Post Your essay

[SRHS12]

<p>I applied RD, and did the “tell us about a time you found something you weren’t looking for” prompt. I really don’t know how good or mediocre it is but here it goes…</p>

<p>I covertly complete a once-over of the room to confirm that I am not being watched. Coast clear, I let the antique volume fall open in my hands, press my face into its binding, and inhale deeply. Addiction to the smell of old books is a quirk that a person either completely understands or thinks is completely delusional. Whenever I meet someone who shares my affinity for inked words and bound pages, we end up enthusiastically berating those who lack our irrepressible book-sniffing urge. Discovering the comforting scent of books is what revealed my inner bibliophile.</p>

<pre><code>I indulge my passion for prose by frequenting used bookstores. The days most conducive to browsing tend to be slightly overcast, with just enough sun peeping from behind the clouds to filter through the windows and warm the air. On one such afternoon, as I was searching for hidden gems at the Annapolis Bookstore, I discovered him: John Green. I had decided to venture into the back of the store, where I was greeted by a wall of more modern books. Spines a myriad of colors, they reminded me of Skittles, nothing like the earth-toned classics that I was so devoted to. Running my finger along the worn wood that the volumes rested on, I stopped when I reached one that was a welcoming shade of blue. I wedged it out of its place on the shelf and read the title, Looking for Alaska. I’ll admit, I definitely do judge books by their covers. Laying eyes on Looking for Alaska’s, with its smoking candle centered on a cerulean background, I promptly tucked the novel under my arm and made my way to the cashier. Five hours later, I had devoured the novel whole. Green’s storyline was not extraordinarily compelling, nor were his characters stunningly vivid, but his manipulation of language was a thing of beauty. His words touched me, affected me in a way that no other work of literature ever had. They were honest and simple and profound, so relatable that I often felt as if they were addressing my life directly.

Just as Dr. Seuss’s Oh, the Places You’ll Go inspired me to read, John Green’s Looking for Alaska inspired me to write. His work left me in awe of language’s incredible influence. Weapons may be destructive and poison deadly, but their power doesn’t begin to approach the lasting impact of a well-crafted story. Words are the most powerful thing in existence. They can create worlds and bring them crashing down, inspire faith and extinguish hope. Words can change people’s minds and touch people’s hearts. With practice, I aim to harness that power. I write in hopes that one day my musings and ideas and beliefs, if strung together in precisely the right way, will resonate with people. I write in hopes that my words will make someone smile when they fear they have forgotten how, make someone laugh when their chest is heavy with sadness. I write in hopes that the stories I tell will make someone discover something that they wouldn’t have otherwise known.

I consider myself a bit of a skeptic, never one to put much stock in destiny or fate. However, the magic of words is a force that I do believe in. I was put under their spell the day I discovered Looking for Alaska. Dissatisfied with being a static observer of language’s power, I now wield my pen aware of all it can accomplish. But even if writing doesn’t prove to be my avocation, I’ll have penned my attempts in a room saturated with old-book smell. What is there to lose?
</code></pre>

[cloudless33]

<p>I figured I might as well post my other two essays (again, I got in EA). Pretty proud of both of these.</p>

<p>Why Chicago?</p>

<p>How many piano tuners are there in the city of Chicago?</p>

<p>Well.</p>

<p>If we assume that the population of Chicago is three million and that each household has approximately two people and that one in every twenty households owns a piano…</p>

<p>Thus begins the answer to the most well-known of all Fermi problems, named after famous physicist Enrico Fermi, who was a professor and researcher at the University of Chicago for many years. He had a reputation for springing seemingly impossible-to-answer questions on his students, questions that required intelligence and quick estimation and out-of-the-box thinking.</p>

<p>How very University of Chicago. How very me.</p>

<p>I’m a sucker for quirkiness and originality, two qualities that the university offers in spades. I love the university’s size; its academic quality, particularly in my area of interest (physics); its location in the crawling, pulsating city of Chicago; its sense of humor (its supplement being perhaps the only one I really enjoyed writing); and its gothic, and, yes, Potter-esque architecture. I love its weather, even. I’m a snow girl at heart.</p>

<p>Of course, the best thing about UChicago can’t be measured in kelvins. My favorite aspect is the sheer intellectual vibrancy of the school, as demonstrated by the debaters, scholars, and thinkers that make up both the student body and the faculty.</p>

<p>When searching for colleges, I was mainly looking for a place where I could articulate and develop my ideas and listen to everyone else’s ideas in turn. I’ve always been kind of the Hermione of the classroom, at least in the eager hand-shoots-in-the-air sense, and I get a serious intellectual high off a good, logical, thought-out debate. Nothing compares to the satisfaction of crafting words and thoughts and sharing them with other people – whether on politics or science or God or even the relative merits of the various Harry Potter movies. The University of Chicago fulfils my desire for a sort of community where thought and deliberation are a fundamental component of coffee shop conversations and dorm debates.</p>

