the process, I have become much more adaptable. I’m ready to change, learn, and be shaped
by my future families.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ANALYSIS OF THE "FIVE FAMILIES" ESSAY

Remember that movie “The Sixth Sense”?

I won't ruin it for you, but I will tell you that there’s a moment toward the end when a crucial
piece of information is revealed that triggers in the mind of the audience a series of realizations
that have been leading up to this Big Revelation.

That’s kind of what this writer does: he buries a series of hints (one in each paragraph) that he
“explodes” in the final paragraph. In short:

1. He buries a series of essence images in his first paragraphs (one per family).
2. He doesn’t tell us what they mean until the end of the essay, when he writes “I learned
and was shaped by each of them.” Note that each essence image is actually a lesson--
something he learned from each family.
3. When he reveals each lesson at the end, one after the other, we sense how all these
seemingly random events are connected. We realize this writer has been carefully
constructing this piece all along; we see the underlying structure. And it’s a pretty neat one.

Also note:

 Each of the first five paragraphs works to SHOW. (He waits to TELL us what they mean
‘til that second to last paragraph.)
 See how distinct each family is? He does this through specific images and objects.
 The second to last paragraph answers the “So what?” question. (Q: Why did he just show
us all these details? A: To demonstrate what each family has taught him.)
  He also goes one step further. He answers the “So what?” question once more in the final
paragraph. (Q: So what am I going to do with all these lessons? A: I’m going to use them to
adapt to my next family--in college.)
 The beauty of this is that he’s demonstrating (showing not telling) that he has an
extremely valuable quality that will be useful for doing well at any college: adaptability.

TIP: And that’s one more way to write your essay. Identify your single greatest strength (in this
case, it was his ability to adapt to whatever life gave him). Ask: how did I learn this? How can I
SHOW that I’m good at this?

Here are all the “Show” and “Tell” moments clearly marked:

When I was 16, I lived with the Watkins family in Wichita, Kansas. Mrs. Watkins was the
coordinator of the foreign exchange student program I was enrolled in. She had a nine year
old son named Cody. I would babysit Cody every day after school for at least two to three
hours. We would play Scrabble or he would read to me from Charlotte’s Web or The
Ugly Duckling. He would talk a lot about his friends and school life, and I would listen
to him and ask him the meanings of certain words. He was my first friend in the New
World.

Show 1: "By teaching me English, nine year-old Cody taught me the importance of being able
to learn from anyone."

My second family was the Martinez family, who were friends of the Watkins’s. The host dad
Michael was a high school English teacher and the host mom Jennifer (who had me call her
“Jen”) taught elementary school. She had recently delivered a baby, so she was still in the
hospital when I moved into their house. The Martinez family did almost everything together.
We made pizza together, watched Shrek on their cozy couch together, and went fishing on
Sunday together. On rainy days, Michael, Jen and I would sit on the porch and listen to
the rain, talking about our dreams and thoughts. Within two months I was calling them
mom and dad.

Show 2: "the Martinez family showed me the value of spending time together as a family"
(implication: he doesn't have this with his own family)

After I finished the exchange student program, I had the option of returning to Korea but I
decided to stay in America. I wanted to see new places and meet different people. Since I
wasn’t an exchange student anymore, I had the freedom--and burden--of finding a new
school and host family on my own. After a few days of thorough investigation, I found the
Struiksma family in California. They were a unique group.

The host mom Shellie was a single mom who had two of her own sons and two Russian
daughters that she had adopted. The kids always had something warm to eat, and were
always on their best behavior at home and in school. It would be fair to say that this was all
due to Shellie’s upbringing. My room was on the first floor, right in front of Shellie’s hair
salon, a small business that she ran out of her home. In the living room were six or
 seven huge amplifiers and a gigantic chandelier hung from the high ceiling. The kitchen
had a bar. At first, the non-stop visits from strangers made me nervous, but soon I got
used to them. I remember one night, a couple barged into my room while I was sleeping. It
was awkward.

Show 3: "the Struiksma family taught me to reserve judgment about divorced women and
adopted children."

After a few months I realized we weren’t the best fit. In the nicest way possible, I told them I
had to leave. They understood.

The Ortiz family was my fourth family. Kimberly, the host mom, treated me the same way
she treated her own son. She made me do chores: I fixed dinner, fed their two dogs Sassy
and Lady, and once a week I cleaned the bathroom. I also had to follow some rules: No
food in my room, no using the family computer, no lights on after midnight, and no ride
unless it was an emergency. The first couple of months were really hard to get used to, but
eventually I adjusted.

I lived with the Ortiz family for seven months like a monk in the deep forest. However,
the host dad Greg’s asthma got worse after winter, so he wanted to move to the countryside.
It was unexpected and I only had a week to find a new host family. I asked my friend
Danielle if I could live with her until I found a new home. That’s how I met the Dirksen
family, my fifth family.

Show 4: "Mrs. Ortiz taught me the value of discipline."

The Dirksen family had three kids. They were all different. Danielle liked bitter black
coffee, Christian liked energy drinks, and Becca liked sweet lemon tea. Dawn, the host
mom didn’t like winter, and Mark, the host dad, didn’t like summer. After dinner, we
would all play Wii Sports together. I was the king of bowling, and Dawn was the queen
of tennis. I don’t remember a single time that they argued about the games. Afterward,
we would gather in the living room and Danielle would play the piano while the rest of us
sang hymns.

Show 5: "and the Dirksen family taught me the importance of appreciating one another’s
different qualities."

Of course, those 28 months were too short to fully understand all five families, but I learned
from and was shaped by each of them. By teaching me English, nine year-old Cody taught
me the importance of being able to learn from anyone; the Martinez family showed me
the value of spending time together as a family; the Struiksma family taught me to
reserve judgment about divorced women and adopted children; Mrs. Ortiz taught me
the value of discipline and the Dirksen family taught me the importance of appreciating
one another’s different qualities.

The "Tell" / "So What":

 Getting along with other people is necessary for anyone and living with five families has
made me more sensitive to others’ needs: I have learned how to recognize when someone
needs to talk, when I should give advice and when to simply listen, and when someone needs
to be left alone; in the process, I have become much more adaptable. I’m ready to change,
learn, and be shaped by my future families.

THE "FOOD" COLLEGE ESSAY

EXAMPLE
Montage Essay, “I Love/I Know” Type

I’ve spent most of my life as an anti-vegetable carboholic.  For years, processed snack foods
ruled the kitchen kingdom of my household and animal products outnumbered plant-based
offerings. 

My transformation began with my mom’s cancer diagnosis. My mom went on a 100% whole
food plant-based diet. I fully embraced this new eating philosophy to show my support. Eager to
figure out the whole “vegan” thing, the two of us started binge-watching health documentaries
such as “What the Health” and “Forks Over Knives”. We read all the books by the featured
doctors like “The China Study” and “How Not To Die”. I became entranced by the world of
nutritional science and how certain foods could help prevent cancer or boost metabolism. 

Each new food I discovered gave me an education on the role diet plays on health. I learned that,
by eating sweet potatoes and brown rice, you could cure acne and heart disease. I discovered
eating leafy greens with citrus fruits could boost iron absorption rates. I loved pairing my foods
to create the perfect macronutrient balance. Did you know beans and rice make a complete
protein? 

Food has also turned me into a sustainability nut. Living plant-based also saves the planet from
the impact of animal agriculture. For the same amount of land space, a farmer can produce 200
kilograms of soybeans versus 16 kilograms of beef. I do my part to have as small of an
ecological footprint as I can. I stopped using plastic snack bags and instead turned to reusable
beeswax wraps. My favorite reusable appliance is my foldable straw. If I am going to nourish my
body, shouldn’t I also want to nourish the earth? 

