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Colleges & Universities University of Chicago
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<p>I’ll go ahead and post my Favorites and Why UChicago essays, too.
…
Favorites:</p>

<p>Playing cards have always fascinated me. When I would play Gin Rummy with my father when I was young—or should I say younger—my father often had to remind me that it was my turn to play, because I’d be too busy staring at the backs of our Bicycle playing cards. I always thought that they were beautiful; such intricate designs and shapes that easily caught the eye. Whenever my dad would riffle shuffle the cards, I listened to the light sound of the cards brushing past each other, forming a neat pile after my dad performed the bridge. Something about that simple, mesmerizing action made me wonder if such an act could be defined as artwork.</p>

<p>Then, just last year, I encountered cardistry: the non-magical, artistic manipulation of playing cards. Performers such as Andrei Jikh and Dan & Dave would fan decks of cards or perform springs where fifty-two cards would literally jump from one hand to the other like a smooth stream of water. They would control their cards with unparalleled manual dexterity and put on a show that undoubtedly fell under the category of art. I was amazed and knew I had to become a part of the community of cardists. I rushed online and ordered a pack of cards with performance coating: a buttery finish specifically designed for cardistry. I started practicing fans and springs and all manner of other, elaborate displays of cards. I loved it; I still do. Every day I try to set aside an hour to practice my card-handling skills. Adroit flourishers like Andrei Jikh and Dan & Dave helped me discover a hobby that quickly developed into a passion.</p>

<p>…
Why UChicago:</p>

<p>When I visited UChicago this year, I fell in love, despite my mother’s warnings about the danger in doing so. But how could I help myself? I looked one way, and my eyes were greeted by beautiful gothic architecture (I could see why UChicago is said to have a 3:1 gargoyle-student ratio). And then, with a simple turn of the head, I saw the innovative Joe and Rika Mansueto Library, where robot arms brought students their books at the press of a button. There was a perfect balance between the traditional and the cutting-edge. Following my Student Visit Coordinator, Smita, we walked past Snell-Hitchcock, eloquently laced with ivy, and my eyes lit up as I envisioned myself stepping out of that hall on the first snow-day of the year and enjoying hamburgers at the annual Snow-BQ with my fellow residents. When I asked Smita about what intramural sports the University of Chicago had to offer, I was thrilled when she told me of rival houses competing in friendly (but of course, totally serious) games of inner-tube water polo. As an avid water polo player and swimmer, I couldn’t wait to dive into the Ratner swimming pool and give the quirky game a go. </p>

<p>Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better, Smita told my tour group about the “Core”. I had found what I was searching for: an intimate learning experience where I could bounce my ideas off others and work in teams to examine every topic from as many angles as possible. I was able to see myself walking into one of the nearby classrooms and sitting down at the circular table inside, ready to jump straight into a discussion. It didn’t matter what the subject was; I just wanted to be able to debate and question and explore the topic. When I learned that the economics major at UChicago focuses heavily on scientific thinking, I imagined myself conversing with a business owner just outside the Trump Tower. I was to work with him or her through one of the many Metcalf Internships, and we were discussing ways to research how the plethora of models and facts in my economics textbook applied to the real, tangible business world. And I wouldn’t have to stop my college education with business, either. After some questioning, Smita revealed that there would be a Molecular Engineering major offered at the University of Chicago for the first time, this upcoming year! I could learn about manufacturing molecules and developing nanotechnology to do things like improve water purification methods. Double majoring at the Institute of Molecular Engineering would further develop my scientific way of thinking and allow me to potentially find solutions to some of the world’s problems. </p>

<p>It was all a dream come true.</p>

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<p>@NateChortek‌ thanks for sharing your essays! they are all very well-written and good, congrats on your acceptance. </p>

<p>I’ll post mine when my deferral turns into something else, maybe. </p>

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<p>@wethemusicmakers‌ No problem! And thanks! I did a whole lot of editing. Haha
I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.</p>

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<p>I know someone already asked this earlier in the thread but there weren’t many answers. Would admitted EA students from this year share how many words their Why UChic essay was? (and the others too if you feel like it!)</p>

