Sample Essays

The best way to improve your writing is to read good writing. You are already doing that in
your English class; we have provided you with a list of notable memoirs by celebrated
authors. Weve compiled various sample essays from people who have recently completed
the college application process. These essays were chosen for their clarity, originality, voice,
and style.
Some are emotional, some are cerebral, and some are a combination of the two. Others are
funny, serious, philosophical, and creative. They are as different as the personalities of the
people who wrote them, but what these essays all have in common is their honesty and the
effort put into creating them.
These personal statements have one other thing in common: the authors were admitted to
the colleges of their choice.

Allison Dencker

Stanford University, Class of 2006

As you reflect on life thus far, what has someone said, written, or
expressed in some fashion that is especially meaningful to you. Why?
According to Mother Teresa, If you judge someone, you have no time to love them. I first
saw this quote when it was posted on my sixth-grade classroom wall, and I hated it. Rather,
I hated Mother Teresas intention, but I knew that the quotes veracity was inarguable. I felt
that it was better to judge people so as not to have to love them, because some people dont
deserve a chance. Judgments are shields, and mine was impenetrable.
Laura was my dads first girlfriend after my parents divorce. The first three years of our
relationship were characterized solely by my hatred toward her, manifested in my hurting
her, each moment hurting myself twice as much. From the moment I laid eyes on her, she
was the object of my unabated hatred, not because of anything she had ever done, but
because of everything she represented. I judged her to be a heartless, soulless, twodimensional figure: she was a representation of my loneliness and pain. I left whenever she
entered a room, I slammed car doors in her face. Over those three years, I took pride in the
fact that I had not spoken a word to her or made eye contact with her. I treated Laura with
such resentment and anger because my hate was my protection, my shield. I, accustomed to
viewing her as the embodiment of my pain, was afraid to let go of the anger and hate, afraid
to love the person who allowed me to hold onto my anger, afraid that if I gave her a chance,
I might love her.
For those three years, Laura didnt hate me; she understood me. She understood my anger
and my confusion, and Laura put her faith in me, although she had every reason not to. To
her, I was essentially a good person, just confused and scared; trying to do her best, but just
not able to get a hold of herself. She saw me as I wished I could see myself.

None of this became clear to me overnight. Instead, over the next two years, the onedimensional image of her in my mind began to take the shape of a person. As I let go of my
hatred, I gave her a chance. She became a woman who, like me, loves Ally McBeal and
drinks a lot of coffee; who, unlike me, buys things advertised on infomercials.
Three weeks ago, I saw that same Mother Teresa quote again, but this time I smiled. Laura
never gave up on me, and the chance she gave me to like her was a chance that changed my
life. Because of this, I know the value of a chance, of having faith in a person, of seeing
others as they wish they could see themselves. Im glad I have a lot of time left, because I
definitely have a lot of chances left to give, a lot of people left to love.

Jeremy Chapman
Duke University, Class of 2005
Topic of your choice.

Me(s): A One-Act Play

(Several of me occupy themselves around my bedroom. Logical me sits attentively in my
desk chair. Lighthearted me hangs upside-down, off the back of my recliner. Existentialist
me leans against my door, eyebrows raised. Stressed me, Independent me, and Artistic me
are also present.)
Stressed: So, come on, whats this meeting about?
Logical: (Taking a deep breath) Well, its time we come together. Its time we create
Jeremy.
Lighthearted: (Furrowing his brow, but smiling) What? Is this Captain Planet, where all
the characters join fists and out bursts the superhero?
Logical: No, this meeting is an opportunity to evaluate where we are in life, like a State of
the Union Address.
Existentialist: Speaking of which, Ive been meaning to ask all of you: college? Honestly, is
it worth it? You . . . (gestures toward Logical) youre writing that philosophy book, which
should do well. And look at Artsy over there! Hes composing music, making beautiful art;
why dont we see where we can get with that? Not to mention the endless possibilities if
Lighthearted aims for Saturday Night Live. Think about the number of successful people in
this world who didnt go to college! (Logical shakes his head) I mean, lets be realistic: if we
go to college, eventually well be required to declare a major. Once we earn a degree, it
might be harder to pursue our true passionscomedy, music, art . . .
Logical: Not true. First of all, you failed to mention my fascinations with neurology and
psychology, which are potential majors at every university. Furthermore, opportunities to
study comedy, music, and art are available at all colleges too; we just have to go after
them. (Sends a reassuring nod toward Artistic) In fact, if anything, college will facilitate our
involvement in activities like drawing, improvisational comedy, piano, psychological
experiments, Japanese, ping-pong . . .
Artistic: Yeahimagine how much better Id be at writing music if I took a music-

