College Essay samples

							Essays That Worked!

Christina Fogarasi '13
Seoul Foreign School, Seoul South Korea

I chopped the reeking onions with my sister’s swim goggles over my eyes. William mixed the pesto, Stephanie
stirred the potato-leek soup, and my brother grilled the pork tenderloin. The onions were to be sautéed – my
first time sautéing – for an unusual balsamic pasta sauce. A seven-course meal was in the making.

I honestly cannot believe we went through with it. Hypothetical suggestions between my friends and me are
consistently put forward, but rarely acted upon. Even in the midst of stirring, garnishing the plates, and tearing
the oversized lettuce, I was stunned. We were catering to our parents, who were just as astonished. There was
no longer a need for my mother to fake an expression of surprise, as she had when I was young; her shock at our
spontaneous act was genuine.

While the adults feasted on the second course (tomatoes and mozzarella), the pinkie nail on my left hand rapidly
disintegrated due to my neurotic gnawing. William’s sudden realization prompted this anxiety: Whatever
happened to dessert? Improvisation proved essential. According to the menu, ―Oreo Surprise‖ was the finale, so
The Oreo Cookbook found underneath my Seoul subway map became our inspiration. The substitution of
melted marshmallows for Marshmallow Fluff culminated our efforts, and the concluding dish was to be brought
before the diners.

For the first time during the meal, I took a turn as a waiter. However, I found myself having second thoughts
regarding the entire event. In retrospect, I identify the dinner as an act of gratitude, to thank our devoted parents,
but at the time it was merely an amusing challenge. Thus, embarrassment overtook me as I considered the
impulsive task, completed without logical reason. I expected the ensemble of parents to view the dinner as a
frivolous waste of time.

My outlook, nevertheless, has changed since this incident. Although I am limited in my perspective, I trust that
there is purpose in the seemingly random happenings in my life. Despite the fact that I walked into the dining
room that day with my head down and my face somewhat flushed, I returned with a contagious, pleasurable
aura around my being. I understand now that the parents not only welcomed our offer for ―supper on us,‖ they
also celebrated, observing the productivity of their hard-working sons and daughters. Though the gourmet meal
was not meant to be a gift, the impacts and consequences of the act were deeply felt.

When reflecting on my life, I see a number of actions I use as means to achieve objectives, intrinsic or extrinsic.
I like to edit my brother’s essays to help him comprehend his mistakes, or read over my assigned English books
twice so I may have a better understanding of the novel. Yet, other actions I carry out almost without reason,
such as painting my sister’s nails or choosing an inspirational quote each week for the page in my assignment
planner. Like the gourmet dinner, though, these tasks generate effects far beyond those I anticipate.

Having lived in a variety of foreign environments, I notice that the end result of an action is emphasized,
whereas the means are usually overlooked. Tragically, this forms an attitude of obligation within the doer; the
joy of experimenting with a task disappears. I have therefore come to value creativity and spontaneity, which
highlight the process as opposed to an outcome. This week in my assignment notebook I will write: ―Success
and happiness are not destinations, they are exciting, never-ending journeys.‖ (Z. Ziglar, American author) and
remember that my mother’s new favorite dessert recipe is Oreo Surprise.
Why My Friends Didn't Visit Last Summer
By Riley Smith '12, Rhinelander, Wis.


Maybe it's because I live in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, where Brett Favre draws more
of a crowd on Sunday than any religious service, cheese is a staple food, it's sub-
zero during global warming, current "fashions" come three years after they've hit it
big with the rest of the world, and where all children by the age of ten can use a 12-
gauge like it's their job.

I shouldn't have told them I live on a farm with a barn, ten chickens, a dog, a
canary, two thousand deer, coyotes and beautiful Silver Bass Lake. When I say
beautiful lake, I mean it in the past tense. Each year the water level drops several
inches, and we now refer to it more accurately as "the puddle" threatening to
transform into a wetland. But even though you can't swim because of the weeds that
entangle your appendages, you can still kayak! Just be sure you wear muck boots
with your swimsuit because we traditionally portage the kayak a quarter mile down
the bank to find water deep enough to push in. The bloodsuckers are also a turnoff. In the last year I have only
had two bloodsuckers (leeches with small teeth) attach to me. The anticoagulant kept my leg bleeding for
around two hours while I lay with my leg elevated; my neurotic mother pacing the room and crying while on
hold with the local ER. But really, that's no reason to postpone a visit!

Another fabulous addition to our "farmstead" is the field that Papa was able to mow into a running trail. In order
to escape the locusts that cling to your legs and spit brown juice on anything they come in contact with, you
have to run early in the morning, and by early I mean quarter to five and still dark. However, this does pose
another problem. Recently we've spotted some bear scat, indicating there is a bear somewhere on our property.
This was confirmed when my sister ran into two cubs and a mother sow during her morning run. Rule number
one for human survival; do not run into a mother bear with her two cubs. Luckily my sister is an elite cross
country runner and was out of the woods by the time the bears even realized an intruder's presence. But I still
find it an excellent excuse to not use the "awesome" running trail.

Being a true-blooded Wisconsinite, naturally winter is my favorite time of year. The amphitheatre in our field
provides ideal opportunity for break-neck tobogganing, and the running path is converted annually into a cross
country ski trail. Two years ago we recorded five feet of snow in our field. It's great for my brother and sister
who just prance around happily on the icy surface, however, I tend to sink down to somewhere around my mid-
thighs. If you've ever watched the movie A Christmas Story with Ralphie's little brother in the intense snowsuit
that resembles the Michelin Man, you would understand what I look like. Adding to my attire of boots, mittens,
hat, scarf, face mask, long johns with snow pants and two sweaters, my mother insists I wear an oversized blaze
orange jacket, because in Rhinelander, every season is deer season.