My journey toward healthy living led me to becoming co-leader of the Northern Nevada
PlantPure Pod, “Biggest Little Plant Pod”, a group dedicated to spreading the message about the
whole food plant-based lifestyle. We are currently working on a restaurant campaign to
encourage local eateries to create a plant-based, oil-free menu option and become PlantPure
certified. After discovering how many restaurants use oil in their cooking, I decided I needed to
open a plant-based oil free cafe to make up for this gap. My dream is to open up my very own
affordable oatmeal cafe based on my Instagram page, morning_mOATivations. And I know that
oatmeal isn’t the sexiest superfood out there, so here’s my sales pitch: I’m going to make
oatmeal the Beyonce of the breakfast world- sweet, sassy, and power packed. This allows me to
educate people about nutritional science through the stomach. 

Finally, I am a strong proponent of hands-on experience for learning what good food looks and
tastes like, so cooking is one of my favorite ways to teach the benefits of a plant-based lifestyle.
Using my taste buds as my textbook to learn which flavors work together and which ones don’t
helps me educate, as I’ve found that information tends to stick in a person’s mind once they’ve
experienced healthy, delicious foods with their own senses. Our society has taught us that
delicious food has to make us feel guilty, when that is simply not the case. The best feeling in the
world is falling in love with a dish and then learning all the health benefits that it provides the
body.

While my classmates complain about being tired, I have more energy because my body is finally
getting the right macros, vitamins, and minerals it needs. This has allowed me to push myself
harder physically, excelling in running and earning my high school Cross Country team’s Most
Improved award. I’m still a picky eater. But the foods I am particular about have changed.
Rather than a carboholic, I choose to call myself a vegeholic.
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THE "HAPPINESS SPREADSHEET"

COLLEGE ESSAY EXAMPLE
Montage Essay, “Essence Object” Type

Meditation over a flaxen sunset with a friend and parmesan-topped spaghetti for dinner — “14.”
Assignments piling up on my desk as a high fever keeps me sick at home — “3.” Taking a photo
excursion through downtown Seattle for a Spanish project — “15.” For the past 700 days and
counting, the Happiness Spreadsheet has been my digital collection for documenting numerical,
descriptive, and graphical representations of my happiness. Its instructions are simple: Open the
Google Sheet, enter a number between 1 and 20 that best represents my level of happiness, and
write a short comment describing the day. But the practical aspect of the spreadsheet is only a
piece of what it has represented in my life.

A “14” etched on November 15, 2018, marked the first Lakeside Cooking on the Stove Club
meeting. What had started as a farcical proposition of mine transformed into a playground where
high school classmates and I convene every two weeks to prepare a savory afternoon snack for
ourselves. A few months later, a “16” scribbled on February 27, 2019, marked the completion of
a fence my Spanish class and I constructed for the dusty soccer field at a small Colombian
village. Hard-fought days of mixing cement and transporting supplies had paid off for the
affectionate community we had immediately come to love. The Happiness Spreadsheet doesn’t
only reflect my own thoughts and emotions; it is an illustration of the fulfillment I get from
gifting happiness to others.

If happiness paves the roads of my life, my family is the city intertwined by those roads — each
member a distinct neighborhood, a distinct story. In times of stress, whether it be studying for an
upcoming derivatives test or presenting my research at an international conference, I dash to my
father for help. Coming from the dusty, people-packed backstreets of Thiruvananthapuram,
India, he guides me in looking past the chaos and noticing the hidden accomplishments that lie in
the corners. When in need of confidence, I find my mother, who taps her experiences living in
her tranquil and sturdy tatami-covered home in Hiroshima, Japan, helping me prepare for my
first high school dance or my final match in a tennis tournament. Whenever my Happiness
Spreadsheet numbers touch lows, my family is always there to level me out to “10.”

The Happiness Spreadsheet is also a battery monitor for enthusiasm. On occasion, it is on full
charge, like when I touched the last chord on the piano for my composition's winner recital or
when, one frosty Friday morning, I convinced a teacher to play over the school speakers a
holiday medley I’d recorded with a friend. Other times, the battery is depleted, and I am
frustrated by writer's block, when not a single melody, chord, or musical construct crosses my
mind. The Happiness Spreadsheet can be a hall of fame, but it can likewise be a catalog of
mistakes, burdens, and grueling challenges.

The spreadsheet began on a typical school day when I left my physics class following the most
confusing test I’d taken. The idea was born spontaneously at lunch, and I asked two of my
friends if they were interested in pursuing this exercise with me. We thought the practice would
last only a couple of weeks or months at most, but after reaching 700 days, we now wonder if
we’ll ever stop. To this day, I ponder its full importance in my life. With every new number I
enter, I recognize that each entry is not what defines me; rather, it is the ever-growing line
connecting all the data points that reflects who I am today. With every valley, I force myself
onward and with every mountain's peak, I recognize the valleys I’ve crossed to reach the summit.
Where will the Happiness Spreadsheet take me next?
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THE "TRANSLATING" COLLEGE ESSAY

EXAMPLE
Montage Essay, “Skill/Superpower” Type

".miK ijniM" This is how I wrote my name until I was seven. I was a left-handed kid who
wrote from right to left, which made my writing comprehensible only to myself. Only after years
of practice did I become an ambidextrous writer who could translate my incomprehensible
writing. As I look back on my life, I realized that this was my first act of translation. 

Translation means reinterpreting my Calculus teacher’s description of L’hospital’s rule

into a useful tool for solving the limits. As I deciphered complex codes into comprehensible
languages like rate of change and speed of an object, I gained the ability to solve even more
complicated and fascinating problems. My Calculus teacher often told me, “It’s not until you can
teach math concepts to somebody that you understand them completely.” Before I discovered the
joy of teaching, I often explained difficult math concepts to my friends as a tool for reviewing
what I’d learned. Now, I volunteer to tutor others: as a Korean tutor for friends who love Korean
culture and a golf tutor for new team members. Tutoring is how I integrate and strengthen new
concepts for myself.  

My talent for translating also applies to my role as a “therapist” for my family and friends.
I’m able to identify their real feelings beneath superficial words by translating hand-gestures,
facial expressions, and tones. I often put myself into their situation and ask, "What emotional
support would I want or need if I was in this situation?" Through these acts of translation, I’ve
grown into a more reliable and perceptive friend, daughter, and sister. 

However, my translation can't accurately account for the experiences I have yet to go
through. After realizing the limitations of my experience, I created a bucket list full of activities
out of my comfort zone, which includes traveling abroad by myself, publishing my own book,
and giving a lecture in front of a crowd. Although it is a mere list written on the front page of my
diary, I found myself vividly planning and picturing myself accomplishing those moments. By
widening my experiences, I’ll be a therapist who can empathize fully and give meaningful advice
based on rich experiences.

My knack for translating has led me to become a real-life Korean language translator. As
an English to Korean letter translator in a non-profit organization, Compassion, I serve as a
communication bridge between benefactors and children in developing countries, who
communicate through monthly letters. I’ve translated hundreds of letters by researching each
country to provide context that considers both cultural aspects and nuances of the language. This
experience has motivated me to learn languages like Spanish and Mandarin. I’ve realized that
learning various languages has been a journey of self-discovery: the way I talk and interact with
people changed depending on the language I used. As I get to know more about myself through
different languages, I grew more confident to meet new people and build new friendships.

While translating has been a huge part of my life, a professional translator is not my dream
job. I want to be an ambulatory care clinical pharmacist who manages the medication of patients
with chronic diseases. In fact, translating is a huge part of the job of a clinical pharmacist. I
should substitute myself into patients’ situations to respond to their needs effectively, which
requires my translating skill as a “therapist.” Moreover, as a clinical pharmacist, I’ll be the
patients’ private tutor who not only guides them through the right use of medication but also
gives them emotional support. As my qualities as a “therapist” and a “tutor” shaped me into a
great translator, I will continue to develop my future as a clinical pharmacist by enhancing and
discovering my qualities. In one form or another, I've always been and will be a translator.
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THE "WHY BEHAVIORAL ECONOMICS"

COLLEGE ESSAY EXAMPLE
Montage Essay, “Career” Type
I sit, cradled by the two largest branches of the Newton Pippin Tree, watching the ether. The
Green Mountains of Vermont stretch out indefinitely, and from my elevated vantage point, I feel
as though we are peers, motionless in solidarity. I’ve lost my corporeal form and instead, while
watching invisible currents drive white leviathans across the sky, have drifted up into the
epistemological stream; completely alone with my questions, diving for answers. But a few
months ago, I would have considered this an utter waste of time. 