<p>My quest for knowledge is a thirsty, all-consuming, and ultimately exhilarating one. I may not be as brilliant as Fermi, but I’m certainly curious about my world and its inner workings, its idiosyncrasies and vivacities.</p>

<p>If there’s one thing I love, it’s asking questions. If there’s another thing I love, it’s answering them. University of Chicago is one of the best in the world for both. </p>

<p>Optional essay</p>

<p>I.
My books are arranged alphabetically, by author’s last name and then by title or series. They wander and meander across the bookcases, one a wooden former dresser and the other a metal frame. In my fits of organization I arrange the volumes; in my fits of laziness I pile them. Colored spines and yellowed pages totter and tower; books hunch up tight and lean haphazardly on each other’s shoulders. </p>

<p>My Vonnegut collection is directly to the left of my desk (end of the alphabet), in addition to H.G. Wells and a few choice mediocre young adult fantasy novels. On the bottom shelf are the abandoned, the dormant, and the patient – I never could get through Lord of the Rings or Catch-22. Maybe someday. Maybe not Moby-Dick though, bought on a whim on some bookstore outing. I hear it isn’t very good.</p>

<p>On the other side of the room, a big Sherlock Holmes collection. A leatherbound Hitchhiker’s Guide. Bradbury (my absolute favorite being The Martian Chronicles) and Shakespeare and a few violently purple and green Discworld novels. On the bottom, a bug encyclopedia that I read an insane number of times when I was seven or eight. I was fascinated by the enormous drawings of hairy flies and grotesque pincers, even if I was deathly afraid of tsetse flies for months after.</p>

<p>My Harry Potter collection supports the left end of the second shelf from the bottom. Several members of the series contain within them pressed leaves that still retain some of their bright fall colors. I sometimes stumble upon them at odd times, and it’s always a surprise when something orange goes fluttering out from between the pages.</p>

<p>II.
On my bulletin board, above the robotics medal and left of a sticker emblazoned with “don’t forget to be awesome,” a comic is attached with white pushpins. “Sorry, Ender – seems there were some system crashes. The battle’s gotta be cut short,” one stick figure says. “The lasers still work,” says the other. “Yeah, but the enemy’s gate is down.”</p>

<p>I laughed when I first read it. It’s an Ender’s Game joke, of course, and one that’s amusing in both its reference and its simplicity. I copied it from the webcomic xkcd several years ago, when I still read the thrice-weekly webcomic regularly. Now, I’ve largely abandoned it, but I’ve moved on to other things: Questionable Content, for one, and Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, and most recently What the Duck. The latter is entirely devoted to photography jokes made by several ducks that all tote camera gear around constantly. I can relate, at least to the camera bit.</p>

<p>Webcomics are addicting, that’s for sure; on several memorable occasions I’ve found myself clicking inexorably through thousand-comic archives when I should’ve been doing homework. At their best, they’re also bitingly witty or gently satirical or just plain hilarious. In the immortal words of Questionable Content’s anthropomorphic robot: “I don’t explode cats. It’s way too difficult to coax them into the microwave.”</p>

<p>III.
On top of the massive pile of binders next to me is Neil Gaiman’s lovely Fragile Things. He likes roman numerals nearly as much as I do.</p>

[turntabler]

<p>@jake1313 and cloudless33</p>

<p>Those were great, I really enjoyed reading them.</p>

[djz750]

<p>I got in EA and I’m giving you the gift of a short essay.</p>

<p>Essay Option #3
Schrodinger’s Teenager</p>

<p>A parent walks into his child’s room. She is completely covered by her comforter. He sees the bundle rising and falling, so he does not need to question whether she is alive or dead. However, until he peels back the covers, he cannot tell if she is awake or dreaming. Until he pulls back the covers, she can be said to be both awake and dreaming. (Perhaps this is a source of pride for the parent, whose child must be special to achieve this state.) Now, he is forced to guess.
We are all constantly guessing. Sometimes it is science, so we are hypothesizing. Either way, we are playing with a world devoid of certainties. When we are guessing, we are dreaming up an untested solution. We are caught between theory and practice. Living is the present; dreaming is the future. Guessing is drawing on the absolutes of the present and turning them into the maybe of the future.
The parent is truly the one between living and dreaming in the scenario described. He must take a guess, a guess on which he will base his next series of decisions. He is caught between present and future as he watches his child. Awake or asleep, the bundle looks peaceful. Perhaps, as he watches, he sees her future. He decides not to disturb her, quietly exits, and proceeds with his morning.
I think the command to “guess it” is deliberate. If people are not guessing, then they probably are not thinking at all. The world we live in is an uncertain one. According to Socrates, the only wisdom is in knowing that we know nothing. Hopefully, we can gracefully bridge the gap between present and future with a few good guesses.</p>

