Application Essay Excerpts

“Ngoc.”“Knock?” “No. Ngoc. N-G-O-C.” “Like egg-nog?”..

For whatever reason, it was much easier for me to pronounce the “d” sound as a baby than it was to pronounce “l.” So I called my grandmother, Elizabeth Higgins, “Dizzy” instead of Lizzie. At the time I understandably did not realize or recognize that the name would carry over to multiple generations of my family. In fact, now even her own children refer to her as Dizzy when we reminisce about our many experiences with her...

All the standardized markers would suggest that I am a stereotypical Asian student who is good at math and science. However, to many people’s surprise, my major interests lie in the areas of liberal arts, especially psychology...

Since elementary school, I like my math and science classes. I love math because there are many different ways to solve a problem. Furthermore, I see myself using math everyday. Science, on the other hand, intrigues me...

I recall the conversations my two older sisters had when they were applying to colleges. Discussing their possible majors, they constantly brought up engineering. Upon learning that engineering incorporates math and science to solve practical problems, I developed an interest in engineering...

Originally, I wanted to pursue a career in medicine. I hope to prolong people's lives because I personally experience a loss, my grandfather who died of cancer. Because I was young, I did not realize that I would never see my grandfather...

Blue ... like the water that swallows me no matter how hard I kick my feet. I groan...

Despite the noble efforts of NGOs and charities, nothing has helped China’s population rise from poverty as much as booming economic growth – stimulated by trade. Trade between the U.S. and China has boosted both economies, as the two countries accounted for almost 40 percent of global economic growth from 1998 to 2007...

We arrive at the gloomiest city of our East Coast college trip. It is raining and I left my umbrella at the hotel. I am wet and tired of traveling. Stepping onto Locust Walk, the sight of a large, white, broken button in front of an anonymous building jogs my memory, and I am immediately overcome by a pleasant, familiar feeling – déjà vu...

11 PM, Microphone in sweaty hand, my once perfectly tied turban now sinks to the left, spilling out a sea of hair to my right. I am disheveled. Wheezing for my last breath, I finish the verse, “I suffer for my rhymes, my pen leaks the blood of an author/ I’ve gone blind writing these lines, I’m the Hip-Hop Martyr.”..