I’m not really in a position to give people good college advice. I can’t tell you how to manage the stress and time commitment of applying to college, because I experienced none of that. I knew where I wanted to go since around July before senior year. I’m privileged enough to be able to afford many universities. And I had pretty much everything going for me on my application.
I sent two applications, one to my ED school, Northwestern, and one EA to USC. Altogether, I wrote three college essays. One of them I copy-pasted from another (Why Northwestern? → Why USC?). So really, it was 2.5 essays. And I got accepted into my ED school, removing any need to write my RD essays.
Applying to college, for me, was really easy. This is not the case for most seniors, and I’m not going to pretend that my application experience is what aspiring applicants should expect. I just wanted to publish my college essays (and their earlier editions) to preserve them and maybe provide some inspiration. Enjoy.
Common App Essay (First Attempt — June to September)
I started my writing career on October 6, 2019. It was brilliant. For once in my life, I felt like I was heard, though I had a readership of just one. To this person, I dedicated every ounce of my being. I described my motivations and my feelings. I harbored with him my deepest secrets.
Everytime he would get around to reading my work, I knew he would be embarrassed. But I also knew he would forgive me, because I was just so sure he knew exactly how it felt to be me.
That’s why I started writing. It was because of him.
Slowly, I was becoming just like him. I began to move like him, speak like him, look like him. And yet, every day I was still chasing him. As I evolved, he evolved.
With him, I am my most vulnerable. It didn’t matter how he looked, he had the same eyes and the smiling gaze that said, “You’re such an idiot, kid.” It humbled me deeply, but it also made me feel validated, because it felt like he was telling me it was okay to be flawed.
My writing is constantly aware of his opinion. For him, I try my very best, even though I know it will hardly suffice. But he’ll brush it off; he knows that I’m still getting my grips on this whole creativity thing.
I have a premonition that he would always be more sophisticated than me, more precise, and more keen. That’s just who he is, always wanting to grow and constantly asking more from himself.
—
I started journaling on October 6, 2019. It was a red spiral notebook, decorated modestly with the words “Keeping a Journal, Year 1 — ” written in black Sharpie. I left the last number purposefully blank, not knowing what year it’d be when I finished all 100 pages of the notebook.
I was just a freshman then, and it is now Year 4, my senior year. I still have not written in all the pages. I hope to by May.
Journaling taught me that it doesn’t take a lot to time travel. I flip the page backwards and I’m there, a month ago, four months ago, you name it. I’m there, and my past self is right there with me, showing me a moment I could’ve decided to forget, but didn’t. And I’m glad he decided to share with me a moment of vulnerability, etched in 0.7mm pencil lead.
The more pages I flip back, the more I’m smiling. Just the thought of my past self going through bitter and sweet makes me immensely reminiscent and proud. There were so many things he was doing wrong — he definitely could’ve been more responsible and sensitive. But surprisingly, there were things I’m glad he got right. I owe it to him for where I am today.
Sometimes, it’s jarring to read, because he’s talking directly to me. Well, I guess I’m talking to myself. But it’s not really me. He has my name, my genetics, my body, but he’s not me. He was me in the making, but it would be unfair to reduce him to just a lesser version of myself. He was his own being, captured and frozen on the page. He was undeniably human. Imperfect. Embarrassing. Young. Dumb.
But I read it all back and I realize that he’s a part of me, and I’m him. I’m me. I am all at once my past, the present, and a part of the future. And this journal is my narrative, my looking glass, and my preparations.
I’m writing for him. He’s so naive it breaks my heart. He’s so grown I feel stupid in comparison. I wish him the best.
Notes
In all honesty, reading it back, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. For the solid two months that I was writing and rewriting it, I thought it would be the one I would send in. The main issues holding me back from declaring it so were a) it felt self-congratulatory in too many ways and b) I wasn’t sure if the admissions people would understand it, at least initially. And you only get one shot to make a good impression.
I was going to have people review it, but I never got around to that because I deleted it and restarted it before anyone could tell me how they felt about it. Yes, I just deleted the whole thing because I didn’t like it. It was a fine choice in retrospect, mainly because I ended up with my final version, which I think is much better.
