lol can we revive this thread for 2017-18 application season–what prompts did y’all write for. i did the clerical errors one (applied ea)
so scared for decisions on monday^^
@angstyforadmission1 me too! I applied EA and did the clerical errors prompt. What was your new major?
my new major was chicaNo studies to differentiate from Latin American studies
ahh so nervous
can anyone tell me plz whether u can use ur commonapp essay as a supplement essay? I’m in a bit hurry…
You can use your common app essay as a supplemental, but then you’ll need to replace the commonapp one with another so that you won’t have a duplicate essay. I believe for each school, you can pick and choose which you want as the commonapp essay.
oh, thanku.
Do the admission officers check for plagiarism in our essays?
You should assume they do!
From where am I supposed to send my ISFAA form? There’s no such option on commonapp…
I’m working on my essay now, but I doubt it’ll impress them. I really just wanted to write about The Beatles so I used UChicago as an excuse lol. I picked the “there are two types of people” prompt.
I might post my essay once I’m all done with senior year, but I remember scrolling through this topic last year and finding a really memorable essay on flesh-eating unicorns.
@jpps1 ingenious essay on many levels. I am sure you got into a top school. I feel you would fit better at a school like Yale though.
This thread has been dead for a while, but I thought I’d post mine anyways. From a writer’s perspective, I felt like I did a decent job, but I also feel like I stretched the question a bit much. Anyways, here is the prompt:
“The late NYTimes photographer Bill Cunningham once said ‘Fashion is the armor to survive the reality of everyday life. I don’t think you could do away with it. It would be like doing away with civilization.’ Tell us about your ‘armor’. - Inspired by Adam Berger, Class of 2020”
Here is the essay:
"It’s 6 a.m. Nearly one hundred thousand cubic feet of water gently laps in a series of rhythmic percussions
in an Olympic sized pool before me. Standing at the edge, I tighten my goggles under the buzz of bright
neon strips and the monotonous hum of the overhead fan. The rousing, invigorating vapor of chlorine
latches onto the hair in my nose. Taking a deep breath, I sigh, finally at peace. An old pool and a pair of
plastic polymer goggles may not seem like much of armor to most, but for me, it offers a distinctive
contentment that nothing else can.
As I dive into the water, I immediately stop thinking and let my limbs do the work. Like many high
school students with lofty goals and ambitious aspirations, life can often turn you into a bouncy ball of
stress, ricocheting from one place to another without any direction. Tasks given by parents and teachers
can oftentimes feel like robotic operations and the social strain of teen life creates more drama than
happiness. But in the water, I have no worries. No complaining girlfriend, no nagging parents, and no
impending deadlines – it’s just me and the water, which I manipulate to my will.
Moving with organic fluidity, I finish at the wall with my arm outstretched. I swipe at my water bottle,
taking a quick swig of H2O before pushing off. Breathing to the side, the sights of the surrounding
environment glances off of my goggles, transforming my view of the world and transporting me to my
own dimension. Without these goggles, not only would I be blinded, but I would not be able to continue
swimming in the tranquility of the water. Going into a turn, I speed up and the water begins to flatten
against my face. But I am still aware of my body and surroundings, allowing my extended fingers and
rolling shoulders to carve through the water in fierce harmony.
At the 60th turn, I flip onto my back and begin the long process of cooldown. For a brief moment, I
remove myself from my world and transport back into reality, taking in all that the beautiful vessel
surrounding me has to offer. Though my entire body is in pain, I smile, letting the waves slosh onto my
face. My friends and teammates swim around me, and in the last moments of practice, we laugh, splash,
and simply enjoy ourselves. In this perfect moment, I forget the hardships of family and the inevitable
restrictions of life and refrain from worrying about what my future may entail. There is only the present in
the watery embrace of my armor.
Finishing my workout, I lift myself onto the pool deck, feeling as liberated as ever. Taking off my
goggles, a silent lullaby of light kisses my body, a symphony of hot pinks and reds warming me. It is only
then that I realize for the first time that the sun has already risen. With goggles clutched in my hand, I
take one last look across the pool before taking my leave. Though it is difficult to leave the water, I
realize that my worries aren’t truly a concern. My goggles will still be in my bag and I will be back in 8
hours. Though my body will eventually break down and my mind will no longer be able to handle the
mental exhaustion, I will forever have these memories of a younger me, swimming back and forth in my
everlasting armor. In those worlds, I remain as spirited and free as ever."
Crossing my fingers that it made an impression on the admissions officers!
I ended up being waitlisted but I had a really fun time with my essay. So here’s a look.
A man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies." –Oscar Wilde.
Othello and Iago. Dorothy and the Wicked Witch. Autobots and 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)
Across a wide empty plain I face my enemy head on. Armed to the teeth with all the weapons I can bear. Everything that would allow me to slide past a tiny chink in its practically impassable armor. Yet with all my resources, I always lose. There is no way to defeat it, and the battle is ongoing. From one sunrise to another we battle. He is always victorious, yet each day the war continues.
