College Admissions Essay-Personal Narrative

In the back of my mom’s moving car, I wake up in a daze. The Gameboy that was previously in my hands had fallen to the floor, and the sun’s rays that had previously glared through the window were replaced with the shine of the moon and stars. As my small hands press up against the glass, my eyes twinkle and my toothy, black holed grin widens at the celestial body blaring in the night sky. Astonished, I watch the moon seemingly follow our car, almost as if my existence awed the moon and not the reverse. As the full moon swallows the sky, the unknown distance between us becomes minuscule. If only my three foot frame was a bit bigger, if only my arms could stretch as far as my imagination, I could touch the moon. It was in this moment that I

The sudden roar on the engine starting gives me goose bumps. Putting on my fire suit and strapping on my helmet gives me a feeling of protection. Yes, I’m getting ready to bring my iron gladiator to battle. My uncle and I spent a long while working on building the machines of mass destruction. The welding of two metals together forms a bond so strong it can never be broken. We spent countless nights just doing this. My uncle throws something across the shop at me and yells “u getting that thing done?” I would respond with “I thought you were going to build it for me” nights like these where an everyday thing but grew farther apart as the summer drew to an end.

Once upon a midnight summer, while I danced to the daintily drummer, The rhythmic sound, paired to my fierce, tender heartbeat As I stopped, I started staring, then I began caring, For me, you were daring, daring and sweet, You pulled me closer, wrapping your arms around me, making me feeling complete Something about you makes me feel offbeat Your dangerously sharp eyes caught me, picked me up, and spun me around, Forgetting all my regrets and just living up these nights, My heart laced with love, and my mind, boggling with infinite thoughts,

You’ve been looking forward to your 4th of July…a weekend of your newly found Independence…when, just a mere two weeks ago you delivered a hand-written, heart-felt note…to You Know Who…scribbling out something like…

Ever since I was a kid I have always thought about what college I was eventually going to go to. I made the decision in high school that I wanted to be a special education teacher, so I thought about some schools that had that teaching program. My number one school I wanted to attend that had the best teaching program was East Carolina University. Having ECU as my number one choice lead me to apply there. Weeks after I applied I got a letter telling me some sad news that I was not accepted. Since I applied to ECU and did not get in, I was now thinking about applying to other schools like Methodist University or maybe a community college.

When I started the college admissions process in my junior year, I had no idea it would end in Worcester, Massachusetts at a small, Catholic liberal arts school named The College of the Holy Cross. I explored large private colleges and state schools, primarily in the South, close to the Atlantic, where I could root for iconic sports teams after trudging my books to the beach to study while indulging in some sun and surfing! Well, when it came down to deciding where to apply as a high school senior, my idea of the perfect school had moved well beyond concern about the climate. Suddenly, this was the last step before graduate school and then the real world. I would actually be living with these people on campus. I learned a lot about different

I slowly cut the heart out of the folded paper and held it up to the light. The edges were jagged and uneven; I tossed it in my growing pile of scrap paper. My hands were stained with marker and my hair was covered in glitter. It was bedtime and I was not even halfway done with the valentines for my third-grade class. I wanted my cards to look great- better than store-bought. I was so frustrated that tears welled in my eyes. The next morning, defeated, I went to CVS with my mom to buy cards. Everyone liked the Kit-Kat bars taped to the backs.

When in the course of college academics it becomes necessary to type personal narratives, without so much as a hint of a topic, it can drive a student to some rather interesting conclusions. Some of these conclusions may be as simple as “Hmm, what should I write about?” Or perhaps more complicated and “Great, it’s 2:00 A.M. the day the paper is due and I have nothing typed.” No matter the situation the creative thinking process can be greatly limited, thus I present to you the narrative of me typing my personal narrative essay.

I was born in Bogota, Colombia. During my childhood schooling years I attended Gimnasio de Los Cerros in Bogota. Attending secondary schooling in Colombia prepared me well for my academic pursuits in the United States. Through my studies, my fondness of mathematics continued to grow. On my pursuit of scholastic success mathematical equations found its persuasive way to speak to me. It is for this reason I have chosen for my career to follow the pathway in relation to mathematics. But even more so, what would ultimately lay down the roots of my personal character was the death of my father at the age of three. As years passed by I came to understand I was now “the man of the house”. I do not reflect back at death of my father as being something

It started in the 7th grade, I was like any other girl, just acting like myself. There was this one guy that I had a crush on, and had, in fact, built enough courage to tell him that I did so. I was in math with him and we were pretty early, so I decided to talk to him. We were just talking and at some point, we got into talking about how no - one could ever like me. I was very speechless, shocked, and had no response. Seconds later he blanks out tells me I wasn't the best looking and no one would ever go out with me. I was upset, ready to cry but I didn't show any sign of it. I ended up going home in tears that day, questioning "why I'd have to be me", "why I'd have to look so different from other girls", "why I wasn't good enough". The next day I was too embarrassed to even show up for school, knowing from what I've just heard, I was speechless and too insecure, it felt like as if people are talking behind my back. As days progresses, it was getting harder and harder to be showing up to school, having that mindset I'm not good enough for anyone, that is "ugly". I almost about gave up on myself and considered moving to another school or getting home schooled; until English class, after having, more like needing the English class, it changed the way I've been thinking about myself and they way see who myself

I am a Pakistani American with a passion for story telling. I believe in the power of truth and its relation to the storyteller. My initial attraction to the medium of acting was caused having a platform from which to be honest and direct without any fear of being judged or criticized.

I had a frightening dream last night, I dreamed that I was walking high up on an old railroad trestle. It looked like the one I used to walk recklessly to. when I was about ten years old. At that height, my palms were sweating just as they did when I was a boy. I could see the ground out of the corners of my eyes, I felt a swooning, sickening sensation. Suddenly, I realized there were rats below, thousands upon thousands of rats. They knew I was up on the trestle. They were laughing because they were sure they would get me. Their teeth glinted in the moonlight. Their red eyes were like thousands of small reflectors that almost blinded my site. Sensing that there was something even more hideous behind me, I kept moving forward. Then I

I was born in the peach state, and spent my early years in the Hotlanta. Georgia is, what some could say, the deepest south. I loved it, and I couldn't imagine a life outside of the city views, the lake trips, and the freeway drives. Fortunately for my imagination, in the summer of 2005 me, my parents, and my older brother picked up and headed north. My mother needed adventure, and where else to get it but the last frontier?

After the initial stumbling block more commonly known as residential life, I faced the towering challenge of settling into classes. Once I had registered (which was itself something of a dilemma), I had in my hand a sheet of abbreviations that rivaled a military briefing or a computer manual. My first class, on a Thursday morning, was located in a building called CBW, which stood for Classroom Building West. Surely the

In high school, everyone is trying to figure out who they are, or at least I was doing that. I wanted to figure out what I liked and what I didn’t like. Trying to get out of my comfort zone, and do things I wouldn’t normally do. Everyone one of us has their own story of that one person who changed everything. I remember becoming close friends with one guy. He trusted me, so he told me he was gay. I was confused at first, he didn’t look possessed to me and he certainly was not looking for attention. He was a great friend and I wanted to have an open mind so I stayed friends with him, without telling my parents of course. After a few months I began feeling a little weird being around him. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was gay or because I started getting nervous being around him. He ended up admitting he had feelings for me, I didn’t know how to respond to that. I tried to keep my distance but I couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wanted to be