After restarting, I went through a couple of rough drafts that ended up being nothing. One idea I came up with was about existential angst, another was a metaphysical commentary on time and personal growth. I was in a weird place, and those attempts are not worth sharing one bit.
And during all of that, I was also up for National Merit Scholar Finalist. The deadline was coming up, so I quickly produced an essay about a girl that graduated two years ago that I think about periodically.
National Merit Scholarship Corporation Essay (September 22)
I’ve always bashed myself for not getting closer to Grace, that maybe if we were closer friends, things would be different. After two long years without her, I’ve been hard pressed to find anyone as human or compassionate as she is. Evidently, ever since, I have never fully trusted anyone. There are just some things I keep too close, and only Grace could unlock that vault.
She’s barely a year older than me, but because of how schooling works, she sits two insurmountable years ahead of me academically. She has her own life in Chicago, far too far to burden her with my St. Louis life. In her absence, I have taken it upon myself to care for her sister, who is a full year younger than me, but because of how schooling works, is in the same grade as me.
Grace has never known what silent admiration I held for her. From spitting distance, I saw her rise into a woman I barely know. Her senior year nearly passed without a second dedicated to anything even as significant as a private conversation. Sooner than I realized, she was addressing her class at graduation, waving her cap, and bidding farewell to St. Louis, college bound. I just clutched my French Horn tightly, my lips indented with the shape of my mouthpiece after a long set of Pomp & Circumstance.
Of course, when I had moved on, she made her appearance once more. “I want to thank everyone who did Policy debate this year,” debate president and girl wonder Grace said. “And I want to give a shoutout to Allen, who worked really hard this year.”
My eyes darted to her box on the debate banquet Zoom call. Was that really real? Like for real, she said that? In complete idiocy, I ignored all methods of immortalizing the moment, like recording my screen or I don’t know, anything.
At the least, I waited for the second the meeting was over to message her exactly how I felt. I told her, truthfully, that she was brilliant and remarkable, that I was anxious for how I’d fill the gap she left at school, and that her compliment was the greatest award I’d ever received.
Then, finally, she was gone.
It was not long before I tried to step into Grace’s shoes. I learned, through junior and senior year, exactly how she must’ve felt looking at a young underclassman and that wondrous gaze that was desperate for answers, or even just a friend.
How are you even supposed to look back at them and break their perfect image of you? How can you tell them that you haven’t figured it out yourself? And that because you have your own friends and priorities, you can’t make space for them to be a bigger part of your life?
I looked over my shoulder and she wasn’t there to tell me the answers I was desperate for. She wasn’t there to be my friend. But at least this time, I understood exactly why. And soon those wondrous gazes will too.
Of course, when I had moved on, she made her appearance once more.
The news went around that she had returned, for a brief moment. I was too afraid to say a word upon first sighting; she was catching up with her old teachers. Unsurprisingly, she paid a visit to the newspaper meeting, where she was editor-in-chief, and where I’ve taken up her mantle. Grace approached and stopped parallel to the doorframe, not an inch of her hovering in the room. And what seemed like the first time ever, she met my gaze and spoke to me. “Hey,” dreamer and college girl Grace said. “How’s it going?”
Notes
I wrote this in one night, one sitting. What possessed me to write this was the very last paragraph, where I recount the day she revisited school. I wrote the essay on that day, directly after that newspaper meeting.
The deadline for NMSC was coming up and I needed to submit something, so this essay was kind of a mix of lucky inspiration and time pressure, along with the fact that I didn’t really care what my NMSC essay looked like. So I wrote pretty freely on this one, thinking nobody would see or care about this essay after I submitted it. I was sorely wrong about that, maybe for the better.
The following week, I was very stuck on my Common App, constantly deleting the two paragraphs I would try to start with. Many days, I would have nothing written under my Common App heading, which worried me. After many restarts, I began to reconsider this essay, since it was similar in length to the Common App word count. Eventually, I just copy-pasted this essay into my Common App workspace and began tweaks.
Common App Essay (Final — September 30 to October 27)
I’ve always bashed myself for not getting closer to Grace, that maybe if we were, things would be different. After two long years of her absence, I’ve been hard pressed to find anyone as human as she is. She’s roughly one astronomical and two academic years my senior, a gulf in time I’ve never crossed. When I met her freshman year, she carried more assurance than I’ve ever experienced in my insecure life up until then. Her warmth was contagious.