Prior to attending Mountain School, my paradigm was substantially limited; opinions, prejudices,
and ideas shaped by the testosterone-rich environment of Landon School. I was herded by result-
oriented, fast-paced, technologically-reliant parameters towards psychology and neuroscience
(the NIH, a mere 2.11 mile run from my school, is like a beacon on a hill). I was taught that
one’s paramount accomplishment should be specialization. 

Subconsciously I knew this was not who I wanted to be and seized the chance to apply to the
Mountain School. Upon my arrival, though, I immediately felt I did not belong. I found the
general atmosphere of hunky-dory acceptance foreign and incredibly unnerving. 

So, rather than engage, I retreated to what was most comfortable: sports and work. In the second
week, the perfect aggregate of the two, a Broomball tournament, was set to occur. Though I had
never played before, I had a distinct vision for it, so decided to organize it.

That night, the glow-in-the-dark ball skittered across the ice. My opponent and I, brooms in
hand, charged forward. We collided and I banana-peeled, my head taking the brunt of the impact.
Stubborn as I was, even with a concussion, I wanted to remain in class and do everything my
peers did, but my healing brain protested. My teachers didn’t quite know what to do with me, so,
no longer confined to a classroom if I didn’t want to be, I was in limbo. I began wandering
around campus with no company except my thoughts. Occasionally, Zora, my English teacher’s
dog, would tag along and we’d walk for miles in each other's silent company. Other times, I
found myself pruning the orchard, feeding the school’s wood furnaces, or my new favorite
activity, splitting wood. Throughout those days, I created a new-found sense of home in my
head.

However, thinking on my own wasn’t enough; I needed more perspectives. I organized raucous
late-night discussions about everything from medieval war machines to political theory and 
randomly challenged my friends to “say something outrageous and defend it.” And whether we
achieve profundity or not, I find myself enjoying the act of discourse itself. As Thoreau writes,
“Let the daily tide leave some deposit on these pages, as it leaves, the waves may cast up pearls.”
I have always loved ideas, but now understand what it means to ride their waves, to let them
breathe and become something other than just answers to immediate problems. 

I am most enamored by ideas that cultivate ingenious and practical enrichments for humanity. I
enjoy picking some conundrum, large or small, and puzzling out a solution. Returning from a
cross country meet recently, my friend and I, serendipitously, designed a socially responsible
disposable water bottle completely on accident. Now we hope to create it.
I am still interested in psychology and neuroscience, but also desire to incorporate contemplative
thought into this work, analyzing enigmas from many different perspectives. My internships at
the NIH and the National Hospital for Neuroscience and Neurosurgery in London have offered
me valuable exposure to research and medicine. But I have come to realize that neither of my
previous intended professions allow me to expand consciousness in the way I would prefer. 

After much soul-searching, I have landed on behavioral economics as the perfect synergy of the
fields I love. All it took was a knock on the head.
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THE "5 FAMILY IDENTITIES" COLLEGE

ESSAY EXAMPLE
Montage, “Identity” Type

“Chris, what would you like to have for Christmas Dinner?”

Suddenly, a miniature gathering of the European Commission glares straight at me. I feel the
pressure of picking one option over the other.

 What do I choose? The Roast Duck of Denmark, the Five Fish of Italy, the Turkey of Great
Britain, or the Ham of the U.S.? Like the various nations of the European Union, the individual
proponents of these culinary varieties are lobbying their interests to me, a miniature Jean-Claude
Junker.

Now, you may be asking yourselves: why would I be so pensive over a meal choice?

See, I have been blessed to be a part of what my mother calls the “melting pot of Europe.” 
While I was born in England, my brothers were born in Denmark and New York. I have a
Swedish sister-in-law, Italian Aunts, an English Uncle, Romanian cousins and an Italo-Danish
immigrant father. Every year, that same family gathers together in New York City to celebrate
Christmas. While this wonderful kaleidoscope of cultures has caused me to be the ‘peacekeeper’
during meal arbitrations, it has fundamentally impacted my life.  

Our family’s ethnic diversity has meant that virtually each person adheres to a different position
on the political spectrum. This has naturally triggered many discussions, ranging from the merits
of European single-payer healthcare to those of America’s gun laws, that have often animated
our meals. These exact conversations drove me to learn more about what my parents,
grandparents, and other relatives were debating with a polite and considerate passion. This
ongoing discourse on current events not only initiated my interests in politics and history, but
also prepared me greatly for my time as a state-champion debater for Regis’s Public Forum team.
In turn, participating in debate has expanded my knowledge regarding matters ranging from civil
rights reparations to American redeployment in Iraq, while enriching my capacities to
thoughtfully express my views on those and other issues, both during P.F. rounds and at the
dinner table.
Just as I’ve learned to understand and bridge the divides between a rich tapestry of cultures in
order to develop my familial relations, society’s leadership must also do the same on a grander
scale. This awareness incited a passion for statecraft within me – the very art of balancing
different perspectives - and therefore a desire to actively engage in government. With my
experiences in mind, I felt there was no better place to start than my own neighborhood of Bay
Ridge. Young hipsters, a high concentration of seniors, Italian & Irish middle class families, and
a growing population of Middle-Eastern Americans help to comprise a district that I have begun
serving as the first teenaged member of my local Community Board.  Within my public service
capacity, I am committed to making policy judgments (for example, regarding hookah bars,
zoning regulations, and park renovation expenses) that are both wise and respectful of my
community’s diversity. 

Most importantly, my family has taught me an integral life lesson. As our Christmas Dinner
squabbles suggest, seemingly insurmountable impasses can be resolved through respect and
dialogue, even producing delicious results! On a grander scale, it has elucidated that truly
inclusive discourse and toleration of diverse perspectives render tribalism, sectarianism, and the 
divisive aspects of identity politics powerless over our cohesion. I fundamentally value cultural,
political, and theological variety; my own microcosm reflecting our global society at large has
inspired me to strive to solve the many conflicts of bitterness and sectionalism in our world
today. This vocation may come in the form of political leadership that truly respects all
perspectives and philosophies, or perhaps as diplomacy facilitating unity between the various
nations of the world. The problems I would need to help remedy are numerous and daunting, but
our annual Christmas feasts will forever remind me that they can be overcome, and that
humanity’s diversity is not a weakness, but a definitive strength.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "COFFEESHOPS + COFFEE"

COLLEGE ESSAY EXAMPLE
Montage Essay, “Home” Type

Before I came to America, I drank Puer Tea with my father every morning in my bedroom,
sitting cross-legged on Suzhou-silk mats beside a view of the Lakeside reservoir. Beside a dark
end table, we picked up teacups as the mild aroma greeted our noses. As we faced the French
window, my father would share the news he read in China Daily: the Syrian civil war, climate
change, and gender equality in Hollywood. Most of the time, I only listened. With each piece of
news, my curiosity piqued. Secretly, I made a decision that I wanted to be the one to discuss the
news with him from my perspective. So, I decided to study in America to learn more about the
world.   

After one year’s extensive research and hours of interviews, I came to America for 9th grade and
moved in with a host family. But, my new room lacked stories and cups of tea. Fortunately, I
found Blue House Cafe on my walk home from church, and started studying there. With white
walls, comfortable sofas, and high stools, Blue House is spacious and bright. Hearing people’s
stories and looking at their warm smiles when they taste various pastries as I sat by the window,
I watched as a production designer scouted locations for his film, or a painter took notes while
brainstorming for his freehand brushwork of Blue House. With a cup of coffee, I dig into
differential and parametric equations for my upcoming AP Calculus test, learn the nuances of
public speaking by watching Michael Sandel’s Justice lectures on my laptop, and plan
fundraising events for my non-profit. 