Time: It is a relative construct created by man to measure our lives, but that thing both real and not, is my natural enemy. A nemesis that never sleeps. Which leaves me the combatant at quite a disadvantage. Whoever came up with the time frame of 24 hours in one day really botched it all up. I’m sure back then, like a bajillion years ago it made sense, the calculations all adding up. But that deal doesn’t seem to work for me.
There’s school, volunteering, reading, eating, watching T.V. Oh right, and having a social life. I guess it’s unfair to say that time has an advantage for not having to sleep, because most of the times I end up cutting said sleep from my schedule. Time inhibits me from living my life to the fullest. Also, I really, really enjoy sleeping (REM makes it all worthwhile).
In that plain, with swaying grass reaching my shoulders, Time towers over me, a levitating ball of blue dust in one hand, a bow in another. His weapons of choice. In my hands are a large travel size mug filled with caffeine and a butter knife .
“I find us here yet again,” he states in a prim British accent. “Day after day, I find you here resisting my pull and each time I prevail. When shall you give up this pointless fight?”
(In a short aside, yes Time in my head is British. Aren’t all authoritative, imposing T.V villains?)
I open my mouth to speak but bend over in a coughing fit that lasts a while. I finally gulp down some coffee, and then yelp as I scald my tongue. I clear my throat and then try again.
“Yes, right. Well I’m tired of seeing you all the time too. This might be a pointless fight to you, but I need just one more hour. I mean it’s only sixty minutes. I really need to go read my Econ textbook for a test tomorrow.” After a pause I add, “actually at this point I mean later today.”
“You know I cannot allow that to happen.”
“Says who,” I whine. I slouch over and then suddenly straighten attempting to look as imposing as my adversary.
“Um, the universe.”
“Just let it slide, just once, give me some extra time. Live a little, show some rebellion.”
“I am not alive, so your suggestion is quite simply impossible,” he broadens his shoulders.
He ■■■■■ his head, eyes peering into mine as if he could see what was within me. A window to my soul.
“No,” he drawls slowly. “You have quite enough time already and have filled it the way you have. Sleep belongs to me. Your payment to the forces beyond our imagings to enforce rulings placed in this realm by others before us.”
Time braces his knees and the ball floats in the air, after grabbing an arrow from his quiver and cocking it in the bow, he places the arrowhead in the ball and it absorbs it leaving behind a blue powdery substance. He raises the bow and has me in his sights.
As he prepared his weapon, I frantically gulp the coffee attempting to fortify myself against his powerful thrall. The cold steel of the knife periodically placed against my tongue to cool the non-existent flames.
He knocks the arrow looks me in the eye and I know that my efforts have been for naught. He lets the arrow fly and as it hurtles across the the plain he whispers, “Sweet dreams.”
The knife and mug slip through my fingers hitting the ground with a dull thud, and before the arrow pierces my skin it bursts into blue powder, enveloping my body and soon I hit the ground with a snore, managing to not impale myself on the dull knife.
What feels like seconds later I wake to piercing sunlight in my eyes and a shrieking alarm clock, another battle lost.
No matter the weapons I use to try and fight the unconquerable foe, it always wins and honestly that what makes Time even more loathsome. You would think it would toss me a bone once in a while but no, ego so big it always has to win, not willing to give a puny 5’0 mortal an inch.
Back in the good ol’ days me and Time were pretty close I suppose. I spent my days gurgling, eating sleeping and engaged in other bodily functions and it seemed as if I had all the time in the world. Then as I got older we began to drift apart, as old friends do. Things, to put it quite simply, changed. One second we were friend and in another enemies. Those of the worst kind. Marked down in history books alongside such names as Voldemort and Harry Potter, Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. Only less real.
Would any current or former UChicago students be willing to read my Why Chicago essay? Please PM me if you are willing to read – thank you so much
What prompts has everybody chosen for this year?
@Class2023GetsLit I know this is late, but I chose essay option two. I probably won’t post the essay for fear of plagiarism, but the prompt was much tougher than I anticipated. In the end, I am super happy with how my essay turned out, but I fear that my Why UChicago Essay may not be good enough.
Heyo someone should read over my essays, I already submitted, but I would like to know what all of you guys think!
Common App Personal:
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.
I don’t eat lunch like normal kids. While most kids relax and spend lunchtime casually talking to their friends, I sit in silence. Like a rock laying among a beach full of sand, I lay isolated among a lunchroom full of students, unable to fit in. Unrelatable conversations arise in the sea of faces near me; I am the one foreigner. I stick my hand into my lunchbox and carefully pick out a blueberry that I could confidently secure into my mouth without exposing the inevitable secret. As lunchtime nears an end, I reluctantly submit to my hunger and anxiously snatch the sealed plastic bowl filled with a dense substance of mushy stew intertwined with bits of elegantly cut sausage prepared the previous night. I struggle as I establish a strategic position for my lunchbox to shield the bowl. As my hand takes hold of the flimsy plastic spoon, my classmate turns to acknowledge me, disregarding my defense, “What is that supposed to be?”