composition course.
Logical: Exactly. And what about our other educational goals such as becoming fluent in
Japanese, learning the use of every TI-89 calculator button . . .
Independent: I agree. Plus, I was thinking of college as a social clean slate. I am looking
forward to living on my ownaway from our overprotective, over-scrutinizing family. No
more hesitating to ask girls out!
Lighthearted: (He has not been paying attention to the discussion) What ever happened to
Captain Planet? He was like, really popular in 1987 and then . . .
Stressed: Enough out of you. (Lighthearted makes a mocking face at Stressed) Youre giving
me a headache. By the way, everyone, were not making much progress here, and Im
beginning to feel a stress-pimple coming on. (All except Existential gather around Stressed
and comfort him)
Existential: Theres really no reason to be stressed about anything. If you think about how
trivialhow meaninglessall this worry is, its kind of pathetic that your anxiety is about to
get us all stuck with a pimple.
Independent: I dont know what youre talking about, Mr. I-Know-Everything-And-It-AllMeans-Nothing, but mightnt we as well calm down Stressed?
Existential: If you consider that your top priority right now. I thought we came here to do
something else.
Stressed: Hes right, Im fine. Lets just get back to work, and the problem will heal itself.
Where were we?
Lighthearted: We were searching through the late 80s for Captain Planets mysterious
disapp . . . (Stressed plugs his ears and momentarily steps out of the room; Independent
shoves Lighthearted; Logic buries his face in his hands; Artistic begins doodling; Existential
laughs)
Existential: Were a bunch of fools. It amazes me that we all squeezed into the same person.
You know, if you think about the conversation we just had, it does reveal a lot about
Jeremy.
Artistic: (Chewing his pencil) Hes got a point. And I thought of a cool song. So we were
productive, after all. We should congregate like this more often. We can go places if we stick
together.
All: Yeah, we can. (They all put their right fists together, and there is a sudden burst of light
and thunderous sound, as in the old Captain Planet cartoons, followed by a knocking on
the door)
Parents: Jeremy, are you OK? Whats all that noise?
Jeremy: Yeah, Im fine. Just puttin myself together. I think Ive got a good idea for a college
application essay . . .