I’ve also learned by watching leaders host meetings at the rectangle conference table at the back
of the cafe and I learn from the leaders of meetings, watching as they hold the edge of the table
and express their ideas. Similarly, as president of the International Students Club, I invited my
teammates to have meetings with me at the cafe. Coordinating the schedule with other members
in Blue House has become a frequent event. Consuming several cups of coffee, my team and I
have planned Lunar New Year events, field trip to the Golden Gate Bridge, and Chinese lunch in
school to help international students feel more at home. Straightening my back and bracing my
shoulders, I stood up behind the conference table and expressed my creative ideas passionately.
After each meeting, we shared buttermilk coffee-cake.

In my spot next to the window, I also witnessed different kinds of people. I viewed visitors
dragging their luggage, women carrying shopping bags, and people wandering in tattered clothes
--the diversity of San Francisco. Two years ago I saw volunteers wearing City Impact shirts
offering sandwiches and hot chocolate to homeless people outside of the cafe. I investigated
more about City Impact and eventually signed up to volunteer. No longer was I a bystander. At
holiday outreach events, I prepared and delivered food to homeless people. While sharing my
coffee, I listened to a story from an older Chinese man who told me, in Mandarin, how he had
been abandoned by his children and felt lonely.

Last summer, I returned to Xiamen, China, and taught my father how to drink coffee. Now, a
Chemex and teapot are both on the end table. Instead of simply listening, I shared my
experiences as a club president, a community leader, and a volunteer. I showed him my business
plan and prototypes. My father raised his cup of coffee and made a toast to me, “Good girl! I am
so proud of you.” Then, he patted my head as before. Together, we emptied our cups while the
smell of coffee lingered.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "KOMBUCHA CLUB" COLLEGE

ESSAY EXAMPLE
Montage Essay, “Uncommon Extracurricular Activity” Type

I add the critically measured sugary tea mixture to the gallon jar containing the slimy, white,
disc-shaped layers of the symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast.

Now to wait.  

After exactly seven days, I pour the liquid into a fermentation-grade glass bottle with a ratio of
20% pomegranate juice and 80% fermented tea. I place it on my kitchen counter, periodically
checking it to relieve the built-up CO2.
Finally, after an additional seventy-two hours, the time comes to try it. I crack the seal on the
bottle, leaning over to smell what I assume will be a tangy, fruity, delicious pomegranate
solution. and it smells like rotten eggs. The insufferable stench fills my nostrils and crushes my
confidence. I'm momentarily taken aback, unable to understand how I went wrong when I
followed the recipe perfectly. 

My issue wasn't misreading the recipe or failing to follow a rule, it was bypassing my creative
instincts and forgetting the unpredictable nature of fermentation. I needed to trust the creative
side of kombucha— the side that takes people's perfectionist energy and explodes it into a puddle
of rotten egg smelling 'booch (my preferred name for the drink- not "fermented, effervescent
liquid from a symbiotic culture of acetic acid bacteria and yeast"). I was too caught up in the side
that requires extreme preciseness to notice when the balance between perfectionism and
imperfectionism was being thrown off. The key, I have learned, is knowing when to prioritize
following the recipe and when to let myself be creative. Sure, there are scientific variables such
as proximity to heat sources and how many grams of sugar to add. But, there's also person-
dependent variables like how long I decide to ferment it, what fruits I decide will be a fun
combination, and which friend I got my first SCOBY from (taking "symbiotic" to a new level).

I often find myself feeling pressured to choose one side or the other, one extreme over the
alternative. I've been told that I can either be a meticulous scientist or a messy artist, but to be
both is an unacceptable contradiction. However, I choose a grey area; a place where I can
channel my creativity into the sciences, as well as channel my precision into my photography.

I still have the first photo I ever took on the first camera I ever had. Or rather, the first camera I
ever made. Making that pinhole camera was truly a painstaking process: take a cardboard box,
tap it shut, and poke a hole in it. Okay, maybe it wasn't that hard. But learning the exact process
of taking and developing a photo in its simplest form, the science of it, is what drove me to
pursue photography. I remember being so unhappy with the photo I took; it was faded,
underexposed, and imperfect. For years, I felt incredibly pressured to try and perfect my
photography. It wasn't until I was defeated, staring at a puddle of kombucha, that I realized that
there doesn't always have to be a standard of perfection in my art, and that excited me. 

So, am I a perfectionist? Or do I crave pure spontaneity and creativity? Can I be both?

Perfectionism leaves little to be missed. With a keen eye, I can quickly identify my mistakes and
transform them into something with purpose and definitude. On the other hand, imperfection is
the basis for change and for growth. My resistance against perfectionism is what has allowed me
to learn to move forward by seeing the big picture; it has opened me to new experiences, like
bacteria cross-culturing to create something new, something different, something better. I am not
afraid of change or adversity, though perhaps I am afraid of conformity. To fit the mold of
perfection would compromise my creativity, and I am not willing to make that sacrifice.
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THE "MOMENTS WHERE THE SECONDS
STAND STILL" COLLEGE ESSAY
EXAMPLE
Montage Essay, “Other/Advanced” type

I hold onto my time as dearly as my Scottish granny holds onto her money. I’m careful about
how I spend it and fearful of wasting it. Precious minutes can show someone I care and can mean
the difference between accomplishing a goal or being too late to even start and my life depends
on carefully budgeting my time for studying, practicing with my show choir, and hanging out
with my friends. However, there are moments where the seconds stand still.

It is already dark when I park in my driveway after a long day at school and rehearsals. I can’t
help but smile when I see my dog Kona bounce with excitement, then slide across the tile floor
to welcome me as I open the door. I run with him into my parent’s bedroom, where my mom,
dad, and sister are waiting for me. We pile onto my parents’ bed to talk about what’s going on in
our lives, plan our next trip to the beach, tell jokes, and “spill tea.” They help me see challenges
with a realistic perspective, grounding me in what matters. Not paying attention to the clock, I
allow myself to relax for a brief moment in my busy life.

Laughter fills the show choir room as my teammates and I pass the time by telling bad jokes and
breaking out in random bursts of movement. Overtired, we don’t even realize we’re entering the
fourth hour of rehearsal. This same sense of camaraderie follows us onstage, where we become
so invested in the story we are portraying we lose track of time. My show choir is my second
family. I realize I choreograph not for recognition, but to help sixty of my best friends find their
footing. At the same time, they help me find my voice.

The heavy scuba gear jerks me under the icy water, and exhilaration washes over me. Lost in the
meditative rolling effect of the tide and the hum of the vast ocean, I feel present. I dive deeper to
inspect a vibrant community of creatures, and we float together, carefree and synchronized. My
fascination with marine life led me to volunteer as an exhibit interpreter for the Aquarium of the
Pacific, where I share my love for the ocean. Most of my time is spent rescuing animals from
small children and, in turn, keeping small children from drowning in the tanks. I’ll never forget
the time when a visiting family and I were so involved in discussing ocean conservation that,
before I knew it, an hour had passed. Finding this mutual connection over the love of marine life
and the desire to conserve the ocean environment keeps me returning each summer. 

“Why don’t we have any medical supplies?” The thought screams through my mind as I carry a
sobbing girl on my back across campus in search of an ice pack and ankle wrap. She had just
fallen while performing, and I could relate to the pain and fear in her eyes. The chaos of the
show becomes distant, and I devote my time to bringing her relief, no matter how long it may
take. I find what I need to treat her injury in the sports medicine training room. I didn’t realize
she would be the first of many patients I would tend to in this training room. Since then, I’ve
launched a sports medicine program to provide care to the 500-person choir program.  
Saturday morning bagels with my family. Singing backup for Barry Manilow with my choir.
Swimming with sea turtles in the Pacific. Making my teammate smile even though he’s in pain.
These are the moments I hold onto, the ones that define who I am, and who I want to be. For me,
time isn’t just seconds ticking by on a clock, it’s how I measure what matters.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "IDENTIFYING AS TRANS"

COLLEGE ESSAY EXAMPLE
Narrative Essay, “Challenges” Type

“Mommy I can’t see myself.” 

