Brody's Guide to the College Admissions Essay

Essay #6

Moving to a different country at the age of six was as much of an adventure for me as it was unmitigated torture for my mother. On a voyage that took more than twenty-four hours, the eager, wide eyes of my twin sister and I had not fluttered shut once – and neither had my mother’s. At one o’clock in the morning, we squealed and fought for a glimpse out the plane’s tiny window, as my exhausted mother apologized continuously to the sleep-deprived passengers. After eleven years, I still remember peeping out and gasping, gazing upon the bright lights of Los Angeles. A million specks of color, each one brilliant and full of possibilities lay beneath my feet. I was coming upon a country full of stars, and according to my mother, it was to be my new country; I could not tear my eyes away.
The first year of my new life in America was a year of firsts. It was the first time I had ever run under a sky so stunningly clear and blue, and so impossibly huge; it was the first time I had played with my sister in our own yard (with grass in it!), and not seen one skyscraper, it was the very first year I held in my chubby hands, the cold, white, amazing substance that is snow; and it was the first year that I fell in love with America.
That love has stayed with me through all the alienation that I have felt in this beautiful country, an alienation I became familiar with as early as elementary school. One day the counselor took my sister and I aside. “Girls,” she said, “you are not required to recite the pledge of allegiance with the rest of the class. You may remain sitting.” Although I continued to pledge my daily allegiance to the country that I love, a nagging voice always said, “Sit down. Your pledge means nothing. You’re not ‘required’ to recite it.” Was my mother right? Will this star-studded country ever let it be mine?
In school, I worked incessantly and passionately – maybe if I just worked hard enough, I would finally be accepted. Not until I was at the top, and better than anyone else, I believed, would I be good enough to be part of this country. So when I was given second chair of the flute section my seventh grade year, I burst into tears of disappointment. As usual, however, the tears quickly dried, allowing the cold-steeled determination in my inner core to shine through. I would just have to try harder and prove to America that I am worthy of its acceptance – and work harder I did. I easily auditioned my way to first chair second semester, and three years later, I was accepted in the All-State Honor Band. When I received an unacceptable B+ on my math test, I skipped tears altogether, and moved on to the determination stage. My days, already filled to the brim with music lessons, cross country, community service, band, and school, threatened to overflow, but my determination, strengthened by all the obstacles I had to overcome, held firm, and I increased my study time, forgoing sleep, food, and friends. I ended the year with the highest grade in all my core class. I tested into Central Academy (a school for gifted and talented students) the next year, and have taken advanced courses there ever since. Even at Central, however, I could not be anything less but at the top of my class.
Alas, however hard I worked, however much my body was drained from exhaustion, my mind weary from lack of sleep, I could not seem to gain ground in my race to be accepted. How can I, when I am labeled an “alien”; when I peer into the mirror and see a strange girl, with slanted eyes, yellow skin, and a flat nose starring back? She is utterly different from the beautiful large-eyed girls with rosy complexions that surround me everyday.
Feeling ostracized, I returned to my native country a few years ago, where my mother’s roots are, and where I had been too young to leave mine. I do not think I have to say the hope that was in my heart…but I was disappointed. The faces of my relatives crowed around me, unfamiliar and foreign. My mind, indulged with open skies and wide spaces, rebelled against the crowded streets and soot covered skies of Taiwan. This too, then, was not were I belonged. At that moment, I felt lost – like a dandelion seed in a wild, relentless wind, tossed from one place to another, never to settle down.
Now, in my room, with a Chinese painting on one wall, and a Beatles poster on the other, I stare at my college applications: international student is checked, government financial aid is not. I am all alone. I look out my window, and through my tears, street lamps, lighted windows, and Christmas lights blur into the panorama of stars that called to me in my first glimpse of America. I will belong here some day, I promise. In this land where wishes come true, maybe the wild wind will stop, just for a while, and give me time to grow my roots

This beautifully-written essay is different and unique. It’s an immigrant’s story of coming to America, and her ongoing struggle to fit in here.

 

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