With a discouraging shove of the bowl into my lunchbox, I carelessly let the stew spill leaving it sludging among the remaining loaf of bread becoming inedible within the bottom of my failed defense. My mind races, struggling to formulate a defensive response. I knew what I should’ve done: maintained my pride, claiming simply that it was leftover Bigos from last night’s dinner, yet I stutter into a mumble, “My mom packed this for me, it’s just Polish food.”
I have very much changed now. After many years of resisting, I like to think that I finally understand the feeling of pride and that I act upon it. As I began my first year of high school, the arcane feeling rushed through me for the first time as I noticed a Pakistani girl sitting just two seats away. Day after day, she would introduce a new culinary masterpiece, each unique with a an empowering message concealed into the meal. Intrigued bystanders in neighboring seats were openly greeted with an offering of her compassionate story. The sight of a shameless personality left a murky shadow of guilt which stained my conscious.
Pride isn’t something you can just learn: you have to incorporate it into yourself, and embrace it. Both my parents are immigrants: people who sacrificed everything they knew for a chance in a world where all they had was hope and faith. The only thread retained of their past lives has always been the food- a daily memorial to who they are, and where they came from. As I sympathized with their journey, I finally embraced who I am and what I stand for.
Now, I am sitting in the kitchen. I am in the final steps of the meticulous process, and as I finish slicing the meats, I gently slide them down the cutting board into the stuffed pot. As I set the pot onto the stove, I prepare the remainder of my lunch for the next day.
Why uChicago:
Let me start like any other essay you would see: The informational and campus tours were spellbinding, the gothic architecture was ravishing, and the weather was absolutely horrific. Most students all get the same experience and therefore all write about the same thing; I got to experience the university from the abstract perspective of a student.
This fall was the third time I had been on campus, yet the first time in which I stayed with my brother in his dorm and really experienced this university for what it actually was. For the first time, I got to see what a rigorous curriculum consisted of, and the dedication required to stay afloat. Bewildered at the inexorable amount of work, I quickly understood how the university consistently prospered: deeply passionate students were guided into achieving their potential, and there was a Harold’s Chicken, worshiped by the masses, a couple blocks away from campus. The two factors created a perfect equilibrium of brutal work and fried chicken, which allowed for an optimal learning environment.
As I began to understand how the university capitalized on students’ passion, I visualized myself prospering among the computer science students. Surrounding myself with uniquely intellectual minds, each processing various solutions differently, provides a promising environment in which I could easily fit. Courses such as CMSC 23210 could introduce me to uChicago’s SUPERgroup and allow me to work towards discovering a revolutionary string of code to fix all the privacy issues of social media. I envision changing the world within one single program, and although it may seem unrealistic to most, I prefer to believe that it is possible, and that I could impact the world.
The possibilities at the uChicago varies among a wide spectrum. Not only is there the choice of outstanding academics, but also the ability to partake in over 350 unique student run clubs. The Polish American Student Association oddly stood out to me since I had never seen something similar to it before, and I knew I would fit in perfectly. The opportunity to meet other Polish students and speak with them in my native tongue delighted me; presenting an opportunity to cover up the holes I had dug in my past and begin to reconnect with my culture.
After attending the informational at the Rockefeller Chapel, I was left hungry for details of what was to be offered, eventually deciding that the proper thing to do was to take initiative. Looking through CS research projects, John H. Reppy’s Manticore Project enthralled me. When I discovered his work on the implementation of techniques into multicore systems, splitting workloads in favor of solving complex problems, the perplexing language left me wishing I could meet Reppy in hopes of answers on the functionality. I stumbled upon a statement posted from the Computer Science Chair, Dr. Michael Franklin. Reading the excerpt, word for word, I was flooded with warmth and recognition. Franklin stated that there was an active effort in hopes of expanding the department even more. Knowing that uChicago saw potential in the rapidly developing department of CS, left me craving for more knowledge of the limitations of the facilities, and fried chicken.
I ventured my way into the historic John Crerar Library Building, home of the new teaching facility, in hopes finding something exceptional. As I wandered around the building, swarmed with college students, I met a CS major student who quickly became a friend. We mindlessly talked in our own foreign language of computers. Thrilled by the friendliness of the students, I got an adept understanding of the curriculum. The honors course CMSC 16100 is an introduction to the Haskell programming language, and more importantly, an honors introductory class to the remaining courses required for a Computer Science major. I was flooded with excitement, ready to discover more, but quickly realized that it had already quite late. Leaving the library, I felt satisfied as my perpetual journey was nearing an end. As I began to leave the campus, starting my five hour drive home, I couldn’t quit thinking about the weekly gathering at Harold’s, and how I could no longer live with the incomparable standard of soulless KFC chicken.