I was six when I first refused/rejected girl’s clothing, eight when I only wore boy’s clothing, and
fifteen when I realized why. When gifted dresses I was told to “smile and say thank you” while
Spiderman shirts took no prompting from me, I’d throw my arms around the giver and thank
them. My whole life has been others invading my gender with their questions, tears signed by my
body, and a war against my closet. Fifteen years and I finally realized why, this was a girl’s
body, and I am a boy. 

Soon after this, I came out to my mom. I explained how lost I felt, how confused I was, how “I
think I’m Transgender.” It was like all those years of being out of place had led to that moment,
my truth, the realization of who I was. My mom cried and said she loved me. 

The most important factor in my transition was my mom’s support. She scheduled me an
appointment with a gender therapist, let me donate my female clothes, and helped build a
masculine wardrobe. With her help, I went on hormones five months after coming out and got
surgery a year later. I finally found myself, and my mom fought for me, her love was endless.
Even though I had friends, writing, and therapy, my strongest support was my mother.

On August 30th, 2018 my mom passed away unexpectedly. My favorite person, the one who
helped me become the man I am today, ripped away from me, leaving a giant hole in my heart
and in my life.

Life got dull. Learning how to wake up without my mom every morning became routine.
Nothing felt right, a constant numbness to everything, and fog brain was my kryptonite. I paid
attention in class, I did the work, but nothing stuck. I felt so stupid, I knew I was capable, I could
solve a Rubik’s cube in 25 seconds and write poetry, but I felt broken. I was lost, I couldn’t see
myself, so stuck on my mother that I fell into an ‘It will never get better’ mindset.

It took over a year to get out of my slump. 25 therapy sessions, over 40 poems, not a single
one didn’t mention my mom. I shared my writing at open mics, with friends, and I cried every
time. I embraced the pain, the hurt, and eventually, it became the norm. I grew used to not
having my mom around.
My mom always wanted to change the world, to fix the broken parts of society. She didn’t
get to. Now that I’m in a good place, mentally and physically, I’m going to make that impact.
Not just for her, but for me, and all the people who need a support branch as strong as the one
my mom gave me.

I’m starting with whats impacted me most of my life, what’s still in front of me, being
Transgender in the school system. For my senior project, I am using my story and experience
as a young Transgender man to inform local schools, specifically the staff, about the do’s and
dont’s of dealing with a Transgender student. I am determined to make sure no one feels as alone
as I did. I want to be able to reach people, and use motivational speaking as the platform. 

After experiencing many twists and turns in my life, I’m finally at a good spot. I know what
I want to do with my life, and I know how I’m going to get there. 

Mom, I can see myself now. Thank you.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "ITAYLOR" COLLEGE ESSAY

EXAMPLE
Narrative Essay, Undefined Type

Are you tired of seeing an iPhone everywhere? Samsung glitchy? It’s time for a change. I present
to you, the iTaylor. I am the iTaylor. On the outside, I look like any smart phone, but when you
open my settings and explore my abilities, you will find I have many unique features.

The iTaylor’s best feature is its built-in optimism. Thanks to my positivity, I was chosen to give
the morning announcements freshman year. Now, I am the alarm clock for the 1,428 students of
Fox Lane High School. For the past three years, I have been starting everyone’s morning with a
bubbly, “Good morning, foxes!” and ending with “Have a marvelous Monday,” “Terrific
Tuesday” or “Phenomenal Friday!”  My adjective-a-day keeps people listening, gives me
conversation starters with faculty, and solicits fun suggestions from my friends.

Next up, language settings. I’ve worked hard to be bilingual so the iTaylor can be set to either
English or Spanish. Fun fact: In middle school, I set my phone to Spanish so that messages like
“Alexis te envió un mensaje en Instagram,” would increase my fluency. I learned nuances of the
language by watching Spanish sitcoms like Siete Vidas and Spanish movies like Como Agua
Para Chocolate. I appreciate the emphasis Spanish culture places on relationships, the way
siblings take care of each other, and how grandparents’ wisdom is valued. Inspired, I began
creating family events and even making efforts to grow closer to my second cousins.

At eight years old, I was diagnosed with what some might call a glitch: epilepsy. Fortunately, a
new IOS software update cured my condition by the age of 15, but through epilepsy, I gained a
love of exploration. Whereas at 10, I couldn’t bathe without supervision, I now enjoy snorkeling
in unknown waters. While at 11, I couldn’t be left alone with my friends, I now explore the
subways, crowded streets, and Broadway shows of New York City. Overcoming epilepsy taught
me to take risks and explore new places.

This brings us to the iTaylor location settings. Two summers ago, I travelled to Ecuador to live
with a friend’s family and teach Spanish theater to third graders. The experience implanted a
“cookie” in me, filling me with a desire to learn about different cultures. I brought this desire
home to a volunteer position at a local program for immigrant children. I helped the kids make
presentations about their places of origin, including Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras. Also, as
resident tour guide and ambassador for exchange students at my school, I’ve discovered North
African fusion music from Selima, learned German slang from Henrike, and helped Saidimar
prepare his Mr.Sulu campaign, a regional pageant in the Philippines. It became clear that the
English language, one I took for granted, is the central feature that brings groups together.

This past summer, I brought my talents to Scotland, playing the dual role of  Artistic Director
and leading character for Geek the Musical. I worked to promote the show in the Edinburgh
Fringe Festival against 53,232 shows, reinventing ways to motivate the cast and connect with
strangers from all over the world. We learned the more we connected, the more our audience
grew. I applied these skills to my leadership positions at home, including my High School
Theater Group, Players. I’m now better at creating a marketing strategy that includes door-to-
door sales, print advertising, and identifying broader target audiences to fill seats.

The rollout plan for the iTaylor is to introduce it to the theater market. My goal is to use
performance and storytelling to expose audiences to different cultures, religions, and points of
view. Perhaps if we all learned more about each other's lifestyles, the world would be more
empathetic and integrated. 

So what do you think? Would you like an iTaylor of your own? The iTaylor College Edition is
now available for pre-order. It delivers next fall.
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THE "FIGURING OUT WHAT REALLY

MATTERED CHALLENGE" COLLEGE
ESSAY EXAMPLE
Narrative Essay

"Perfect as the wing of a bird may be, it will never enable the bird to fly if unsupported by the
air." --Ivan Pavlov 

Upon graduation, I will be able to analyze medieval Spanish poems using literary terms and
cultural context, describe the electronegativity trends on the periodic table, and identify when to
use logarithmic differentiation to simplify a derivative problem. Despite knowing how to execute
these very particular tasks, I currently fail to understand how to change a tire, how to do my
taxes efficiently, or how to obtain a good insurance policy. A factory-model school system that
has been left essentially unchanged for nearly a century has been the driving force in my
educational development.
I have been conditioned to complete tasks quickly, efficiently, and with an advanced
understanding. I measured my self-worth as my ability to outdo my peers academically, thinking
my scores were the only aspect that defined me; and they were. I was getting everything right.
Then, I ran for Student Government and failed. Rejection. I didn’t even make it past the first
round of cuts. How could that be? I was statistically a smart kid with a good head on my
shoulders, right? Surely someone had to have made a mistake. Little did I know, this was my
first exposure to meaning beyond numbers.

As I was rejected from StuGo for the second year in a row, I discovered I had been wrongfully
measuring my life through numbers--my football statistics, my test scores, my age, my height
(I’m short). I had the epiphany that oh wait, maybe it was my fault that I had never prioritized
communication skills, or open-mindedness (qualities my fellow candidates possessed). Maybe it
was me. That must be why I always had to be the one to approach people during my volunteer
hours at the public library to offer help--no one ever asked me for it. I resolved to alter my
mindset, taking a new approach to the way I lived. From now on I would emphasize qualitative
experiences over quantitative skills. 