Soraya Palmer

Connecticut College, Class of 2007

Evaluate a significant experience, achievement, risk you have taken, or
ethical dilemma you have faced and its impact on you
Finding Truths
In my life, I have taken many journeys without which I would not have experienced
important truths. My father started us off early, taking us on many journeys to help us
understand that true knowledge comes only from experience. We took trips every winter
break to Madrid, Mexico, Costa Rica, and to Jamaica and Trinidad, my parents homeland
for Christmas. Silly things I remember from those trips include the mango chili sauce on
the pork in Maui, the names of the women who gave out the towels by the pools in Selva
Verde, Costa Rica, eating dinner at 10 P.M. in Spain. These were all tourist experiences that
I, at first, found spellbinding. My truths were the truths of the tourist brochures: beautiful
hotels, beaches, and cities. I did not see the blindfolds. I did not appreciate how being held
hostage by the beauty of the surfacethe beaches and citiesblinded me to the absence of
Puerto Rican natives on the streets of San Juan; I did not understand how the prevalence
and familiarity of English conspired to veil the beauty of the Spanish language beneath
volumes of English translations.
I learned more about these truths in my sophomore year of high school, when I was among
a group of students selected to visit Cuba. My grandmother was born in Cuba, yet I had
never thought to research my own heritage. I have remained the nave American who saw
Castro as some distant enemy of my country, accepting this as fact because this seemed to
be the accepted wisdom. I soon became intrigued, however, with this supposed plague to
my freedom, my culture, and everything good and decent. I began to think, just what is
communism anyway? Whats so bad about Castro and Cubaand I hear they have good
coffee. I believed that what was missing was a lack of understanding between our two
cultures, and that acceptance of our differences would come only with knowledge.
My first impression of Cuba was the absence of commercialism. I saw no giant golden arch
enticing hungry Cubans with beef-laced fries; I did see billboards of Che Guevara and
signposts exhorting unity and love. I realized, however, that much of the uniqueness that I
relished here might be gone if the trade blockades in Cuba were ever lifted. The parallels
and the irony were not lost on me. I was stepping out of an American political cave that
shrouded the beauty of Cuba and stepping into another, one built on patriotic socialism,
one where truths were just as ideological as, yet very different from, mine.
History, I recognized, is never objective. The journeys I have taken have been colored by my
prior experiences and by what my feelings were in those moments. Everyone holds a piece
of the truth. Maybe facts dont matter. Perhaps my experience is my truth and the more
truths I hear from everyone else, the closer I will get to harmonization. Maybe there is no
harmony, and I must go through life challenging and being challenged, perhaps finding
perspectives from which I can extractbut never calltruth. I must simply find ways to
understand others, to seek in them what is common to us all and perhaps someday find
unity in our common human bond. This is what life has taught me so far, my sum of truths
gleaned from experiencing many cultures. I dont know if these truths will hold, but I hope

that my college experience will be like my trip to Cubachallenging some truths,

strengthening others, and helping me experience new ones.

Daniele Melia
New York University, Class of 2007
A range of academic interests, personal perspectives, and life experiences
adds much to the educational mix. Given your personal background,
describe an experience that illustrates what you would bring to the
diversity in the college community or an encounter that demonstrated the
importance of diversity to you.
I feel sick. Im nervous and my stomachs turning. The room is lined with neat rows of
desks, each one occupied by another kid my age. Were all about to take the SATs. The
proctor has instructed us to fill out section four: race.
I cannot be placed neatly into a single racial category, although Im sure that people
walking down the street dont hesitate to label me caucasian. Never in my life has a
stranger not been surprised when I told them I was half black.
Having light skin, eyes, and hair, but being black and white often leaves me misperceived.
Do I wish that my skin were darker so that when I tell people Im black they wont laugh at
me? No, I accept and value who I am. To me, being black is more than having brown skin;
its having ancestors who were enslaved, a grandfather who managed one of the nations
oldest black newspapers, the Chicago Daily Defender, and a family who is as proud of their
heritage as I am. I prove that one cannot always discern anothers race by his or her
appearance.
I often find myself frustrated when explaining my racial background, because I am almost
always proving my blackness and left neglecting my Irish-American side. People have told
me that one drop of black blood determines your race, but I opt not to follow this rule. In
this country a century ago, most mixed-race children were products of rape or other
relationships of power imbalance, but I am not. I am a child in the twenty-first century who
is a product of a loving relationship. I choose the label biracial and identify with my black
and Irish sides equally. I am proud to say that my paternal great-grandparents immigrated
to this country from Ireland and that I have found their names on the wall at Ellis Island,
but people are rarely interested in that. They cant get over the idea that this girl, who
according to their definition looks white, is not.
Last year, at my schools Sexual Awareness Day, a guest lecturer spoke about the
stereotypical portrayal of different types of people on MTVs The Real World. He pointed
out that the white, blond-haired girls are always depicted as completely ditsy and asked me
how it felt to fit that description. I wasnt surprised that he assumed I was white, but I did
correct his mistake. I told him that I thought the shows portrayal of white girls with blond
hair was unfair. I went on to say that we should also be careful not to make assumptions
about people based on their physical appearance. For example, I told him, Im not
white. It was interesting that the lecturer, whose goal was to teach students not to judge or
make assumptions about people based on their sexual orientation, had himself made a
racial assumption about me.