[Calexico]

<p>dhz750, that’s a very insightful essay!</p>

[gchavez]

<p>I got deferred from EA. Still holding out hope though. What do ya’ll think?</p>

<p>Essay Question #2:
My Non-Scientific Method
-Gordon Chavez
According to traditional high school lore, there is not a much worse time to be writing in one’s journal or doing anything other than studying, than the night before a test. I’ve largely
accepted this dogma, however, it seems the god of irony has made it such that nothing gets my cognitive juices flowing in a manner quite as likely to coagulate into some original idea, as long
hours of study. The opinion of my high school teachers is that amateur theoretical sciences are more likely an enemy than a friend on a night like this, but when my mind strikes on a thought
equally new and fascinating, that thought will become the object of my study for largely the remainder of the evening. I cannot help it.
Whenever I start in on an idea my psyche splits into three pieces, but not thirds. Rather, one half of my brain begins the investigation, while the other half (possibly the right, its
orientation is uncertain) divides into two factions whose thoughts are so conflicting that any contact between them means immediate, and likely, absolute doom for both. One side of the
divide fills with chatter of a quite unkind sort; talk of no talent, nothing to offer, my imminent failure and the hopelessness of my aspirations. Somewhere in this region also resides the ill-fated
memory of some test I should be studying for. The other faction is the exact opposite. In this region are thoughts of success on an otherworldly scale; visions of speeches, lectures on my idea
and its countless seminal implications, roaring, standing applause from my peers and elders alike, and perhaps most pleasantly, lists and lists of citations with my name in them.
Fortunately, I believe the latter faction is the matter to the former faction’s antimatter. After they collide and nearly obliterate each other in an en masse cancelling out, there is a
slightly higher and thus remaining amount of positivity that encourages me to keep working. Thus, my brain’s theorizing half is allowed to continue ruminating on my new concept.
Otherwise, none of my ideas, however substantive, would survive to the next stage of life. On a side note, the memory of the imposing test, being a member of the slightly lesser amount of
negative thoughts, has been completely annihilated.
Some minutes after one of my flood gate ideas is happened upon, and the formerly fully occupied, separate portion of my mind has investigated as many implications and elaborations as
can be thought of and has begun to settle down, it is time for the next crucial step in my process. This step is actually creating an answer to the question, “Can it survive the Box and Arrow
Test?” I have not the steady hands to build a particle accelerator, an experimental stock market, or any other apparatus that would be useful for testing out many of my concepts. Thus, my Box and Arrow Test arose from a need to make sure my ideas stood at least some chance when
embodied outside my mind. This test is composed of writing down the general images and relevant connections I have considered, attempting to put some rigor behind them with any kind
of mathematical expression, then connecting each step of my conceptual model with arrows and labeling each arrow according to its place in the deduction. Don’t be fooled by how organized it
sounds in theory. Just as life, this test can become quite the inky ordeal in practice, especially when things aren’t panning out and the idea must be adjusted, now on paper. Accompanying this
essay is a sample of one of these tests. I will let it tell the tale, but should it not be present, suffice it to say that this test could also aptly be named the Box, Arrow, Doodle, Mathy-Scribble,
Scratch-Out, Circle, Jagged Line…
Nomenclature aside, doing this exercise is most often enormously constructive and can answer many questions regarding the idea very quickly. Is my idea brilliant, shaky, advanced beyond my current faculties, in need of another eye, simply a beautiful fallacy? The answers supplied by my test are the decider of whether or not my idea will advance to the next stage of inquiry; walking around the house, yard, or campus as the case may be.
My concept has shown that it can stand its ground on the plane of logic and deduction. Now, can I see it somewhere? The areas of real world experience where I may observe it vary
greatly. I have before seen concepts in people’s varying tones throughout their sentences, a squirrel’s selectively competitive behavior with its comrades over food, the way a family
member held a drink, the movements of tiny fish in my backyard’s creek, and countless other phenomena ranging from thought provokingly familiar to uniquely profound and strange. Seeing
concepts I am working on underlying some face of the moving, breathing world can generate perhaps the greatest joy inside me. It is often the closest I can readily get to scientific proof and,
sometimes, the potential application of my ideas.
Sometimes an idea does not work out or seems, at least for the time being, unworkable. If I cannot access the material I need quickly enough but I feel the idea is still worth analysis, I
save it. Other times it is obvious that some major postulate of the concept is false and that modifying to avoid this fallacy disintegrates the body of the concept. These outcomes can be
discouraging, and may even feed new mass into the antimatter, negative faction of my mind. However, that reaction is overwhelmed by my resolve, which is fed by the satisfaction and
further insight that this kind of inquiry creates for me.
This is my work and my play. I am in my most natural state when doing these kinds of explorations; using concepts I have both learned and conceived to understand some facet of
reality I have not previously explored. Success and failure both feed that powerful aspiration whether or not I have the proper laboratory set up.</p>