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<p>@andros12 D’s essay was 500 words.</p>

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<p>I guess I’ll post mine since I’ve been using this thread as a resource so much. I should be submitting this today once I figure out exactly how to end my “favorites” essay. I’ll post the other 2 essays in a new comment</p>

<h2>I chose the “untranslatable word” prompt for my Uncommon Essay:</h2>

<p>Sometimes I try to think about the universe.</p>

<p>Yeah, I said “try.” If you think that means I have yet to be successful, then you are absolutely 100% correct.</p>

<p>The thing about the universe is that it’s big. Infinitely big. As my satirical lord and savior Douglas Adams wrote, “You just won’t believe how vastly hugely mind-bogglingly big it is.” My brain, on the other hand, is rather small. While human mental capacity is, arguably, infinite, the minor migraine I get when trying to hold the idea of the whole universe suggests that we really can’t handle infinite.</p>

<p>Let me attempt to illustrate the situation:</p>

<p><strong><em>italics</em></strong>Picture yourself exactly where you are. Now zoom out a bit. Imagine the room you’re in, the building, the neighborhood. Keep going. The city, the state, country, continent, Earth. As you zoom out, keep your own position held down. Imagine our solar system, our galaxy, in relation to your position in the room that you occupy. Now imagine the universe in relation to yourself. Keep zooming out. More. More. There is no possible way for you to zoom out far enough so as to envision the universe as a whole, but you need to keep trying. Don’t forget about yourself, though. Your tiny, tiny, not-even-nanoscopic self still sitting in that room trying to hold some portion of the universe in your mind.<strong><em>end italics</em></strong></p>

<p>Nevertheless, I continue to torture myself by trying to postulate just what mysteries the universe might hold. Why do I embark upon this futile journey that ultimately ends in a mild headache? Because occasionally I have a “Wow!” moment. A moment of pure awe. A “Holy crap the universe is amazing!” moment.</p>

<p>I won’t assume that the reaction to this experiment is the same for everyone. For me, though, my brain starts to hurt as my capacity to understand what I am thinking about decreases while I am still trying to cram more complex versions of the same obscure concept into my only-human mind. Still, the inevitable migraine does not stop my embarking on this mental journey again later. Why do I continue with this seemingly-futile, masochistic quest to understand the infinite universe in its entirety? Because occasionally I have a “Wow!” moment. A moment of pure awe. A “Holy crap the universe is amazing!” moment.</p>

<p><strong><em>italics again</em></strong>Start zooming out from yourself again. This time, consider some of the world around you. Think about how the people in your community, city, and country affect you. Think about how you affect them. Keep zooming out. Look at the Earth. This is the only planet that we know for sure contains life. Think about the scientific phenomena and galactic flukes that had to occur in order for this planet to exist in an anomaly of perfect biological stasis. Now look at the solar system. Ancient cultures discovered these other planets and associated them with their religions. We created personalities for these great masses of elements. Imagine the galaxy. Within this galaxy are millions of other stars and solar systems and planets—some possibly capable of or already housing life. That life could be similar to our own or different in every way just as stars can be small or large, different colors, ever changing, eventually exploding into a brilliant nebula. Come back to Earth for a moment. With our three types of color receptors we see them as a vibrant outburst of many different colors. How would a butterfly see them? A mantis shrimp? Now imagine the universe. It holds all of this and more. We will probably never see the full extent—or even a small fraction—of everything it contains. In our lifetimes, we’ll be lucky to see someone set foot on another planet. Imagine all of the mysteries locked away in the far reaches of space. Imagine the possibilities of what could exist in an infinite universe. Imagine what had to happen in order for you, back in your miniscule room, to be here.<strong><em>end italics</em></strong></p>

<p>I live for the moments when my cerebral exploration of the universe leads to intellectual wonder instead of a painful existential crisis. We don’t have just one word—or even a few words—in English that describes moments such as this. I tried to find a way to describe it, but my explanation was forty-three words, included a reference to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and still didn’t accurately depict how I feel when these moments occur. The Japanese, however, have a single word for this type of situation in their beautiful, nature-oriented language. That word is “yugen.”</p>