It probably wasn't the best idea to mention my two uncles. Uncle Pete is fun; he always comes to watch the
Packers game on Sunday and enjoy my mother's home-cooked brunch. But the partial he received last year,
after he knocked out his two front teeth dog sledding with his huskies through downtown Rhinelander, does at
times make you lose your appetite. My Uncle John sometimes can be mistaken for a mountain man. His
assortment of furs and strange bags full of fishing gear and other odd tools whose uses are a mystery to
everyone but Johnny himself, add to his "Yooper" appearance. To clarify for those non-Midwesterners, a
Yooper is a term used to describe those from the backwoods of the Upper Peninsula. So sometimes he's a little
strange. However, he is probably one of the most well-known men in all of northern Wisconsin; famous for
providing fresh bluegills to the Franciscan nuns, his state-renowned loon calls, and his never-ending repertoire
of jokes. He's burst into our house on several occasions with a dripping and still-twitching forty-eight-inch
musky. And did I mention he's a part-time grave digger?
But no matter how hick it may seem, in the end, I just feel sorry for everyone who scoffed at a visit to
Rhinelander. Long nature walks in the woods, fresh little red potatoes from the garden, glowing sunsets off the
porch, families of loons and whippoorwill calls, rhubarb and asparagus patches, freshly fallen snow, fiery reds,
tangerine oranges and the sunburst golds of autumn, making apple pie with the apples from our orchard, playing
piano at night in front of a blazing fire — they're the ones missing out.
December 6, 2010, 9:00 am


A Few Essays That Worked (And a Few That Didn’t)
By JACQUES STEINBERG



In preparation for a segment on NBC’s ―Today‖ show this morning, I reached out to the admissions offices at
the University of Virginia and Occidental College in California for examples of essays that they considered
memorable — for good, or ill.

Before I share some of these samples, a caveat (one familiar to regular readers of this blog): while it can be
instructive to read actual college admissions essays, trying to copy a particular approach — or in some cases
avoid it — can be perilous. That’s because how one responds to an essay can be an intensely personal
experience.

That said, I would argue that there are some basic lessons to be gleaned from the following examples. Here, for
instance, is an excerpt from an essay that was not especially well received at the University of Virginia, in part
because the writer misjudged the age and sensibility of his or her audience:

John Lennon’s song ‘Imagine’ was sung by Fox’s new show, ‘Glee.’ In one particular episode, a deaf glee club
performed this song. I heard it before when John Lennon sang it: unfortunately I did not care much for it. When
I watched this episode while the deaf adolescents were singing it, and soon joined by another glee club, it
surprisingly affected me…

John Lennon sang it like a professional, but what he did not have was the emotion behind the words. He sang it
more staccato than legato. He sang it like it was his job, and nothing more. These singers from Glee sang with
powerful emotions. …

Another essay, also musical in focus, got a more appreciative read at U.V.A.:

I strode in front of 400 frenzied eighth graders with my arm slung over my Fender Stratocaster guitar — it
actually belonged to my mother — and launched into the first few chords of Nirvana’s ‘Lithium.’ My hair
dangled so low over my face that I couldn’t see the crowd in front of me as I shouted ‘yeah, yeah’ in my squeaky
teenage voice. I had almost forgotten that less than a year ago I had been a kid whose excitement came from
waiting for the next History Channel documentary.

It was during the awkward, hormonal summer between seventh and eighth grade when I first heard Nirvana’s
‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’ The song shocked my senses — until that point my musical cosmos consisted mainly
of my father’s Beatles CDs.

I would argue that the admissions committee was able to relate a little more to this essay than the first. And it
was certainly more evocative and detailed. It also conveyed more about the writer (and applicant) — a crucial
quality in a college admissions essay.

I turn, now, to excerpts from a recent essay that struck a visceral chord within the admissions office at
Occidental (where, as an aside, President Obama began his college career):

My head throbbed as I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself to give up.
‘Come on, Ashley. Put the pencil down. Just put the pencil down and go to bed,’ I told myself sternly. I had been
hard at work for hours — brutal, mind-numbing hours. I groaned as I moved over to my bed, collapsing in a
pile of blankets and closing my eyes.

I lay there for a moment or two, gathering strength, gaining courage. My tense shoulders began to unclench as
I stretched out and opened my bleary eyes…

Suddenly, I bolted upright on my bed, eyes wide, blankets flying. Everything had fallen into place. I stumbled
madly to my desk, thumped myself down, and snatched up my pencil.

‘I’ve got it! That’s it!’ I whooped, scribbling furiously, as my brother pounded on my wall for silence.

I had just won another skirmish in my ongoing battle with the crossword puzzle.

What worked here? I’m told the admissions officers appreciated how the writer conveyed her love of words —
and in the process told them much about herself. As a writer, I admired the way she built a sense of mystery at
the outset, one that served to draw the reader in.

I’ll close with an attempt at metaphor that fell a bit flat, at least in its reception at Occidental. The applicant
writes:

I believe in jello; a silly greeting, tasty dessert, or the answer to life as we know it?

Factor #1: Have you ever tried to make jello? It takes patience. First you have to boil the water; then mix it
with powder, stirring for two minutes; then finally adding the cold water and putting it in the fridge for forty-
five minutes. Think about the creation of people…

To share your own thoughts on essay strategies — and, perhaps, some excerpts of your own — please use the
comment box below.




Bibliography


Steinberg, Jacques. “A Few Essays That Worked (And a Few That Didn’t).” New York Times. December 6, 2010.


Hamilton Alumni review Online. Summer 2008



Connecticut College Admissions online. Essays that Worked.