I had never been more uncomfortable. I forced myself to learn to be vulnerable by asking
questions even if I was terrified of being wrong. My proficiency in using data evidence could not
teach me how to communicate with young children at church, nor could my test scores show me
how to be more open to criticism. The key to all of these skills, I was to discover, happened to be
learning from those around me. Turns out, I couldn’t do everything by myself.

The process of achieving this new mindset came through the cultivation of relationships. I
became fascinated by the new perspectives each person in my life could offer if I really took the
time to connect. Not only did I improve my listening skills, but I began to consider the big-
picture consequences my engagements could have. People interpret situations differently due to
their own cultural contexts, so I had to learn to pay more attention to detail to understand every
point of view. I took on the state of what I like to call collaborative independence, and to my
delight, I was elected to StuGo after my third year of trying.

Not long ago, I would have fallen apart at the presence of any uncertainty. As I further accept
and advance new life skills, the more I realize how much remains uncertain in the world. After
all, it is quite possible my future job doesn’t exist yet, and that’s okay. I can’t conceivably plan
out my entire life at the age of 17, but what I can do is prepare myself to take on the unknown,
doing my best to accompany others. Hopefully, my wings continue enabling me to fly, but it is
going to take more than just me and my wings; I have to continue putting my faith in the air
around me.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "PARENTS' RELATIONSHIP"

COLLEGE ESSAY EXAMPLE
Narrative Essay, “Challenge” Type
My mom opened Kanishka’s Gastropub in 2013. I was ecstatic. We would become the first
Mother-Son Indian duo on Food Network peeling potatoes, skinning chicken, and grinding
spices, sharing our Bengali recipes with the world. 

However, the restaurant tore apart my parent’s relationship. Two years after opening, my dad
started coming home late most nights, plastered from “happy hour with work colleagues.” My
mom, trying to balance her day job at Kaiser and owning a restaurant, poured her stress on
me,“What the hell is wrong with you! Always watching YouTube and never talking!” 

The worst time came when my parents tried to fix their relationship. Repeated date nights
induced more arguments. Enduring the stress of her restaurant, my father, and her mistakes, my
mom attempted to end her life. Fortunately, I found her just in time.  

Over the next two years, things were at times still hard, but gradually improved. My parents
decided to start anew, took some time apart, then got back together. My mom started to pick me
up from activities on time and my dad and I bonded more, watching Warriors and 49ers games. 

But at times I still had to emotionally support my mom to avoid sudden India trips, or put my
siblings to bed if my parents weren’t home at night. Over time, I found it difficult being my
family’s glue. I wanted back the family I had before the restaurant--the one that ate Luchi
Mongsho together every Sunday night.

So I looked for comfort in creation. I began spending more time in our garage, carefully
constructing planes from sheets of foam. I found purpose balancing the fuselage or leveling the
ailerons to precisely 90 degrees. I loved cutting new parts and assembling them perfectly. Here, I
could fix all the mistakes. 

In high school, I slowly began to forge a community of creators with my peers. Sophomore year,
I started an engineering club and found that I had a talent for  managing people and encouraging
them to create an idea even if it failed. I also learned how to take feedback and become more
resilient. Here, I could nerd-out about warp drives and the possibility of anti-matter without
being ignored. I would give a weekly report on new technology and we would have hour-long
conversations about the various uses a blacker material could have. 

While building a community at school rebuilt my confidence, I still found I enjoyed being alone
at times. While driving in my car, I’d let my mind wander to movies like Big Hero Six and
contemplate if a zero-friction bike really was possible. I’d create ideas like an AI highway
system that tells drivers exactly when to switch lanes based on timing and calculus to prevent
braking from nearby cars. Or I’d blueprint a new classroom with interactive desks, allowing
students to dive deep into historical events like a VR game. I found outlining complex ideas like
these sometimes provide insights into something I’m researching or could one day materialize
into future projects. 

Looking back (and perhaps inadvertently), the conflicts from the restaurant days have taught me
valuable lessons. Helping my mom through her relationship taught me to watch out for those in
emotional distress. Spending nights alone made me more independent--after all, it was then that I
signed up for advanced math and programming courses and decided to apply for software
internships. Most of all, seeing my mom start her restaurant from no food-industry experience
inspired me to found two clubs and a Hydrogen Car Team. 

Even though we eat Luchi Monsho on a monthly basis now, I know my family will never be the
way it was. My mom and I won’t become a Food Network mother-son duo. I can’t fix all the
mistakes. But I can use them to improve the present.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "THREATENED BY ISIS" COLLEGE

ESSAY EXAMPLE
Narrative Essay, “Challenge” Type

In 8th grade while doing a school project I Googled my dad's name and it came up in US military
documents posted on the Snowden/NSA documents on WikiLeaks. I stayed up all night reading
through documents related to Army support contracts in Iraq and Kuwait in 2003. I asked my
dad about it the next day and he said, "It was a mistake I made that has been resolved." Turns out
it hadn't been.

Saudi Arabia in the 2000s wasn’t the most ideal place to grow up. I was always scared of
terrorist groups such as al-Qaeda. My school was part of the US Consulate in Dhahran, and when
I was in the 8th grade it was threatened by ISIS. Violence has always surrounded me and haunted
me. 

After 14 years of living in a region destroyed by violence, I was sent away to boarding school in
a region known for peace, Switzerland. That year my father was found guilty and imprisoned for
the charges related to his Army support contract. I felt as if I was Edgar in Shakespeare’s King
Lear and this could not get worse, but yet it did.

My parents got divorced and my childhood home was bulldozed to the ground by the Saudi
government after my father was sent to prison. My mom had always been a hub of stability, but
she was too overwhelmed to support me. I started eating to cope with my anxiety and gained 100
pounds in a year and a half. As I gained weight, my health started to deteriorate, and my grades
started to drop. 

Things began to change at the beginning of my sophomore year, however, when I met my new
roommate, Nico. He had grown up with someone whose father was also in prison, and was able
to help me better understand the issues I was facing. Through my friendship with Nico, I learned
how to open up and get support from my friends. 

I started to make new friends with more people at my school and was surprised to find out that
90% of their parents were divorced. Because we faced similar issues, we were able to support
one and other, share tactics, and give advice. One of my friends, John, gave me advice on how to
help my mother emotionally by showing her love, something I hadn’t been able to do before. My
friends gave me a family and a home, when my own family was overwhelmed and my home was
gone.

Slowly, I put my life back on track. I started playing basketball, began working on a CubeSAT,
learned to program, changed my diet, and lost all the weight I had gained. 

 Now my friends in Switzerland come to me asking me for advice and help, and I feel as if I am a
vital member of our community. My close friend Akshay recently started stressing about whether
his parents were going to get divorced. With John’s advice, I started checking in on Akshay,
spending more time with him, and coaching him before and after he talked to his parents. 

Leaving home in the beginning of my adolescence, I was sent out on a path of my own. While
for some, high school is the best time of their lives, for me, high school has represented some of
the best and, hopefully, worst times. Even with the struggles I’ve faced with my family, I am
grateful for this path. It has brought me to a place that I only thought was fictional. In this new
place I feel like a real person, with real emotions. This place is somewhere where I can express
myself freely and be who I want to be. I am a much stronger, healthier, and more resilient person
than I was two years ago. While it hasn’t been easy, I am glad to be where I am today.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

UC ESSAY EXAMPLES
FOR A TON OF UC ESSAY EXAMPLES,
HEAD TO MY BLOG POST HERE.

SUPPLEMENTAL ESSAY EXAMPLES

UCHICAGO: THE "WHY DID THE
CHICKEN CROSS THE ROAD" ESSAY
This essay was written for the U of Chicago "Create your own prompt" essay. The author
included the following explanatory note:
I plan to double major in biochemistry and English and my main essay explains my passion for
the former; here is a writing sample that illustrates my enthusiasm for the latter.