<p>I love this word, yugen. I love the depth of its meaning. Narrowly translated, yugen means a hidden mystery. Its kanji (幽玄) is made up of two others meaning secluded or deep and mysterious. The concept as a whole describes the speechless awe that one gets from realizing that something is indescribably beautiful.</p>

<p>Cultural differences between Asia and the Western world could explain why the Japanese have this intriguing word while we don’t have anything like it. Westerners tend to value individualism and personal happiness whereas Asian cultures and teachings often focus on nature and the importance of a group: family, society, etc. It makes sense that a culture that emphasises harmony between humanity and nature would come up with a word that describes such a profound emotion.</p>

<p>Yugen is how I feel when I think about the universe. Knowing that I am an improbable part of something so magnificent inspires me. I want to learn more about this remarkable place. When I look at everything that humans still don’t understand, I am in complete awe as I wonder just what allows it to happen. I want to explore and discover more about the incredible mysteries and phenomena that make up our universe and even our own small world.</p>

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<h2>Then here’s my “Why UChicago?” essay</h2>

<p>For as long as I can remember, I have asked, “Why?” Whenever something happens, I care more about what caused it to happen or how it affected something else than the actual event. I want to know people’s motives, a task’s significance, the reasons behind everything.</p>

<p>My inquisitive nature has affected almost every aspect of my life. When my calculus teacher couldn’t tell me what the “rref” function on a calculator actually does, I went home and looked it up because blindly pressing a button doesn’t fulfill my wish to know exactly how to solve a problem. When I first learned that music is often based in mathematics, I realized I wanted to delve deeper into the theory behind music and scales and improvisation. There isn’t a single subject about which I can know too much: math, music, serial killers, space, cats, anything.</p>

<h2>Every time I learn more about UChicago I fall deeper into love with it. I love imagining myself in an environment full of people whose aspirations and curiosities and passions for learning are similar to my own. I love knowing that UChicago offers a setting that will challenge me and allow me to expand my own knowledge and reach my full potential as an intellectual and a scholar. I love the campus’s beauty, diversity, and traditions. I even love the “where fun comes to die” mantra because that tells me that I’m more likely to be around people who are focused solely on their education rather than partying all the time. Most of all, I love the idea of spending a few years in a place where I can learn dozens of new things every day—not just from my teachers, but from my peers as well.</h2>

<h2>And my “favorites” essay. Still trying to work out the ending a bit. I don’t know if I want to make it into a sort of mission statement or just leave it sort of as is with the “Gustav Holst is the shit” idea</h2>

<p>Music has always been my greatest passion. I find it amazing that any number of emotions, messages, and cultures can be expressed through this beautiful art form. There is a song for every occasion in every genre of music. To me, all musical elements and styles are fascinating, and I try to find something I enjoy in every type of music.</p>

<p>In junior high, I participated in my school district’s honor band, and because of that band, I discovered the stunning suite that is Gustav Holst’s The Planets. I would consider this suite to be one of the most emotionally diverse piece ever written. It is also among my favorite musical works.</p>

<p>This suite mirrors the personalities of each Roman god for which they are named. It begins a bit like a battle march, quiet but building in intensity as it reaches an angry crescendo—Mars. After Mars, the second movement is a huge contrast: much softer, more woodwind based than percussion and brass. This one is Venus, the goddess of love. Throughout the entire suite there are extreme dynamic differences, intense moments, and interesting transitions. I am most fascinated by the way Holst conveys each planet’s persona with sound alone.</p>

<p>Without needing to look it up, anyone versed in the basics of Roman mythology can easily figure out which planet is currently being represented. Mars is dynamic and intense. Venus is peaceful and lovely. Mercury is quick and busy-sounding, Jupiter grand and booming. Saturn gives the listener an unsettling awareness of time and their own imminent passing. Uranus creates a feeling of both creation and evil, similar to the myths surrounding the god. Finally, Neptune has a mood similar to the peaceful mystery of the ocean.</p>