[DeepBreathPlease]

<p>Got deferred, but still hoping.
Here’s my take on “Between living and dreaming”…</p>

<pre><code> It’s all around you, everything that doesn’t exist, if you only listen closely enough. Born of a pause, it hovers in the spaces between words and the gaps between sentences. Seeping through conversation it laces them with unnatural rhythm, leaving awkwardness and doubt in its wake. Like a chameleon, it adopts the characteristics of the relationships between people. Settling around strangers sharing adjacent seats on a plane, it takes on a civil, if slightly artificial and cautious, shade of gray. Lodged in the tight, tension-filled space between feuding friends, it assumes a malevolent, metallic blue-almost-black hue. When it is a welcomed presence, ushered into the familiar fissures of an elderly couple’s morning routine, fitting into the grooves worn smooth from years of repetition, or forming itself to the cadence of a conversation slowly fading to sleep, it becomes a burning glow that is less like yellow, more like the rising sun.
It separates things: here and there, before and after, forever and never. It creates chasms when it comes and when it leaves, their depths impenetrable, irrevocable. Words, sentences, what must be spoken forms in your mind only to tumble out of your mouth and fall straight into its expanse. What wasn’t spoken can never be retrieved and time is split in two, measured in terms of “before this” and “after this”. If its depths could be traveled to, explored by deep sea divers, and its contents examined by archaeologists, they would find rusty, forgotten words grown over with mold and covered in dust. This inventory of words would be compiled and displayed at the Global Museum of What Was Never Said. Different rooms for different words. Some exhibits are small and unfilled; others are giant caverns with simple sentences stacked in tall piles that reach the ceiling- a thousand “Hellos”, a million “Goodbyes”, innumerable “Thank yous.” The biggest, most popular exhibit would be the one called “I Love You.” Tourists would come, some searching for the words they can’t remember, some for the words that would have fixed what will always be broken, and some for what they have always waited to never hear. Occasionally, a couple would meet around the lost words that were the end of their forever that never began. They find that the letters are constantly expanding, widening the space between the two of them. Climbing over them, running around them, digging under them- finding time and time again that nothing can overcome the distance of words that were swallowed.
It’s the comforting nothingness between your head and your pillow. It swaddles you like a delicate baby and envelops you in a cocoon of sweet oblivion. It’s the void, the emptiness that relaxes your limbs and soothes your reeling mind, preparing you for the visions to come in your sleep. It speaks nothing, demands nothing, is nothing. It is the compromise you readily consent to, the argument you fight to lose, the battle you willingly surrender. The silence.
</code></pre>

[gchavez]

<p>I like yours a lot man! It reminds me of the Tao Teh Ching! Very cool and not too long! I think they like it when its not that long. Good stuff. I’m sorry you got deferred. I’m in the same boat :/</p>

[caricature365]

<p>Applied RD All of these essays are so amazing! I did the Between living and dreaming one</p>

<p>It was seven a.m. and the debates had begun. I had never seen this side of Rebecca. She was determined, focused and her mind was set; she was making it to the final round. No doubt! As she presented her perfectly manicured speech on “the diminishing Latino male” and exited the debate room, she waited, confidently, to hear the results. Rebecca was always “the winner” – and most of the time with a perfect score. In fact, she performed so well the first day of this debate competition that she was eligible to compete in quarter-finals the succeeding day.
We were at the National Hispanic Institute’s Great Debate program in Sherman, Texas, and I was one of Rebecca’s speech coaches. I had not known Rebecca for a long time; regardless, this summer she really made an impression. Unfortunately, when the results were announced, she had been eliminated. As I walked towards the bracket postings, a disheartened Rebecca slowly was walking away from them. I knew she would be disappointed, but her reaction surprised me. For her, the only satisfaction was in winning – period. “This isn’t fair,” she mumbled repeatedly as she cried on my shoulder. I said, quietly, gently, “Rebecca, the point of this experience isn’t that you need something tangible, much less a title, to prove that you accomplished something.” She had heard me, but I could tell she could not, yet, understand.
About two months after the competition, I received a text from her. It read, “Isa, I finally understand now … I finally understand what you meant the last day of the competition.” My eyes moistened; she had come to this realization on her own. Later, I connected Rebecca to the verse from Antonio Machado, about what lay between. For too long, the competition had caused her to be hijacked by her dreams and, on the other end of the spectrum, she was living in what she thought was failure. In the end, she discovered a different place, coming to grips with the connections between the value of committing, performing and, finally, understanding that success has many faces.
I knew that that point existed, but couldn’t describe it until I was introduced to Machado’s verse. Perhaps for her, ending up in that spot and coming to that realization was more valuable than achieving her dreams of winning the first place title. Even though she came to this realization on her own, I relish the fact that my words remained with her and that my experience living through a similar situation was able to impact someone else’s life. It’s that middle ground, where we assess and try to take a more mature, and completely honest, look at reality, where she perhaps understood that space “between living and dreaming,” which is a place most of us end up – If we’re lucky.</p>

