Essay Snippets
Facing Racism
Paragraph one and two
“November 1st, 2004: This is the day my mother and father wrapped their arms around me for the first time, pledging to never let me go. I like to call this my “gotcha’ day”, as it is the day I was officially adopted from Wuhan, a city in Southeast China, into a happy American family. I was just one year old and I was already traveling more than 7,000 miles to a new country with people I only met a few days previous. What an opportunity for a fresh start given to me by the couple I’ve since called my parents.
I have grown up in a small, predominantly white town called Scituate as one of a small population of Asian students in the public school system. Oftentimes, I am not mindful of the fact that I look different from my parents or the people who surround me. While I was the target of a few racist jokes throughout my childhood, it wasn’t until an incident occurred at Scituate High School that I became more attentive to racism directed at the Asian population. I value my Chinese heritage, and, though I am typically quiet and reserved, encountering racism in my primarily white high school motivated me to sound my voice as an advocate for myself and the Asian community rather than harbor anger.
Work Ethic
Paragraph one and two
“I count the number of times my nearly perfect, round, flat-bottomed rock skips off the serene, blue ocean before it quickly plunges to the bottom. The satisfaction I feel as I watch the rock bounce off the surface of the water is too exhilarating not to begin searching for that next ideal stone. I spend hours repeatedly crafting the most well-executed throw to best my score with the blazing sun beating on my back. My feet are primed to withstand the sharp and jagged rocks beneath them as they have become accustomed to this terrain over the years on the beach. It was as if nothing could pull me away as I worked to perfect my throw and improve my score.
I began to notice that my strong work ethic was innate, even as a child skipping rocks, and that it evolved tremendously as summers came and left. This activity unleashed my aspiration to move forward with grit until I feel satisfied a job of any kind is done or a goal is met. I learned to stay focused, even on the flow of my arm as I held it parallel with the horizon and as I felt the sharp edge of the rock roll off my fingertips.”
Legacy
Paragraph one and two
“Crackerjacks!” I yell in my best Boston accent to the thousands of Red Sox fans cheering for the home team at Fenway Park. Then I shout, “Peanuts!” I hurry my way through the ballpark, maneuvering up and down the crowded rows to sell snacks, and I throw them to the eager fans who call for my attention. As I scan the raucous crowd, I see kids waving foam fingers. Many wear their Little League baseball mitts, hoping to catch a foul ball. Spectators wearing shirts bearing the names “Devers” and “Martinez” jump to their feet after an awe-inspiring catch in centerfield field, spilling popcorn and beer so the smell washes over me. As a snack vendor at Fenway Park, I feel deeply connected to my work, as I am the latest in four generations of my family to wear the yellow T-shirt and cap typical to Fenway Park employees. I am perpetuating a legacy.
When my great grandfather arrived in Boston from Ireland, he started three jobs, one working as a custodian, and two as a vendor at two different ballparks, one of them being Fenway Park. The family tree he planted would branch throughout the ballpark as generations after him picked up where he left off. Many would be remembered there for decades, and for others, like my father, their jobs at the ballpark would fundamentally shape their lives. My father began working at Fenway Park at age 14, and he met a girl whose family history was also embedded there. This girl, now a woman, is my mother.”
Overcoming an Obstacle
Paragraph one and two
“It’s a sweltering August day on Peggotty Beach where I spent my childhood summers. Just pummeled by a two-foot wave in the chilly Atlantic ocean, I lay on my Princess Tiana towel to recover from the scrapes I sustained from the sand and rocks tumbling about inside the surf. It’s all part of the experience in Scituate, MA, the small, coastal New England town where I live. I lay on my back, my face pulsing in the blistering hot sun as my mom approaches with a heaping palmful of SPF 50, ready to lather it on my body.
I could smell extra-thick Coppertone Baby as my mom drew near. I didn’t contort while she put it on my body. It was when she reached for my face that I resisted. I ran away to the foot of the cliff that overlooks the beach. This is where we catch crabs that meander out from underneath rocks and through the crevices between them — some miniscule and others bulbous. Crouched down with the sun beating on our backs, we spend hours hunting, but always releasing. When I eventually return to my mother sitting in her beach chair, she reminds me of her painful sunburns in the late 1970s before sunblock was widely used. The truth was that I wanted to protect my body from harmful rays, but I desperately wanted a sunburn on my face to mask my childhood acne.”
Second to last paragraph
“The good news, however, is that I became distracted from my acne. As junior year progressed, I focused more on studying for my AP classes. I became deeply involved in different activities, including the drama club, the environmental club, the history club, and student government. Upon reflection, I now realize that I was more than my acne. I was a student fiercely dedicated to my education. I had interests that compelled me to join all the activities in which I thrive and make meaningful friendships. All this is still true senior year and profoundly more thought provoking than my complexion.”
Service
Paragraph one and two
“Against all expectations, it was not members of my community sacrificing their time to serve; it was Shawna, Judith, Angie, and Logan — [three low-income women and a child].
Pulling into the parking lot of Catholic Charities Brockton this summer, I saw crumbling asphalt, an almost empty parking lot, and an expansive, one-story building. I explored the perimeter of the building and finally found the food pantry where there was a long line of people carrying empty boxes to collect their bread, milk, eggs, and other goods. The smell of fruits and cigarette smoke wafted past my nose as I entered and eyed the stacks of assorted foods against the interior walls. It was my first day as a [volunteer], and I assumed that my coworkers would be like me: white, privileged, and with ample time to dedicate to another community.”
Conclusion
I’ve realized that the potential to make a difference exists within everyone despite backgrounds or resources, and that my ability to recognize problems, find new solutions, form human connections, and facilitate effective communication can be used for the benefit of others. Moving forward, I want to further develop these skills, transforming solutions into policies, connections into solidarity, and communication into diplomacy to effect change on a broader scale.
Individuality
Paragraph one and first line of paragraph two
“My mom’s favorite anecdote of my stubborn independence took place in Cathy-Jo's Dance Studio just before Halloween. Each ballerina was invited to flaunt their costumes, and, one by one, they came in wearing ball gowns, play make-up, and tight buns. As we walked into the studio, the ‘clip-clop’ of the plastic heels was swallowed by the thunder of my monstrous march. I paraded around the room full of princesses brandishing my ‘scary frog monster’ costume: a dark green frog suit with large yellow eyes and long, webbed talons. While I was ignorant of the stark contrast between me and the other girls, the mothers in the waiting room gawked at the ensemble that clashed with the others.
I was very familiar with being the ‘only’ — the only girl on the baseball team, the only girl at First Communion wearing pants.
Paragraph five
In eighth grade I attended an event called ‘DigiGirlz' at Microsoft. It was a field trip, specifically for girls in STEM, with the purpose of fostering our interest in the male-dominated field. I was unclear why they were trying to cultivate a generation of female computer scientists. Though I was aware of the disproportionate number of men to females in the industry, I did not think it was a crucial issue. I liked being the only girl in my computer programming class. I had been praised for being the ‘only’, so I wondered why people were trying to change it.
Conclusion
At this conference, I finally realized why teachers and coaches encouraged me with reference to being an ‘only’: I embodied a diverse perspective. Adults were not just celebrating that I was the only female student in Computer Programming II, but they were also promoting independence and diversity in analogous situations. I no longer want to be the ‘only’. Focused on the male-dominated field of computer science, I aspire to prompt further diversity. While I work amongst the “princesses”, I will strive to add unique perspectives and encourage other ‘frogs’ to do the same.