Comprehensive Guide To Writing College Admissions Essays

Comprehensive Guide To Writing College Admissions Essays Throughout my high school career we were stuck on these desks, asked to raise our hands to speak, told what was right from wrong, all around a very uninspiring environment. I had no idea how a classroom could be thought-provoking and truly educational until I went to the Summer Academy at St. John’s. I first began reading Pan Tadeusz when I was thirteen. And perhaps because it was my decision to read this epic, my reaction to it was stronger than it otherwise would have been. Until then, being Polish meant little more to me than having a second passport, wearing a traditional dress on holidays, and having a passel of cousins across the ocean. Being Polish was a part of me, but not something I paid much attention to. The description of art under the regime is one of my favorite aspects of the novel. Much like an individual doesn’t realize how hungry she is until she takes a bite of food, my intellectual hunger rose and demanded that I feast. I began to question the ideas behind my everyday actions regardless of whether other people thought this was a relevant line of inquiry or not. Out of this confusion and curiosity, my AP Research paper on the nature of open-mindedness as an intellectual virtue in epistemology emerged. At the end of my eighth grade year we moved to Texas and as I was packing, I stumbled upon my copy of Pride and Prejudice. It was all bent and worn and it looked longingly at me as if it had been waiting for me. Readers at the time of the book’s publication would have remembered these, their imaginations leaving Paris for the Polish countryside. The poem’s lyrical Alexandrines transported me back to Poland, especially when the words were softly murmured, huddled underneath blankets, the pages illuminated with a flickering flashlight. We searched together for insight, sat up late after dinner arguing about whether or not Humbert loved Dolores, and what the final meeting between Humbert and Dolores meant. My experience of Lolita is intrinsically connected to the discussions I had with my brother. Lolita inspired in me a fervent hunger for discussion of truth. It was late December and the snow was gently falling outside. I sat in an armchair in front of a wood fire with a cup of tea and read. In the seminars I felt an energy of pure passion, every single person shared this love for learning that I had neverexperienced before. I had never been in a classroom where we were so freely allowed to ask questions. I realized that was what learning should be and that is how I want to learn. When a poet who has met the devil calls Riuchin a talentless artist, he accepts the claim and inwardly agrees that he does not believe in his writing. He understands that the society needs artists like him. Mediocrity is appreciated since it does not question the status quo. The artists’ association, MASSOLIT, depicts how artists operated in the Soviet Union. Art is used as a propaganda tool, and the state controls art through bribery. It is ironic to see artists, whose independence is essential for the creative process, being manipulated by the state through petty materialistic entitlements. Artists here worry more about the size of summer house they will receive for their vacation than their work. When the value of their work is questioned, they affirm their lack of talent; yet their social position is too valuable to give up, as reflected in the thoughts of the poet Riuchin. The move to Texas was one of the hardest transitions in my life as I was greeted with a culture shock and had to reinvent myself. In California my peers and I had shared the same views. We were all so liberal which at the time felt like a blessing, but when I got to Texas it seemed as though everywhere I went my ideas were challenged. On an almost daily basis I was asked to defend my views on a subject, but my debating skills were limited to logical fallacies and ad hominem attacks so I wasn’t too successful. In my eyes it didn’t matter what I said because I was right and they were wrong. I read for hours until my skin stung, my neck stiffened and my head ached. At night, I would draw myself a bath and lay in it until the water went cold and read. Most distinctly I remember running to the bathroom, chapter after chapter, to throw up. It was all at once a beautiful and harrowing experience.