[glido]

<p>SRHS12 - I really liked that a lot - you put me in that book store.</p>

[dblazer]

<p>Got in Chicago EA. I really didn’t put much time/effort into this one as I was working on other apps. Hopefully I give hope for those who may not have the highest quality essays.</p>

<p>Question 1. How does the University of Chicago, as you know it now, satisfy your desire for a particular kind of learning, community, and future? Please address with some specificity your own wishes and how they relate to UChicago.</p>

<p>Although I have to be there to apprehend the qualities that define University of Chicago, I know what I think of when I hear University of Chicago. I think about its reputation as an intellectual powerhouse. I imagine a group of students sitting together not to discuss the scrumptiousness of their last meal, but to dissect a piece of classic literature or wrap their minds around the truth. I often see myself as a person who can coincide with Chicago’s intellectual community because I thirst for the truth, to understand the complex problems of the world and, with that understanding, work towards eliminating some of the issues.</p>

<p>Research has always been of interest to me because of my desire to illuminate my mind with the inner-workings of the body. Luckily, UChicago provides more than enough opportunities for students to partake in research alongside professors well established in their fields. As cancer research has been an interest of mine, I could find a suitable opportunity in the modern Gwen and Jules Knapp Center for Biomedical Discovery.
As an intended science major, I want to take advantage of the top-notch research facilities and spend my time delving into the depths of the science behind the natural universe. However, my education would be incomplete without a solid foundation. That’s where the core curriculum comes in, providing me the tools to be able to succeed in any field be it math, science, language, or international studies. It gives me a reservoir from which I could pull from in any post-graduation course. The small, discussion-based format of the courses highlights a learning philosophy that appeals to me – the emphasis on critical thinking.</p>

<p>Chicago’s emphasis on providing a strong foundation applicable to all fields and promotion of critical thinking serve well in all the pathways I have considered. If I were to focus my efforts on attaining a career in medicine, I could take advantage of Chicago’s Career Advising and Planning Services being able to gain experience through University of Chicago Pritzker School of Medicine’s integration into the undergraduate biological sciences program. With a University of Chicago education, I would not only have the tools to do well in a variety of fields, but the resources offered in a field of my choosing would allow me to find success in any field of my choice.</p>

<p>Spanish poet Antonio Machado wrote, “Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.” Give us your guess.</p>

<p>The seemingly simple statement lends itself to a simple answer. In between living, at least in obvious terms awake, and dreaming, our unreal visions, must be sleep. The REM sleep stage, scientists would respond when asked about when dreaming starts. When I live my life, I am taking action yet when I dream, I am bathing in idleness, thinking or imagining instead of acting. The only sensible connection between these two states is sleep, right? If “living” and “dreaming” had such simple, clear-cut definitions would targeting what lies between them prove to be a simple task. </p>

<p>The term “living” has a tricky definition to identify. If I took that to be living is to be aware, one may well be dreaming and living at the same time. I have had those tantalizing dreams before. The kind in which I have labored hard for a desirable object and wake up excited ready to use the new item I obtained. Only a few weeks ago, it had been a brand new smart phone ready to be used. Yet it takes no more than ten seconds before I crash into disappointment after realizing that my exciting news never existed in anything but my memory. But, at least in the dream, I feel real. I feel like I am living and taking in my surroundings. I’ve never been able to venture into lucid dreaming, a state I hope to one day experience. However, I’ve heard the tales of those who can pull it off. As the name of the phenomenon suggests, they have discretion over their surroundings and feel immersed in their world as if they are actually “living” in it. When they soar above the world and take a glance at the rows of houses below, their heart pounds, just as anyone’s heart would while soaring hundreds of feet above the surface. Yet, because of the lucid dreamer’s ability to do what, in the physical sense, would be considered impossible, their life-like experience surmounts to being considered nothing more than a dream. </p>

<p>Staying in a wakeful state, aware of my surroundings, as the term “living” suggests, could be a dream for all I know. What constitutes reality stems from nothing more than what we perceive or believe to perceive. As I deliberate what I write, I strongly believe I am living – that is fully aware that my surroundings are real. I could, by trick of the mind, see unicorns, a double rainbow perhaps and, to me, it’s all real. Even if others called my vision nonsense, they would have no way to prove to me that what I saw did not exist. My mind could trick me into seeing a trail of glitter behind the unicorn therefore confirming that what I see has substantial existence and that I’m not dreaming. Yet, my peers would be apt to say that I’m “dreaming” even though I am living, as aware of my surroundings as any other. </p>

