<p>On Option 4 of the Princeton Supplement Essay, it says to use “a favorite quotation from an essay or a book and write about an event or experience that defined one of your values or transformed the way you view the world.” I decided to go with the “transformation” in this light-hearted but serious essay. Please give me any criticisms if you can!</p>
<p>BTW, there could be grammatical mistakes so I will apologize about that early on.</p>
<p>We do not tread upon the poor little animal [the spider] in question (that seems barbarous and pitiful!) but we regard it with a sort of mystic horror and superstitious loathing. It will ask another hundred years of fine writing and hard thinking to cure us of this prejudice, and make us feel towards this ill-omened tribe with something of the milk of human kindness, instead of their own shyness and venom. William Hazlitt, On the Pleasure of Hating</p>
<pre><code>One hot summer afternoon, I had planted myself near my desk, my binder propped open. My forehead poured sweat, which seeped through my shirt (which was, unfortunately, black). The shirt had absorbed so much sunlight that my body became an oven, baking my skin darker shades of brown. Mentally exhausted, I rested my sweaty forehead on my desktop, realizing a second later that I had created a perfect resting spot for the hideous creature that lurked in my room the fly.
The fly gently landed right on top of my papers, giving no respect to them whatsoever. Scrubbing its little legs together like it was trying to dispose of something onto my papers
but there was only one way to treat this insect swatting it away. I threw my hands at the pest and began swatting like a madman at the insect. Seconds later, my hands swirled around like a whirlwind, and I became disoriented and frustrated. Attracted to my black, sweaty hair, the fly decided to rest its tired legs on top of it, treating my body like its home. A fly was no more than an annoying gypsy, so forcing it to leave me was a painful and annoying task.
The wretched creature discovered a wonderful path downstairs to the kitchen. It realized for the first time in its life that there was a world outside my small room. But to my misfortune, when the fly entered the kitchen, I was calmly eating my dinner. Darting towards my food, the fly lighted on my rice and from that point a gruesome battle of swatting and escape ensued.
The fly finally returned to the home of scorching light bulbs. Infuriated by it, I yelled insanely, Stay in your useless lamp! You will probably burn there anyway!
My mother overheard my yelling and calmly said, Flies are pure. Thats why theyre attracted to the bright light. Remember Saavanth: Oko roju, oka eega peru
She narrated to me a story in Telegu. There was once a fly that forgot its name, and flew into a ladys house, and asked her what its name was. The lady said she didnt know, the fly flew to a barn and asked a cow, then it flew across the country, and the ridiculous tale continued. But by the end of it all, the fly asked the kings foal what its name was, and the fly had finally understood.
As I returned to my desk, I stared back at the lamp. Perhaps the fly did have the purest of intentions, and none of those were to hurt me. In that wonderful tale, maybe a fly was always buzzing around and questioning its identity. I happily shook the lamp and I released the fly from its home: it needs the whole world (which could very well be my house
.) to discover who it is.
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