Mirry
New member
This is hopefully going to be the essay I submit for the Common Application, so any criticisms or suggestions would be very much appreciated. If it's simply awful, please tell me, because I don't want to send something awful to the admissions offices of colleges!
I do have one question I would like you to answer, if nothing else. Should I submit it under the following topic: "Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you." or "Topic of your choice."?
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They left me in a row house with a pair of strangers. The faint hum of the motor, as heard through the filtering medium of the window, attracted my notice, and I watched as they drove off into the deepening dusk. My palms were sweaty; my pulse slightly fast. I adjusted the collar of my shirt nervously. The dim lamplight in the parlor illuminated the strangers. We studied each other wordlessly: they doubtless felt the situation to be as peculiar as I did, if not more so. The house had its own smell – musty but sweet at the same time – and the effect was not altogether unpleasant, though foreign to me.
I studied her face – that of the younger one. Her features were not unfamiliar. The gray hue of her eyes, flecked with green and blue; the outward curve of her nose; her snowy complexion and the rosy flush in her cheek; the square shape of her jaw line: I could have picked her out in a crowd anywhere. Yet never had I encountered these features in the present context. They were not tiny pixels carefully arranged on a two-dimensional screen, in one fixed position. This was a dynamic perspective, and it was real in a sense that a photograph can never be. This was not a mere representation of the girl I had communicated with for years through text on a screen or words scrawled on a sheet of paper: it was the girl herself. She was infiltrating multiple senses at once. I observed her figure to be slighter than previously thought; the scent of her soft perfume united with the smells of the house; I felt her breath caress my arm (for she was seated beside me); I heard the words that she uttered in a smooth and lilting tone.
Her mother was seated across from us. She explained that the others were not there, but camping in Scotland. Mrs. Campbell resembled her daughter, but her visage was more worn and the lines in her forehead more pronounced. Nonetheless she bore an amicable, matronly look. Her voice did not belie her appearance – her winsome English accent might have subdued the most unruly savage – and this soothed my nerves a little. Idle chat commenced: my new hosts enquired about my journey to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, what my initial impressions of the city were, the location of the hotel my parents were lodging in, et cetera.
Throughout the whole of the conversation there was a palpable but unacknowledged awkwardness on both sides. But who could blame us? It is very strange to meet a person in the flesh for the first time, and after ten minutes’ acquaintance to be left alone with her by one’s own parents! To spend a week in such a person’s home! And to not even be in one’s native country, but in a country separated from one’s own by a seemingly endless expanse of sky and sea! It seems to be a situation that should have induced terror, but instead my feelings were merely of mixed delight and timidity.
Despite the overtones of uneasiness in the initial meeting, a week was more than sufficient to dash all the fears of unfamiliarity and the reticence of embarrassment. I parted from my kind hosts with a heavy heart and barely concealed tears in my eyes.
It chanced to happen that I forgot a portion of my wardrobe at my friend’s house. She kindly shipped it to me. When I removed the ordinary brown packaging that contained my clothing, I was immediately overwhelmed by a smell quite extraordinary: sweet and musty dwelling together in harmony. I pressed the garments to my face and breathed in once more the distinctive scent of a faraway dreamland, preserved for a while in these feeble fibers. I closed my eyes and smiled.
I do have one question I would like you to answer, if nothing else. Should I submit it under the following topic: "Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you." or "Topic of your choice."?
--
They left me in a row house with a pair of strangers. The faint hum of the motor, as heard through the filtering medium of the window, attracted my notice, and I watched as they drove off into the deepening dusk. My palms were sweaty; my pulse slightly fast. I adjusted the collar of my shirt nervously. The dim lamplight in the parlor illuminated the strangers. We studied each other wordlessly: they doubtless felt the situation to be as peculiar as I did, if not more so. The house had its own smell – musty but sweet at the same time – and the effect was not altogether unpleasant, though foreign to me.
I studied her face – that of the younger one. Her features were not unfamiliar. The gray hue of her eyes, flecked with green and blue; the outward curve of her nose; her snowy complexion and the rosy flush in her cheek; the square shape of her jaw line: I could have picked her out in a crowd anywhere. Yet never had I encountered these features in the present context. They were not tiny pixels carefully arranged on a two-dimensional screen, in one fixed position. This was a dynamic perspective, and it was real in a sense that a photograph can never be. This was not a mere representation of the girl I had communicated with for years through text on a screen or words scrawled on a sheet of paper: it was the girl herself. She was infiltrating multiple senses at once. I observed her figure to be slighter than previously thought; the scent of her soft perfume united with the smells of the house; I felt her breath caress my arm (for she was seated beside me); I heard the words that she uttered in a smooth and lilting tone.
Her mother was seated across from us. She explained that the others were not there, but camping in Scotland. Mrs. Campbell resembled her daughter, but her visage was more worn and the lines in her forehead more pronounced. Nonetheless she bore an amicable, matronly look. Her voice did not belie her appearance – her winsome English accent might have subdued the most unruly savage – and this soothed my nerves a little. Idle chat commenced: my new hosts enquired about my journey to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, what my initial impressions of the city were, the location of the hotel my parents were lodging in, et cetera.
Throughout the whole of the conversation there was a palpable but unacknowledged awkwardness on both sides. But who could blame us? It is very strange to meet a person in the flesh for the first time, and after ten minutes’ acquaintance to be left alone with her by one’s own parents! To spend a week in such a person’s home! And to not even be in one’s native country, but in a country separated from one’s own by a seemingly endless expanse of sky and sea! It seems to be a situation that should have induced terror, but instead my feelings were merely of mixed delight and timidity.
Despite the overtones of uneasiness in the initial meeting, a week was more than sufficient to dash all the fears of unfamiliarity and the reticence of embarrassment. I parted from my kind hosts with a heavy heart and barely concealed tears in my eyes.
It chanced to happen that I forgot a portion of my wardrobe at my friend’s house. She kindly shipped it to me. When I removed the ordinary brown packaging that contained my clothing, I was immediately overwhelmed by a smell quite extraordinary: sweet and musty dwelling together in harmony. I pressed the garments to my face and breathed in once more the distinctive scent of a faraway dreamland, preserved for a while in these feeble fibers. I closed my eyes and smiled.