<p>Given the loose definitions of what constitutes each of the states, one cannot conclusively identify a state that lies between the two. One could be living and dreaming or dreaming and living at the same time. Simply, my best guess is that it’s a person’s discretion whether he or she is “living” or “dreaming.” If I think I am dreaming, I am dreaming, and no one can change that.</p>

[bowlofchilli]

<p>I applied RD, although now wish I had applied early because I finished all my apps by november, anyways! And I’d love to go to UChi!</p>

<p>This is my essay, for the 6th prompt, “Do Not Think of Reverse Psychology”. It’s pretty weird but I really am happy with how it came out!</p>

<p>Look, right there in the doorway. It shifts its weight, a colossal motion, given its pounds and pounds of flesh. Fur so pure and white, you can only see individual bristles against the shadow on the wall. Its rubbery grey nose wrinkles as it infers what you had for lunch from your smell. You look right into its eyes, round marbles of black glass, unblinking and steady. I know it’s now undeniably there, imprinted in the corner of your subconscious. It’s impossible to forget, like a sort of mental “elephant in the room”. As Dostoyevsky once wrote and Schneider and Wegner said, “Do not think of a white bear”! Do not think of it, I dare you, for the rest of this essay.
Now that you are obviously not thinking of a white bear, we can focus instead the ironic process theory, a type of reverse psychology (oops, I wrote about it!). It’s an amazingly simple form of mind-control, isn’t it? You and I have never spoken on the phone or even met in person, yet I can plant an image or an idea in your mind, (it’s almost like Inception!) simply by telling you not to think about it. Similarly, by asking me to not write about reverse psychology, I feel obligated to write about it. I guess we’re even, then, but it’s still amazing how much power the words “Do not think/write….” have on us. Not only are you likely thinking of a certain animal in a certain color, you are probably traipsing around your thoughts more than you normally do to try to stop thinking of it. Depending on your natural disposition, you could be becoming frustrated, because of your inability to suppress ‘it’. I certainly am; I fear a large mammal will be haunting my tired mind as I try to fall asleep tonight. My National Geographic picture of the day background featuring two fighting polar bears in Svalbard isn’t helping, either.
You may or may not be familiar with “The Game”, another exercise in the use of the ironic process theory. The only step to playing “The Game” is to say “I lost the Game” every time you think of it, like so: I lost the Game. Darn. Now you have lost it as well, sorry. Nobody knows how many people play The Game, but some estimates suggest the number is in the millions. I’ve always wondered if there could be a more positive and actually useful application of the ironic process theory. Perhaps we could start a “Don’t think of a white bear” movement to save the polar bears! If they’re on everybody’s mind, maybe we’ll think twice about running the tap while we brush our teeth or throwing that bottle away because we’re too lazy to find the recycling bin. Let’s start now: Don’t think of white bears, please! And make sure to tell all your friends not to, as well! Especially when they are making environmentally unfriendly choices. If you are successful in this use of reverse psychology, be sure to not write about it, as it will surely now become a difficult urge to suppress. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get this bear out of my room.</p>

[seabiscuit42]

<p>Wow, I thought mine would be really common but hardly anybody here even chose the prompt. I wrote on the “Do not write about reverse psychology” prompt about why they shouldn’t admit me. Terrifying, yes, but it worked! I was accepted EA.</p>