In my AP Literature class, my teacher posed a question to which students had to write a creative
response. My response is framed around the ideas of Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave.”

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?

A: A manicured green field of grass blades cut to perfectly matched lengths; a blue expanse
ornamented with puffy cotton clouds; an immaculately painted red barn centered exactly at the
top of a hill--the chicken gazes contentedly at his picturesque world. Within an area surrounded
by a shiny silver fence, he looks around at his friends: roosters pecking at a feast of grains and
hens lounging on luxurious cushions of hay. As the nice man in a plaid shirt and blue jeans
collects the hens’ eggs, the chicken feels an overwhelming sense of indebtedness to him for
providing this idyllic lifestyle.

On a day as pristine as all the others, the chicken is happily eating his lunchtime meal as the nice
man carefully gathers the smooth white eggs when it notices that the man has left one behind.
Strangely located at the empty end of the metal enclosure, highlighted by the bright yellow sun,
the white egg appears to the chicken different from the rest. The chicken moves towards the light
to tacitly inform the man of his mistake. But then the chicken notices a jagged gray line on the
otherwise flawless egg. Hypnotized and appalled, the chicken watches as the line turns into a
crack and a small beak attached to a fuzzy yellow head pokes out. Suddenly a shadow descends
over the chicken and the nice man snatches the egg--the baby chick--and stomps off.

The chicken--confused, betrayed, disturbed--slowly lifts its eyes from the now empty ground.
For the first time, it looks past the silver fence of the cage and notices an unkempt sweep of
colossal brown and green grasses opposite its impeccably crafted surroundings. Cautiously, it
inches closer to the barrier, farther from the unbelievable perfection of the farm, and discovers a
wide sea of black gravel.  Stained with gray stones and marked with yellow lines, it separates the
chicken from the opposite field.

The curious chicken quickly shuffles to Mother Hen, who has just settled on to her throne of hay
and is closing her eyes. He is sure that the always composed and compassionate chicken will
help him make sense of what he’s just seen.

“Mother Hen, Mother Hen! I-I just saw one of those eggs, cracking, and there was a small yellow
bird inside. It was a baby. Are those eggs that the nice man takes away babies? And that black
ground! What is it?” the chicken blurts out.

Her eyes flick open. “BOK BOK! Don’t you ever dare speak of what you have seen again,”
Mother Hen snaps in a low and violent whisper, “or all of this will be taken away.” Closing her
eyes again, she dismisses the chicken.

Frozen in disbelief, the chicken tries to make sense of her harsh words. It replays the incident in
its head. “All the food, the nice soft hay, the flawless red barn--maybe all of this isn’t worth
giving up. Maybe Mother Hen is right. She just wants to protect me from losing it all.” The
chicken replays the incident again. “But it was a baby. What if it was hers? She still wouldn’t
care. She’s being selfish; all she cares about is this perfect life.” A final replay, and the chicken
realizes and accepts that Mother Hen knows, has known, that the man is doing something wrong;
yet she has yielded to the cruelty for her own comfort. A fissure in the chicken’s unawareness, a
plan begins to hatch. The chicken knows it must escape; it has to get to the other side.

“That man in the plaid shirt is stealing the eggs from their mothers again,” the chicken thinks the
next day as he unlocks the cage. Then the man reaches into the wooden coop, his back to the
entrance. “Now!” At its own cue, the chicken scurries towards the opening and exits unseen.
With a backwards glance at his friends, the chicken feels a profound sadness and pity for their
ignorance. It wants to urge them to open their eyes, to see what they are sacrificing for
materialistic pleasures, but he knows they will not surrender the false reality. Alone, the chicken
dashes away.

The chicken stands at the line between green grass and black gravel. As it prepares to take its
first step into the unknown, a monstrous vehicle with 18 wheels made of metal whizzes by,
leaving behind a trail of gray exhaust. Once it regains its breath, it moves a few inches onto the
asphalt. Three more speeding trucks stop its chicken heart.

“I can’t do this,” it says to itself. “These monsters are a sign. They’re telling me to go back.
Besides, a few lost chicks aren’t so bad. The man’s not that evil. He gives us food, and a home.”

But the chicken dismisses the cowardly voice in its head, reminding itself of the injustice back in
the deceptively charming prison. Over the next several hours, it learns to strategically position
itself so that it is in line with the empty space between the tires of passing trucks. It reaches the
yellow dashes. A black blanket gradually pushes away the glowing sun and replaces it with
diamond stars and a glowing crescent. It reaches the untouched field.

With a deep breath, the chicken steps into the swathe, a world of tall beige grass made brown by
the darkness. Unsure of what it may discover, it determines to simply walk straight through the
brush, out on to the other side. For what seems like forever, it continues forward, as the black sky
turns to purple, then blue, then pink. Just as the chicken begins to regret its journey, the grass
gives way to a vast landscape of trees, bushes, flowers--heterogeneous and variable, but
nonetheless perfect. In a nearby tree, the chicken spots two adult birds tending to a nest of
babies--a natural dynamic of individuals unaltered by corrupt influence.

And then it dawns on him. It has escaped from a contrived and perverted domain as well as its
own unawareness; it has arrived in a place where the pure order of the world reigns.

“I know the truth now,” it thinks to himself as the sun rises. “But here, in Nature, it is of no use.
Back home, I need to try to foster awareness among my friends, share this understanding with
them. Otherwise, I am as cruel as the man in the plaid shirt, taking away the opportunity to
overcome ignorance.”

“I must return now; I have to get to the other side.”

I analyze why I think this essay works in The Complete Guide, Session 6.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE "ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS"

UCHICAGO SUPPLEMENTAL ESSAY
EXAMPLE
Essay written for the University of Chicago prompt. which asks you to create your own prompt.

Prompt: Dear Christian, the admissions staff at the University of Chicago would like to inform
you that your application has been “put on the line.” We have one spot left and can’t decide if we
should admit you or another equally qualified applicant. To resolve the matter, please choose one
of the following:

Rock, paper, or scissors.

You will be notified of our decision shortly.

Response:

Rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, and paper beats rock.  Wait... paper beats rock? Since
when has a sheet of loose leaf paper ever defeated a solid block of granite? Do we assume that
the paper wraps around the rock, smothering the rock into submission? When exposed to paper,
is rock somehow immobilized, unable to fulfill its primary function of smashing scissors?  What
constitutes defeat between two inanimate objects?

Maybe it’s all a metaphor for larger ideals. Perhaps paper is rooted in the symbolism of
diplomacy while rock suggests coercion. But does compromise necessarily trump brute force?
And where do scissors lie in this chain of symbolism?

I guess the reasoning behind this game has a lot to do with context. If we are to rationalize the
logic behind this game, we have to assume some kind of narrative, an instance in which paper
might beat rock. Unfortunately, I can’t argue for a convincing one.

As with rock-paper-scissors, we often cut our narratives short to make the games we play easier,
ignoring the intricate assumptions that keep the game running smoothly. Like rock-paper-
scissors, we tend to accept something not because it’s true, but because it’s the convenient route
to getting things accomplished. We accept incomplete narratives when they serve us well,
overlooking their logical gaps. Other times, we exaggerate even the smallest defects and
uncertainties in narratives we don’t want to deal with. In a world where we know very little
about the nature of “Truth,” it’s very easy—and tempting—to construct stories around truth
claims that unfairly legitimize or delegitimize the games we play.

Or maybe I’m just making a big deal out of nothing...

Fine. I’ll stop with the semantics and play your game.
But who actually wants to play a game of rock-paper-scissors?  After all, isn’t it just a game of
random luck, requiring zero skill and talent? That’s no way to admit someone!

Wrong.