<p>While I can never get tired my usual blend of rock, metal, punk, and ska, none of the songs I listen to regularly have quite the same impact on me as The Planets. I find it mind-blowing that this man could write seven movements, each about seven minutes, and tell more of a story in each one with no words than many books do. </p>

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<p>I just realized I left in one of my unfinished edits. That paragraph beginning with “Nevertheless” in the Uncommon Essay should not be there. That is an earlier version of the following paragraph.</p>

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Anyone accepted have a moment to give me some last minute advice on my EE?

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Does anybody know how strict uchicago is on the word count?

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@purified‌ They do not have a word limit for their supplemental essays.

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@NateChortek‌ Thanks! Just wanted to double check.

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i cursed in my why uchic essay is that bad

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it works in context tho I think

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I would probably have refrained from cursing, but that is just my opinion. I leaned on the side of cautiousness when it came to the favorites essay. I was quite tempted to include a photograph of a statue that contained male nudity, but I passed.

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@cooooolkid‌ I don’t think it matters, as long as you do it in context/appropriately. It can’t just be useless swearing. My math teacher, who went to Stanford, got into the school with an essays containing the line “Holy shit, cookies!”

Just be sure it serves a purpose! Great writers include swearing in their books, so yeah.

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Make your own question:

What word should not exist?

In a previous essay I said that there’s no such thing as a good word or a bad word.

I lied.

But only a little. There’s just one bad word, and it’s “unfortunately.”

1943

It is a mortician dressed in a cheap suit. You’re washing dishes when a crumbling Army vehicle stutters up to your driveway. Two men: one short and pudgy, the other tall and lanky. The only thing they have in common is the way they stare intently at the ground with furious dedication. Their muscles are rigid. Their hands are wrung. And slowly, inevitably, after being primed by the usual platitudes – “we regret to inform you” and “We’re extremely sorry” – the insidious word leaks out.

Unfortunately? What the hell does this have to do with fortune or misfortune? You took my boy away from his home to be murdered in some god-forsaken country and you still have the audacity to talk about fortune? Go to hell. Really, go to hell.

But you say none of these things, because all of a sudden you’re so tired and you can’t feel your legs and the floor is just so inviting… You hear your second son run down the stairs to catch you.

1954

It is a senator with a fetish for fear. The son, a promising journalist for a national newspaper, is called down to his boss’ office. He sits in a plush chair on trembling legs, brushing the fabric with fingers that betray his nervousness. The boss is a jovial man who gives each of his employees a bottle of wine for Christmas, but today he is quiet and somber.

The boss clears his throat. Clears it again. Abruptly, he speaks.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go.”

You leap out of your chair.

The boss continues. “Your political views aren’t the ones our government wants us to have.

(wait for it)

Unfortunately, you’ll have to leave. I’m truly sorry.”

Unfortunate. Being an alleged Communist is “unfortunate.” A goddamn coin toss, heads you’re a Mao’s right-hand man, tails you’re America’s finest patriot. Raise your glass to democracy. God bless the United States of America.

But you say none of those things, because being fired is better than being imprisoned for the rest of your life. You trudge down the street, wondering how you’ll put food on the table for your baby daughter.

2014

Is it foreshadowing or just a fear? In a fictional world, baby daughter grows up and has a baby son. In a fictional world, baby son grows up and has a computer, $75, and a dream. But also an inheritance, thirteen letters that hide under his bed and whisper to him at night.

He applies anyways.

2015

Ninety-one point six times out of a hundred he is reunited with an old friend. “Unfortunately,” he reads, and closes the email with practiced precision. Black font embroidered on white fabric, ugly words clothed in formality that remain long after he shuts off the monitor.

But eight point four times out of a hundred he sees a maroon phoenix. And then he knows that Emily Dickinson was right, that “hope” is indeed the thing with feathers and “unfortunately” is just another worm in the ground.

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YES, this was real life. And yes there was lava and being chased by a dog with frothing saliva.