<p>The University of Chicago is most definitely the wrong school for me. I am really not very smart, and I would probably fail out of the school in the first two weeks. I could not deal with living away from home, and I would not fit into the environment at The University of Chicago at all. I am an awful fit for this school, and this school is an awful fit for me.
The location of The University of Chicago is all wrong. I abhor big cities; in fact, I would much rather go to school in a giant field of nothing. I loathe having opportunities to make connections and expand my learning. Would it not be better to live in the middle of nowhere with my cats and not encounter any human life for weeks on end? I despise winter weather, and wind is out of the question. The size of The University of Chicago is also unacceptable. I want an extreme, either less than a thousand students or more than twenty thousand. I do not think I could live with a medium sized school.
The students at The University of Chicago actually seem to take pride in being nerds. I think that is weird. I despise learning, and I distrust smart people. I do not take difficult classes at my high school, and I would much rather go out partying than do my homework. Homework is no fun. I would probably mock all of the other students for being intelligent, too. I have been an incredible slacker in my high school years. I never woke up early to attend club meetings, and I most certainly was not the president of any of those clubs. I like to dance, but I would never join a pre-professional ballet, tap, modern, and jazz company that requires twenty to thirty hours of my time every week. People that do that must be insane! I do not understand the concept of having a job in high school, and obviously did not hold one for all four years of my high school life. I cannot stand doing anything extra, and I never overachieve. I hardly even achieve in a general sense. I do not advocate for myself, and in addition, I would never go above and beyond to get into post-secondary classes at the local college that are normally unavailable for high school students. The entire concept of taking postsecondary classes in high school makes my stomach hurt. I have never won any awards for scoring well on tests like the National Latin Exam, the American Mathematics Competition, the Ohio Math League, or the American Legion Americanism and Government test. I refused to attend any summer programs like the Ohio Summer Honors Institute or Buckeye Girls’ State. I never went to the Junior Classical League Convention as president of my school’s Latin Club. Even if I had, I certainly would not have led the club to a ten-place rise in the competition standings and won awards for my projects and test scores. Who does that stuff? An environment full of people like that is certainly not the type of environment that I would want.
The University of Chicago has a wonderful reputation as a top college. I scorn that. I want to go to an easy school that anyone could get admitted to. I do not want a school with a good mathematics program, and I cringe at the thought of success in my life. I do not want difficult classes, and I typically shy away from any challenge. When I visited the University of Chicago, I marveled that anybody could actually enjoy being there. The campus is hideous, there are way too many libraries, and everybody carried too many books to be normal. There were too many ways to get involved, and too many happy, smiling people.
I think the Core Curriculum is an awful idea as well. Why should I be well rounded? How is that going to help me in my life? Why should I care about anything other than what I absolutely have to learn? I do not want to expose myself to other ideas and subjects. I am too stubborn. I would also never take advantage of a Study Abroad program, especially one like The University of Chicago‘s. Why would I want the safety and convenience of a University of Chicago branch in another country, as opposed to a random college somewhere with the slightest link to my school? I do not want to experience other cultures in any sense anyway, and I have absolutely no interest in languages and linguistics. I would rather not broaden my horizons at all.
I feel that The University of Chicago would not be a good place for me. I would not make good connections, I would not succeed, and I most definitely would not try my hardest to accomplish any of my goals. The thought of joining clubs and gaining leadership positions is absolutely out of the question. Earning passing grades is not at the top of mypriority list. All in all, you should absolutely not accept me. I would detest spending my college years at The University of Chicago, and I am sure you would really dislike me too.</p>

[aangel42]

<p>@seabiscuit42:</p>

<p>OH MY GOD, that is PRICELESS! I legit laughed at sooo many points in your essay - I’m assuming that WAS your real essay - I doubted it at first because it’s just such a huge risk! But it’s amazing, I love it soo much I really can’t even begin to mention I’m sooo happy you got in EA because clearly, you deserve it. That essay is just beautiful. The thing is, many people don’t have the guts to write that kind of stuff, so those who do - really do deserve to be rewarded! Your personality shines through, I really can’t stop gushing here but I will </p>

<p>Congratulations on getting in!!! I hope it’s your first choice and that you’ve already accepted their offer! :)</p>

[bowlofchilli]

<p>@seabiscuit- I like that a lot and congratz! Ours are the only I’ve seen in this thread answering that prompt. I would’ve thought it’d be more popular. Go figure!</p>

[cheeseisgood]

<p>Applied RD… Here’s mine:
Question Three: In Between Living and Dreaming
This question pushed my philosophical limits. But, after much contemplation, I found a solution: “and”. Yes this very conjunction is the inbetween of living and dreaming.
The word “and” is so common, yet the etymology of the word is hardly known. That is why I am willing to say that “and” was made at the juncture between living and dreaming. Here is my thought process for deriving such a claim.
“And” is used in the rhetorical strategy of parallelism. Under the larger umbrella of parallelism, lies zeugma. Zeugma is defined as making two unrelated things parallel. An example: “She opened my door and my heart.” Living and dreaming, although both gerunds, are completely unrelated in that one is reality and the other fantasy. As English speakers, we needed a word that would establish the zeugmatic relationship between fantasies and goals (our dreams) with reality and living. “And” was created to place living and dreaming parallel, allowing us to make our dreams living. Therefore, when I take a close look at the very small junction between living and dreaming, I find the conjunction “and.” It is constantly making words phrases parallel, just as it joins our dreams with reality. Without “and,” our language and dreams would be dull, moribund, lifeless.</p>

[seabiscuit42]

<p>@aangel42 We share 42s! I’m glad you like my essay. I was scared to death, but I figured they’d know I was trying to be funny. I was definitely surprised more people didn’t take that route!</p>

[istalkyourhouse]

<p>I did like a newspaper kind of format and sent it off as a pdf. Here goes:</p>