Studies have shown that there are winning strategies to rock-paper-scissors by making critical
assumptions about those we play against before the round has even started. Douglas Walker, host
of the Rock-Paper-Scissors World Championships (didn’t know that existed either), conducted
research indicating that males will use rock as their opening move 50% of the time, a gesture
Walker believes is due to rock’s symbolic association with strength and force. In this sense, the
seemingly innocuous game of rock-paper-scissors has revealed something quite discomforting
about gender-related dispositions in our society. Why did so many males think that brute strength
was the best option? If social standards have subliminally influenced the way males and females
play rock-paper-scissors, than what is to prevent such biases from skewing more important
decisions? Should your decision to go to war or to feed the hungry depend on your gender, race,
creed, etc?

Perhaps the narratives I spoke of earlier, the stories I mistakenly labeled as “semantics,” carry
real weight in our everyday decisions. In the case of Walker’s study, men unconsciously created
an irrational narrative around an abstract rock. We all tell slightly different narratives when we
independently consider notions ranging from rocks to war to existence. It is ultimately the
unconscious gaps in these narratives that are responsible for many of the man-made problems
this world faces. In order for the “life of the mind” to be a worthwhile endeavor, we must
challenge the unconscious narratives we attach to the larger games we play—the truths we tell
(or don’t tell), the lessons we learn (or haven’t really learned), the people we meet (or haven’t
truly met).

But even after all of this, we still don’t completely understand the narrative behind rock-paper-
scissors.  

I guess it all comes down to who actually made this silly game in the first place... I’d like to
think it was some snotty 3rd grader, but then again, that’s just another incomplete narrative.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

U OF MICHIGAN SUPPLEMENTAL
ESSAY EXAMPLE
THE "EAST MEETS WEST" EXAMPLE
ESSAY
This was written for the U. of Michigan supplemental "community" essay prompt, then adapted
for a (no longer existent) essay for Brown. The Michigan prompt reads:

Everyone belongs to many different communities and/or groups defined by (among other things)
shared geography, religion, ethnicity, income, cuisine, interest, race, ideology, or intellectual
heritage. Choose one of the communities to which you belong, and describe that community and
your place within it.

Here's the essay:

I look around my room, dimly lit by an orange light. On a desk in the left corner, a framed
picture of an Asian family is beaming their smiles, buried among US history textbooks and The
Great Gatsby. A Korean ballad streams from a pair of tiny computer speakers. Pamphlets of
American colleges are scattered about on the floor. A cold December wind wafts a strange
infusion of ramen and leftover pizza. On the wall in the far back, a Korean flag hangs besides a
Led Zeppelin poster.

Do I consider myself Korean or American?

A few years back, I would have replied: “Neither.” The frustrating moments of
miscommunication, the stifling homesickness, and the impossible dilemma of deciding between
the Korean or American table in the dining hall, all fueled my identity crisis.

Standing in the “Foreign Passports” section at JFK, I have always felt out of place. Sure, I held a
Korean passport in my hands, and I loved kimchi and Yuna Kim and knew the Korean Anthem
by heart. But I also loved macaroni and cheese and LeBron and knew all the Red Hot Chili
Peppers songs by heart. Deep inside, I feared that I would simply be labeled as what I am
categorized at airport customs: a foreigner in all places.

This ambiguity of existence, however, has granted me the opportunity to absorb the best of both
worlds. Take a look at my dorm room. This mélange of cultures in my East-meets-West room
embodies the diversity that characterizes my international student life.

I have learned to accept my “ambiguity” as “diversity,” as a third-culture student embracing both

identities in this diverse community that I am blessed to be a part of.

Do I consider myself Korean or American?

Now, I can proudly answer: “Both.”

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Tagged: college essay example, personal statement example, sample college essay, sample

personal statement, sample supplemental essay, example supplemental essay

Share
COMMENTS (21)
Newest First                                                                 Newest First
Preview P O S T C O M M E N T …
Martha  · 0 Likes
  

The rock, paper, scissors, essay was by far my favorite, I was hooked by the first line, Thank you
for sharing them!
mahi  · 0 Likes
  

Would you say all of these essays are what a typical student at top schools would submit?
Ashley Payou  · 0 Likes
  

Hi Mahi,
That depends on what you mean by "top schools" (a phrase we're generally wary of, as the
fetishization of school rankings seems generally problematic and unhealthy)- if by that phrase
you mean the most selective schools in the U.S., then it's important to keep in mind that a great
degree of admission depends on things like grades, test scores, letters of rec, institutional goals,
etc, in addition to the essay. This page offers a range of essays. They're all solid, and all of these
students went to good schools.
john bob  · 0 Likes
  

Thanks for sharing such an informational article which will a great help to the students.
shiggy  · 0 Likes
  

i really dont have anything unique about my life is really average and not so bothersome yeah i
had slumps but i just see them know as irritating i love to write but in a specific topic not
appropriate i really want to write something good but really have nothing to offer . any ideas?
Ashley Payou  · 0 Likes
  

Hi Shiggy! While it can be great to have a truly unique topic to write about, that's actually pretty
rare in our experience. Insead, you can think about connecting your topic to
uncommon/unexpected values and insights. It's great if you can write about less common topics
than Food/Cooking, for example. But the key is what values and insights you connect to. For
example, people might commonly connect Food/Cooking to health, culture, maybe creativity.
And you might still include elements of those. But a more interesting approach might connect
Food/Cooking to listening, and bridging cultural divides, and literature other unexpected values
and insights. The basic purpose of your main statement is to show the skills/qualities/values
you'll bring to a college. You can do that with more common or less common topics :). For some
brainstorming exercises to explore possible topics, and ways to structure those topics, check out
this post: https://www.collegeessayguy.com/blog/how-to-write-a-college-essay
Chirag arya  · 0 Likes
  

The blog is very informative. The way you've covered everything about SAT is perfect for a
person who wants to know in and out about everything.
Hope to read more of such great content from you in the future. Keep writing...!
Jasmine  · 0 Likes
  

Does every essay have to be about race and gender? Does college admission get tired of hearing
the same essay over and over?
Ashley Payou  · 0 Likes
  

No, but these are outstanding essays from students we've worked with. Your essay can be about
whatever you want! I'm sure college admissions love reading more unique essays, so you always
to try to use unique values or experiences.
Megan Campbell  · 0 Likes
  

The one about the Transgender made me bawl like a baby. So inspirational and powerful.
stuck on essays  · 0 Likes
  

thanksss for all your free resources!

todd  · 0 Likes
  

cool
gabi  · 0 Likes
  

When someone asks you, “What made you who you are?” You would say something like your
degree, or your greatest accomplishment, but that's not true. You are who you are because of all
the bad places you pulled yourself out of, we do not like to voice that. Everyone always wants to
push the bad things underneath the rug. If it is truly our obstacles that push us to success, why
are so afraid to admit we have them?
Is it okay to start my essay like this?
Ashley Payou  · 0 Likes
  

We wouldn't be able to tell you yes or no if that's an okay way to start your essay, since it's your
essay! The best thing you can do is write the essay and see how it all fits together, then decide.
Someguy  · 0 Likes
  

I don't get how most of these are greater than 650 words, yet can answer common app prompts.
Sure they're great essays, but there's a word limit that would not make them as detailed or
descriptive as shown here.
Ashley Payou  · 0 Likes
  

A lot of the essays I checked are below 650 words - which ones specifically are you concerned
about?
hi  · 0 Likes
  

The five families essay

Bro  · 1 Like
  

This is some good s*t

Parker  · 0 Likes
  

Great intel on college essays! Thank you for sharing.

Be sure to check out www.PlanMyCollegeVisit.com, a travel company that plans and

coordinates college visitation trips at an affordable price. This is another great tool for
prospective high school students and their parents!

Best,
Parker
Nasir Lewis  · 0 Likes
  

I admire how all of the the students put lots of detail into the intros of there writings. just because
of the extra detail in the beginning i was hooked on and i am not even writing at that level yet, i
´m also no college admission officer
wgww  · 0 Likes
  

their*

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