I often find myself wishing that racial labels didnt exist so that people wouldnt rely on race
alone to understand a persons thoughts, actions, habits, and personality. Ones race does
not reveal the content of their character. When someone finds out that I am biracial, do I
become a different person in his or her eyes? Am I suddenly deeper, because Im not just
the plain white girl they assumed I was? Am I more complex? Can they suddenly relate to
me more (or less)? No, my race alone doesnt reveal who I am. If ones race cannot be
determined simply by looking at a person, then how can it be possible to look at a person
and determine her inner qualities?
Through census forms, racial questionnaires on the SATs, and other devices, our society
tries to draw conclusions about people based on appearance. It is a quick and easy way to
categorize people without taking the time to get to know them, but it simply cannot be
done.

Ted Mullin
Carleton College, Class of 2006
If you could have lunch with any person, living, dead, or fictional, who
would it be and what would you discuss?
We met for lunch at El Burrito Mexicano, a tiny Mexican lunch counter under the Red Line
El tracks. I arrived first and took a seat, facing the door. Behind me the TV showed
highlights from the Mexican Soccer League. I felt nervous and unsure. How would I be
received by a famous revolutionaryan upper-middle-class American kid asking a
communist hero questions? Then I spotted him in the doorway and my breath caught in my
throat. In his overcoat, beard, and beret he looked as if he had just stepped out from one of
Batistas wanted posters. I rose to greet Ernesto Che Guevara and we shook hands. At
the counter we ordered: he, enchiladas verdes and a beer, and I, a burrito and two
limonadas. The food arrived and we began to talk.
I told him that I felt honored to meet him and that I admired him greatly for his approach
to life. He saw the plight of Latin Americas poor and tried to improve their state but went
about it on his own terms, not on societys. He waved away my praise with his food-laden
fork, responding that he was happy to be here and that it was nice to get out once in a while.
Our conversation moved on to his youth and the early choices that set him on his path to
becoming a revolutionary.
I have always been curious about what drove Che Guevara to abandon his medical career
and take military action to improve the lot of Cubas poor. Why did he feel that he could do
more for the poor as a guerilla leader than as a doctor? His answer was concise: as he came
of age he began to realize that the political situation in Latin America had become
unacceptable and had to be changed as soon as possible. He saw in many nations tin-pot
dictators reliant on the United States for economic and military aid, ruining their nations
and destroying the lives of their people. He felt morally obligated to change this situation
and believed he could help more people in a more direct manner as a warrior rather than as
a doctor. Next I asked why he chose communism as the means of achieving his goals.
He replied that communism was merely a means to an end. That end was a Central and