<p>What is the third thing in between living and dreaming?</p>

<p>With the recent influx of 3369 early applications to the University of Chicago, it still remains a mystery as to why so many students would voluntarily choose to torture themselves with four more years of education. For some, university might give them a reason to finally move out their parents’ basement and start calling “BJ” home. Others might be inspired by watching the UChicago professor with a knack for studying his female student’s anatomy as seen on Showtime’s latest hit, “Shameless”. Besides those with raunchy teacher fantasies, let’s not leave out those who secretly wish to utilize university’s resources as a means to recreate Hollywood type laboratory blowup scenes. University of Chicago is truly the breeding ground for eccentric students ready to experiment with anything. </p>

<p>Although most students are aware that the University of Chicago is where fun goes to die, a small proportion of prospective students remain under the delusion that the journey will lead them elsewhere (courtesy of Shady Dealer’s premium quality pot – please refer below for any contact details). (My name), a prospective student has miraculously resurrected from the dead just as the phoenix mascot and believes that attending University of Chicago will exchange living for dreaming. “Personally, to move beyond living into the realm of dreaming always signified a form of flying for me. Which university better prepares you to take off with both feet into the air besides University of Chicago?” </p>

<p>Her preparation to fly has already begun through the intensive six-month course in phoenixing. Phoenixing, UChicago’s latest trend yielding over 12 million hashtag results on Twitter, teaches students the art of crouching, turning your hands out and posing! The complex physics of phoenixing demands for a perfect balance between your upper torso and lower body by shifting your weight between your back and ankles. “It requires great body core strength and mental stamina to sustain that position, even for a short period of time,” reports (my name). Despite her pitiful fitness level and inability to pass the College Swimming exam, her perseverance in mastering the art of phoenixing has turned her into an icon for all dreamers. </p>

<p>So for those students who believe torturing themselves with another four years of education will lead them to Doomsdale, there is still hope! Students like (my name) are a prime example for those who believe UChicago will give them an alternate path ending into Dreamsdale instead of Doomsdale.</p>

[sunwave]

<h2>I’m also surprised that more people didn’t choose prompt 6! It was my favorite by far :)</h2>

<p>Don’t write about reverse psychology.</p>

<p>“The Writing Process”</p>

<p>December 18, 2011
I’m going to be completely honest and say (write?) that I have no idea what to write about in this essay. Back when I first learned of this prompt in June, I had planned to use reverse psychology by talking about some less than ideal characteristics I had (ie, I’m messy, I hate alarm clocks, I don’t floss every night) in hopes that it would be a creative attempt that would persuade all the lovely admissions officers to admit me (don’t worry, I’m not trying to flatter you at all :). In August, when I mentioned this prompt to a friend, she mused that it meant that you could really write about anything you wanted. September, October, and November passed by through the haze of senior year, and now it’s December and I’m sitting in front of my computer, with one only paragraph written.
I’m starting to contemplate just sending that one paragraph in. I do have a lot of homework left, and it would be a bold move, wouldn’t it? Alas, it says to submit a one- or two- page response. If I did submit that one paragraph, I would probably spend the next three months completely on edge, sure that the admissions committee would reject me immediately because I can’t follow directions.</p>

<p>December 20, 2011
Anyways, it’s now two days later, and I’m trying to avoid writing a movie review for journalism. Is it bad to admit that? It’s not even that I don’t want to write it, really. Writing about your opinions is possibly one of the most fun things to do, especially about a movie as immature yet hilarious as 30 Minutes or Less. It’s just that I want to be inspired enough to write it, you know? As clich</p>

[gbspence]

<p>Don’t write about reverse psychology.</p>

<pre><code>I wouldn’t like to preface this essay by not saying that these uncommon essay questions are incredible and they definitely did not cause the University of Chicago to fall as my first choice. Reverse psychology hasn’t unfortunately become common knowledge. The original premise of pretending not to want someone to do something, in order to get them to do it, wasn’t genius. Now-a-days, this trick of psychology only doesn’t work on children and rebellious teenagers. Though I may or may not have once convinced my cat to jump off the table not employing this technique. The question couldn’t also be asked, does reverse psychology even work on cats? Possibly. I certainly know. But that’s not beside the point. The point is not why you should admit me to your university. I certainly don’t want to go there. I can not even begin to imagine living in Hyde Park, working in the Searle Chemistry Laboratory, or joining the Zombie Readiness Task Force, which is not the most brilliant club that I’ve ever heard of. This school doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest. From the moment I first stepped on campus, I could not see myself living and learning here for the next four years. The information session and tour I attended were terrible and atmosphere in and around campus was certainly not for me. I was not confused at the first sight of this bubble in the middle of campus. But after not learning what it was and how it worked, the new Joe and Rika Mansueto library did not inspire a sense of awe and amazement, especially in me, not hoping to check out all of the books housed within. I do not know why I am writing this essay. I don’t want to attend the University of Chicago. Don’t admit me, I’m begging you.
</code></pre>