<p>First thing first, this thread needs a major bump cuz the old essays are sooo cool to look at.</p>
<p>Here’s my essay. I answered the prompt: “Where is Waldo, really?”</p>
<p>Well, I guess the jig is up. Ive kept quiet for so long about this, but I cant escape the questions anymore. Its time to come clean.
I know where Waldo is.<br>
I know. Youre probably thinking, How could Natalie be so selfish as to keep to herself the answer to one of the most puzzling enigmas of all time? How dare she! Believe me, I understand your frustrations. However, before I tell you where Waldo really is, some explanation is in order. My answer wont make much sense if I dont explain how Waldo and I met.<br>
I met Waldo in the most unusual of places. I decided to vacation to Paris last spring to visit my good friend François Hollande, the President of the Republic of France. Before I was to meet him one day for a cup of café au lait and a croissant or two at a café, I decided to see the beautiful sights of Paris. This list included, of course, the grand Eiffel Tower. From my apartment, I walked to this majestic monument with my camera in hand, excited and ready to take a picture at a moments notice. Once I arrived, I strolled to the base of the Tower, and thats when I saw him. Nestled comfortably in between the beams on the underside of the Eiffel Tower was a sleeping Waldo, wearing his trademark red and white shirt and hat. You know, youd think that if so many people were trying to find him, he would be more cautious as to where he took naps, but I digress. Im getting off topic. So, upon seeing the elusive Waldo, I almost couldnt believe my eyes. Slowly, and making sure no one was looking, I crept up to where he was sleeping and gently nudged him. He stirred for a moment and then opened his eyes to find me staring at him. An expression of shock slowly registered on his face, mirroring my own expression, Im sure, and he fell off his beam. He promptly scrambled to his feet, dusted off his shirt, and asked me how I managed to find him. I told him that he really needed to be more careful when he napped. At my comment, he smiled and asked if I would help him find a new place to hide, since his old place was no longer secret. I agreed, but then remembered of my prior engagement with Monsieur Hollande. I didnt feel like leaving Waldo alone, so I called up M. Hollande and asked if it was all right if I brought a friend along with me. He replied that it was absolutely fine with him, and I thanked him profusely for being so understanding at my last-minute request. I told Waldo the news, and we set off for the café. We arrived and proceeded to have a lovely cup of café au lait with M. Hollande, sans the croissants, unfortunately, because the café ran out of them that morning. We finished our drinks, thanked M. Hollande for a lovely afternoon, and set out for my hotel.
And now, Im writing this to you from my apartment, where Waldo and I are getting ready to leave to take him to a new hiding place. Gosh, I really hope I can finish this explanation, because my computer is almost about to die. This place is amazing. Honestly, no one would ever guess it in a million years. Okay, enough stalling. Im sure youre tired of me beating around the bush, so finally, here is the answer to that all-important question that youve desperately been waiting for. Waldo will be at the</p>
<p>And no, nothing cut off. That’s how I ended it. </p>
<p>:)</p>
<p>hahahaha i really like it! if your stats are on par, i think you have a great chance of getting in. to put it this way, if this essay were selected from a pile of myriad college app essays, i would immediately recognize this as a UChicago essay. very original. :)</p>
<p>Is it a good idea to be posting essays before your EA decision comes back? The last sentence of your essay is pretty imitate-able, and could really be tacked on to anyone’s essay, now you just gave away your joke!</p>
<p>Non-the-less, definitely took the essay in a totally different direction than me, but nice read and a clever finish. Good luck with your admissions decision!</p>
<p>Hi everyone! I just wanted to contribute something helpful to the essay prompt that asks about your favorite books, movies, all that jazz.</p>
<p>I made UChicago a music playlist (which is not a magical and novel idea, but still). On it was Beyonce, Bon Iver, Barbara Striesand, and Sufjan Stevens, to name a few, with an explanation for why I chose each song (and subtly how it reflected who I was as an individual). Also, I think mixing genres and putting artists that are on the opposite end of the musical spectrum all on one playlist made it a strong, unique, and surprising “essay.” This also helped cater to admissions by increasing the chances that at least one of those songs/artists will make SOMEONE in admissions smile or say “Hell yes.” I’m doing EA, so we’ll see how that pans out for me. </p>
<p>I don’t mind sharing before EA decisions simply because the EA deadline is over with and I’ll either get accepted or rejected (deferral? rejection? eh, probably the same thing for my case). Yes, someone could imitate this idea, but it’d be for RD and I wouldn’t be competing against them for a spot. And besides, admissions will have read my essay first. Whoever decides to “copy the idea” will not look as special as the “original” (and I say that lightly because I’m sure “original” ideas for this year aren’t original in terms of essays spanning over the past ten or so years).