South America run by its citizens, free of foreign intervention. In his opinion communism
was the best way to realize this dream. I agreed that a nation should be run by and for its
citizens, but I hesitated to agree wholeheartedly. I was concerned by his exclusive emphasis
on Latin Americans. His description, as I interpreted it, implied a nationalism and
exclusion of others, most notably Americans. I felt that this focus on Latin Americanism
could easily lead to the outbreak of war in the region.
Moving from Cubas past to its present, I asked him if he sees the revolution begun in 1959
as successful. Has Cuba fulfilled his vision for it? Che Guevara sighed and gathered his
thoughts for a moment. Then, speaking slowly, he said that he didnt think that Cuba had
fulfilled the revolution because the revolution never spread beyond Cuba, as he had hoped
it would. The revolution did not spread, he reasoned, because of the success of the United
States in propping up corrupt dictators and the inability of Cuba to build a viable economy
upon which to support the export of revolution. I countered his negative view, pointing out
that today many of the Latin American countries once under totalitarian rule are
democratic, partly due to the spirit of reform he exemplified nearly half a century before.
He acknowledged the progress made but remained adamant that the nations were still not
free of foreign intervention.
At this point one of the Mexican teams on TV scored a goal, and we broke off our political
conversation to talk about soccer. Though I know about European soccer, I know next to
nothing about the South American game. He enlightened me, although he admitted his
information was a bit out of date. I asked him if he had seen the great Argentinean striker
Alfredo Di Stefano play, but Che Guevara said he couldnt remember.
In light of the events of September 11th, I asked about violence. In his view, when is it
justified? Che Guevara responded by saying that violence is justified because those who
hold power unjustly respond only to violence as a tool for change. They will not willingly
relinquish power unless shown that the people will overwhelm and destroy them. I
disagreed vociferously, citing Peru and Guatemala as places where violence had been used
and failed, only further impoverishing the nations. Che Guevara explained these failures as
the inevitable outcome of the revolutionaries losing sight of their original moral goals.
Reflecting upon his answers so far, I realized that I had lost some of my admiration for him.
By taking up the standard of Pan-American unity, I felt he lost some of his humanity that
led me to identify so closely with him. To me he had become more of a symbol than an
actual person.
At this point I realized that I had to be home soon and thanked him profusely for his
generosity in answering my questions. As we walked toward the door, I noticed that I had
left my hat on the table. I turned back to retrieve it, but by the time I had reached the
doorway again, Che Guevara had disappeared into the mix of the afternoon sunlight and
shadow cast by the El tracks, as mysteriously as he had come.

Emily Fiffer

Washington University, Class of 2004

Topic of your choice.

Psst! I have a confession to make. I have a shoe fetish. Everyone around me seems to
underestimate the statement a simple pair of shoes can make. To me, though, the shoes I
wear are not merely covering for the two feet on which I tread, but a reflection of who I am.
So, who am I? Why dont you look down at my feet? I could be wearing my high-platform
sandalsmy confidence, my leadership, my I-want-to-be-tall-even-though-Im-not shoes.
My toes are free in these sandals and wiggle at will. Much like my feet in my sandals, I dont
like being restricted. I have boundless energy that must not go to waste! Or maybe Im
wearing my furry pink pig slippers. I wear these on crisp winter nights when Im home
spending time with my family. My slippers are my comforting side. I can wear them and
listen to a friend cry for hours on end. My favorite pair of shoes, however, are my bright red
Dr. Martens. Theyre my individuality, my enthusiasm, my laughter, my love of risk-taking.
No one else I know has them. When I dont feel like drawing attention to my feet or, for that
matter, to myself, I wear my gym shoes. These sneakers render me indistinguishable from
others and thereby allow me to be independent. I wear them running, riding my bicycle
alone through the trails surrounded by signs of autumn, and even when I go to a museum
and stand, transfixed by a single photograph. My hiking boots typify my love of adventure
and being outdoors. Broken in and molded to the shape of my foot, when wearing them I
feel in touch with my surroundings.
During college I intend to add to my collection yet another closet full of colorful
clodhoppers. For each aspect of my personality I discover or enhance through my college
experiences, I will find a pair of shoes to reflect it. Perhaps a pair of Naot sandals for my
Jewish Studies class or one black shoe and one white when learning about the Chinese
culture and its belief in yin and yang. As I get to know myself and my goals grow nearer, my
collection will expand.
By the time Im through with college, I will be ready to take a big step. Ready for a change, I
believe Ill need only one pair after this point. The shoes will be both fun and comfortable;
Ill be able to wear them when I am at work and when I return home. A combination of
every shoe in my collection, these shoes will embody each aspect of my personality in a
single footstep. No longer will I have a separate pair for each quirk and quality. This one
pair will say it all. It will be evidence of my self-awareness and maturity. Sure, Ill keep a
few favorites for old times sake. Ill lace up the old red shoes when Im feeling
rambunctious, when I feel that familiar, teenage surge of energy and remember the girl who
wore them: a young girl with the potential to grow.
I am entering college a nave, teenage bundle of energy, independence, and motivation. My
closet full of shoes mirrors my array of interests, and at the same time my difficulty in
choosing a single interest that will satisfy me for the rest of my life. I want to leave college
with direction, having pinpointed a single interest to pursue that will add texture and
meaning to my life.
So there you have it. Ive told you about who I am, what I enjoy, and what I want from
college. Want to know more? Come walk a day in my shoes.