For three hours, the cliffs became higher, the air thinner, the roads narrower, and the only thing between the bus and a thousand foot plunge was a strand of barbed wire. When we finally arrived at the inn at three in the morning, a group of strangers and I ran up the stairs to see the view from the roof. Greeted by the moon, a sea of stars, and the Andes Mountains, I felt that beholding nature was not enough; I needed to understand it.

When I awoke, I was awestruck by the mountains in the daylight. Growing up in geographically flat southern Virginia, they looked surreal, almost like a green screen. A boy and I, knowing that we were still unaccustomed to the eleven thousand feet elevation, tested our strength and raced each other to a cluster of decrepit buildings atop a steep hill. When we finally reached the small village and were a safe distance from the dog with frothing saliva, with burning lungs, I lay down on the empty road. As my breath steadied, I watched the mountaintops pierce the wispy clouds floating across the sky.

I imagined a scientist scaling one of these mountains and adding his modest shovelful of rock to the summit, so someone after him could stand higher. The mountain would continue to grow like a plant reaches for the sun but never touches it. Our brains are temporary objects, ignorant of what is before birth or after death, and that fact hardwires most to view the world in terms of “beginning” and “end.” Therefore, in order to live a purposeful life, I believe I must give my life to a cause greater than my own comfort and safety. I understand my brain is incapable of grasping infinity, but, as a short-lived fly searches for endless light, I am urged to learn as much as I can when I can. Lying there peering up at the mountains, I felt tiny, but purposeful, grateful for my friends, family and spirituality.

When tramping the green, twisting Andean trails, I learned that to facilitate my journey I must humble myself before those who are wiser. Hikers in unknown territory must rely on the knowledge of their guides before they can carve their own paths. Like scientists, serious hikers study the experiences of other’s successes and failures in order to form a foundation on which to erect new knowledge. Confronted with unfamiliar material, students can feel lost, pouring their life into memorizing knowledge, only to hang from loose threads. However, persistence braids the threads into a rope, and what was once agonizing becomes second nature, and then enjoyable.

A week later, one of my newfound friends shouted, “The volcano’s exploding!” We ran up the stairs to the roof and watched the Tungurahua volcano from several miles away spew burning rocks, ash, and gas. While we were sleeping, there had apparently been several lava explosions. This relatively mild eruption covered the land with a thin film of ash that stung everyone eye’s red, and scoured our throats.

“I think we should put on body suits and look inside!” I exclaimed. The others looked at me and chuckled. Although they had not known me long, I think they already knew that given the opportunity, I would have taken it.

…

And my oddish Amherst supplement.

One of my favorite birthday presents was a thick journal with a strong leather smell imported from Tuscany. When traveling on a bus or train and having nothing better to do, I jot down a few paragraphs. When I feel wide-awake late at night, by the time I put down my pen, it’s 1:30 in the morning. There’s a constant battle between my memories and sleep.

When people see me pull out my journal, they usually ask me how much I’ve written, and flipping through pages of tight font, I tell them it’s my third. Old and young, they then exclaim something along the lines of, “Wow! I tried to keep a diary once but gave up after a week. How do you do it? What do you write about?”

I tell them how bizarre I think the passing of time is. I joke that I’m afraid that I’ll blink and become an old lady. I tell them that when that day does happen, that I can re-read my old journals, and teleport back to otherwise forgotten memories. I tell them it’s cool to look over anyone’s old journals and see their inner development. I tell them I write mainly about my travels, family, secrets, and thoughts that shouldn’t be said out loud. I gossip to journals, because well hidden in a drawer of underwear, they tend to be more trustworthy than people.

I do not consider my journal “literature” in the traditional definition, but I would be lying if I said I never imagined a future great-granddaughter discovering my thoughts in an attic long after I’m gone. However, by that time, she will probably have never learned cursive in school, and when she flips to the first page of the journal I started when I was thirteen, the Harry Styles’ cutout will probably scare her away.

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@Duvarc I absolutely love it! Not sure if they will, but I do. Very well done.

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thanks!