I’ll share my “invent a past for a gift” essay if I am accepted. I really like it but it’s not spectacular.</p>
<p>As will I. If I get accepted, I’ll post my Invent a Past essay. I like it as a concept. The execution was meh in my opinion.</p>
<p>Option 5: Where do you feel lost and found at the same time?</p>
<p>To me, being lost and being found are two dimensions of the same thing.
Often, the word lost has a negative connotation. However, I enjoy being lost,
especially underwater. When I am lost, I finally am free to be my true, complete self,
free of social expectations and responsibilities. Since I was introduced to scuba diving
by Boy Scouts, I have never looked back, starting my own car washing business to buy
my own gear, earning my certification at 15 years old and my advanced certification at
17 years old. From the first time my head was submerged in the chlorinated water of
Wallins Dive Center to exploring Wreck Alley at 120 feet in San Diego, I have felt at
peace underwater. Not with the world or my life or anyone else, but with myself. I love
everything about diving, even the little things that others find tedious. I love pouring
through dive magazines and online catalogs searching for new gear. I love researching
dream dive destinations in exotic regions. I love meticulously inspecting every single
piece of gear that I own, from my regulator to my compass. I love struggling to fit into
my 7 millimeter thick neoprene wetsuit, complete with neoprene boots, gloves, and
hood at 6 A.M. in the morning. I relish the instant chill that sets in when you sink
beneath the thermocline. As I have learned, it takes a certain breed of diver to brave the
frigid waters of Monterey, California. But once I am finally in the water, its a different
story.
The difference between what lies above the water and what lies below is
astonishing. It is hard to believe that the stark contrast between our chaotic society and
the tranquil underwater world goes largely unnoticed. The transition from one place to
the other is utterly shocking yet extremely soothing. The moment I slide beneath the
water, I am instantly alone. As I focus on slowing my breathing to conserve air, I can
literally feel my racing thoughts slow down, my muscles relax. No more worrying about
school or friends or life. Underwater, with my deep, measured breathing reverberating
in my ears (I sound exactly like Darth Vader), I am totally at ease, within my own mind,
isolated from the world. Some may call this being lost. I see it as being found. As
the fish swim by, they pay no attention to me. It is because I am a part of them. While
swimming with them and through them I finally feel like I am a part of the backdrop,
just another being living on the earth. Above the water, humans are largely intrusive,
invasive, and center stage. It somehow feels unnatural. In the ocean, 100 feet down,
there are no signs of human life. And yet, I am found.</p>
<p>nicklillie…I LOVED your essay. I could sense your passion for diving and your writing style is lovely. Good Luck to you :-)</p>
<p>Also…I think the way you answered the prompt, by losing yourself underwater, you find yourself, is both revealing and unique.</p>
<p>Thank you 
hopefully the admission’s officers feel the same way!</p>
<p>I agree! The diving essay is amazing! Its powerful because you dont use fancy words that make an essay soun like a thesaurus vomited on it lol i write the same wat. Simplistic wording is the most powerful. Amazing job!</p>
<p>…so many typos - my writing isn’t that simplistic hahaha this is what I get for typing with an iphone.</p>
<p>*Option 1: “A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.” -Oscar Wilde. </p>
<p>Othello and Iago. Dorothy and the Wicked Witch. The Autobots and the Decepticons. History and art are full of heroes and their enemies. Tell us about the relationship between you and your arch-nemesis (either real or imagined).*</p>
<p>My arch-nemesis lives with me, tends to burn bacon, is rapidly balding, and has a double chin. Sometimes he calls himself my father. </p>
<p>I don’t define an arch-nemesis as some cackling villain with an atrocious hairstyle and a flamboyant cape. I define an arch-nemesis as an equally-powerful foil to the main character, with a comparable history, or similar motivations, or identical roots. At our cores, my father and I are the same. We are both driven by an innate desire to relentlessly search for better results or a better performance or a better score. We seek support and love but are a little emotionally stunted and rather stubborn. My father always expected me to become an obedient daughter. When I ridiculed at his experiences he decided to spurn me. And I always wished for my father to become compassionate and worthy of respect. When my father mocked my failures I decided to spurn him.</p>