Leigh Rosen
University of Pennsylvania, Class of 2009
Describe a challenge you overcame.
The stiff black apron hung awkwardly on my hips as I casually tried to tie the strings
around my waist. I had been at Ginos Restaurant for only ten minutes when Maurizio, the
manager, grabbed my arm abruptly and said, Follow me to the dungeon. Unsure of
whether or not he was joking, I smiled eagerly at him, but his glare confirmed his intent. I
wiped the smirk off my face and followed him through the kitchen, which was louder than
Madison Square Garden during a Knicks/Pacers game. A tall woman with a thick Italian
accent pushed me while barking, Move it, kid, youre blocking traffic. I later learned she
was a waitress, and waitresses did not associate with the low-level busboys. Maurizio
brought me to a dangerously steep staircase that looked like it had been purposely
drenched in oil to increase the chance of a fall. As he gracefully flew down each step, I
clutched onto the rusty tile walls, strategically putting one foot first and then the other.
Eventually, I entered the dungeon and was directed to a table to join two men who were
vigorously folding napkins.
Pretending to know what had to be done, I took a pile of unfolded starched napkins and
attempted to turn them into the Gino accordion. I slowly folded each corner, trying to leave
exactly one inch on both sides, and ignored the giggles and whispers coming from across
the table. When I finished my first napkin, I quickly grabbed another and tried again,
hiding my pathetic initial attempt under my thigh. On my second try, I sighed with relief
when I saw that what I had constructed slightly resembled an accordion shape. However,
when I looked up, I saw that the other two men had each finished twenty perfect napkins.
Hurry up, little girl, they said in unison, We have lots left. They pointed to a closet
overflowing with white linens as I began to fold my third. The next couple of nights
afforded me the opportunity to master such tasks as refilling toilet paper dispensers and
filling breadbaskets. Just as I began to find solace in these more manageable jobs, I felt a
forceful tap on my shoulder. A heavyset waiter who was sweating profusely barked, I need
one decaf cappuccino. Understand?
Um, okay, I stuttered, unable to get up enough courage to admit that I had never
attempted to make a cappuccino. I glanced over at the intimidating espresso machine and
started to pace back and forth. The waiter reappeared and with a look of irritation snapped,
If you didnt know how to do it, why didnt you say so? I dont have time for this!
Returning to the unnecessary re-cleaning of silverware, the only job I could comfortably
perform, it dawned on me that my fear of showing ignorance had rendered me
incompetent. I had mastered the art of avoidance and had learned nothing. I continued to
clean vigorously, making sure to keep my eyes on the silverware so that no one would ask
me to make another cappuccino.
Having barely made it through my first weekend at the restaurant, I was amazed at how
relieved I felt to return to the familiarity of physics class. We were starting a new chapter on
fiber optics. Moving through the material with greater ease than I had anticipated, we hit
upon the topic of optical time domain reflectometers, and sweat began to form on my chest

as I frantically flipped through my notebook. I marked my paper with an asterisk so that I

would know to ask my teacher to explain this material when I met with him privately
during my next free period. My teacher then said, So, Im sure you all understand OTDR,
so lets move on. As all of my peers nodded in agreement, I suddenly realized that I was
still not asking how to make cappuccino. I took a deep breath and the fear of not learning
overcame my usual fear of looking foolish and I raised my hand. After my question had
been answered, I felt like the Red Sox lifting the curse. I erased the star I had made on my
notebook and confidently listened as we moved on to the next topic.
Im not suggesting that raising my hand and asking a question in physics class was a lifechanging moment. It did not suddenly rid me of my fear of showing ignorance, but it
definitely marked a new willingness to ask questions. When I returned to Ginos the next
weekend, I continued to spend some time unnecessarily cleaning silverware, but after
asking Maurizio how to use the espresso machine, I soon added making cappuccino to my
list of life skills.
.