<p>I have a bad relationship with my father. When I tell my peers, they usually nod, and offer stories of their Horrible-No-Good-Fathers. My father does not stay late at work or refuse to pay for clothing or dislike my lifestyle. My father and I hurled abuse at each other. I’d undermine him in public and he’d harangue me in private. I’d laugh at his experiences and he’d scoff at my dreams. I’d storm to my room and he’d slam his office door. For many years the cycle continued. Soon we couldn’t be in the same room or have a civil conversation without feeling like we were walking over shards of broken glass. </p>
<p>An arch-nemesis brings out one’s very best and the very worst and vice versa. I’ve discovered my father’s dedication to my mother and brother and his preoccupation with making money instead of good parenting. My father has discovered my fierce independence and the insecurities I lock in a deep mental recess. As we circled around and around each other, our best became better and our worse worsened. My father began to celebrate my mother and brothers’ birthdays as he perfected the art of ignoring me. I began to become more driven and goal-oriented as I learned to keep people at a good distance. We fought harder, stayed angry longer, became more miserable. </p>
<p>At sixteen, I snipped a particularly cruel comment at my father, and in retaliation, my father told me I was not his daughter. I wasn’t surprised. Our fights had gotten steadily more vicious over the past two years. His words were words I had already been expecting. I climbed up the stairs, went into my room, sat on the bed. I thought I could leave. It would be terribly easy, as simple as swiping the keys and sneaking out the back door—</p>
<p>But father is meant to be an ally—sure, a bacon-burning, balding, double-chinned ally—but not an enemy. Not someone to hate or despise or fear. A father is meant to be someone to love. I’ll always have a foil, an arch-nemesis, an enemy who challenges me, enrages me. It shouldn’t be my father. Yes, I could’ve left. It would have been easier to let the past dictate the rest of our relationship, to shrug it off as irremediable, to pretend I haven’t made just as many mistakes as my father has. It would have been so much easier.</p>
<p>Instead I slipped into my father’s office.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” I said.</p>
<h2>Little steps. </h2>
<p>I hate looking at writing I’ve already submitted. It makes me itch to start editing, editing, editing. </p>
<p>I post this for people thinking about applying RD, for the people thinking about applying EA/RD next year, and in the assumption nobody would be so exponentially stupid enough to copy this essay, seeing as it’s uh, mine.</p>
<p>@psychedelia: I loved your essay. It reminds me a lot of my relationship with my father, except we don’t really fight, but keep it more internally. It’s really well written and engaging. I hope you get in! :)</p>
<p>Your essay is so good! And i enjoyed the last part. Honestly, I can’t imagine what type of lowly person would copy a college essay…I mean its something so personal. Also, why would you want too? lol People…</p>
<p>Hope I’m not digressing this thread too much. Would any high school grad/current college student mind reading my essay? I’m applying RD</p>
<p>If you want I’ll read it. I’m still in high school but I already applied EA. PM me if so. :)</p>
<p>Essay Option 1: “A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies.” -Oscar Wilde. </p>
<p>Othello and Iago. Dorothy and the Wicked Witch. The Autobots and the Decepticons. History and art are full of heroes and their enemies. Tell us about the relationship between you and your arch-nemesis (either real or imagined).</p>
<p>Man or machine</p>
<p>My arch-nemesis is a machine. A bionic robot programmed for perfection—a soulless, single-dimensional horror. Faceless, monotonous workers engineered her, injecting performance-enhancing neurons to create a killer creature, a competitive monster. The machine travels down the assembly line joining the never-ending army of machines–a clone in an army of clones. Every machine is identical in its ideal image, its flawless focus, and its perfect productivity. My arch-nemesis is produced to pursue perfection with weapons of mass destruction - cerebral engines polished for perfunctory performance. She is a “Stepford” student. And she is me.
Inimicus pessimus meus ipsius sum, or I am my worst enemy as the saying goes. The machine in me is my cutthroat competitor. Her exemplary, or more accurately stated, extremely inane expectations guide my life. I unleash the brute beast within me to meet her demands, working senselessly while losing my humanity. The beast clocks countless hours memorizing heavy, never-ending textbooks, churning out papers, and practicing math problems with a religious fervor. I worship at her flawless feet and offer myself as sacrifice. I become a mental machine; I become the beast. I sell my soul and enter my hell: a dark society obsessed with sinful superiority. My education becomes a clich</p>
<p>I am curious, do you know what you want to major in at UChicago or anywhere else you go?</p>
<p>@psychedelia</p>
<p>Great concept, great insights, great essay.</p>
<p>Would anyone be willing to read my Waldo essay…I’m a bit hesitant in posting it here though…</p>