Grace has never known what silent admiration I held for her. From spitting distance, I saw her rise into a woman I barely know. Her senior year nearly passed without a second dedicated to anything even as significant as a private conversation between us. Sooner than I realized, she was addressing her class at graduation. I, just another member of that crowd, clutched my French Horn tightly while providing her Pomp & Circumstance, my only contribution to her send-off.
Of course, when I had moved on, she made her appearance once more. “I want to thank everyone who did Policy debate this year,” Grace, debate president and girl wonder, said. “And I want to give a shoutout to Allen, who worked really hard this year.”
My eyes darted to her box on the debate banquet Zoom call. Was that really real? Like for real, she said that? In complete idiocy, I ignored all methods of immortalizing the moment, like recording my screen or I don’t know, anything.
I waited for the second the meeting was over to text her how I felt, unable to keep it to myself. I told her, truthfully, that she was brilliant and remarkable, that I was anxious for how I’d fill the gap she left at school, and that her compliment was the greatest award I’d ever received.
Then, finally, she was gone.
It was not long before I tried to step into Grace’s shoes. I experienced, through junior and senior year, how she must’ve felt looking at a young freshman, just a kid with a wondrous gaze that begged for assurance, or even just a friend.
And how, exactly, are you supposed to look back at them and break their perfect image of you? Or tell them that you haven’t figured anything out yourself? And that because you have your own friends and priorities, you can’t make space for them to be a bigger part of your life?
I habitually glanced over my shoulder, and she wasn’t there to tell me the answers I was desperate for. She wasn’t there to be my friend. At least this time, I understood why. And soon those wondrous gazes will too.
At our first practice, the world felt enormous when I looked towards the rookie debaters. I see all the different ways they could turn out — how I could’ve turned out. Instead of introductions, the first thing I ask them is why they were even here, in a room with me, some senior who liked to talk a lot. They couldn’t answer.
“Have a reason for being here. Don’t waste your time doing something pointless to you.”
“That’s what made Grace amazing” is what I wanted to say after.
Of course, when I had moved on, she made her appearance once more.
The news went around that she returned, for a brief moment. I was too afraid to say anything upon first sighting; she was catching up with her old teachers. Though later, she paid a visit to the newspaper meeting, where she was once editor-in-chief, and where I’ve taken up her mantle years later. Grace approached slowly, waving at people through the window, and stopped parallel to the doorframe, not an inch of her hovering in the room. And for what seemed like the first time ever, she met my gaze and spoke to me. “Hey,” Grace, dreamer and college girl, said. “How’s it going?”
Notes
A few notable changes from the original draft. 1) I cleaned up the intro a lot. It’s a bit tighter. Reduced, yes, but utility-wise, it’s written better. Most of that is probably thanks to Mrs. Gutchewsky, who I should really get a gift for helping me edit this essay (who awkwardly also knew Grace very well, so thank you for not making it awkward for the both of us).
2) There is also the addition of the debate meeting, which I still think is awkwardly placed, but maybe adds a little extra direct emphasis. I had some extra words in the word count after dicing up the intro, and this was the result. Again, utility-wise, it may have been a good choice. Creatively, I would’ve liked to suspend the message a little more than I have.
3) I did get rid of mention of Olivia, and that was probably also a good decision to keep the piece a little tighter.
I think for the most part, I was able to put extra push on the concrete meaning of the piece while retaining my own voice. This is probably due to the foundational idea being solid, which allowed me to modify ideas without crumbling the whole piece. This was severely missing in my previous attempts.
My eyes darted to her box on the debate banquet Zoom call. Was that really real? Like for real, she said that? In complete idiocy, I ignored all methods of immortalizing the moment, like recording my screen or I don’t know, anything.
I apologize for using “for real” for real.
Apart from the personal statement, I wrote some pretty cookie-cutter “Why Us?” essays.
Why Northwestern?
As a journalist, I am embarrassed to say that I hardly read the news. NPR is lucky if I listen to Up First in the morning, and the New York Times rejoices when I’m bored during study hall. The fact is: it is just hard to care when I have other things that matter.
By studying journalism at Medill, I’d be given a unique opportunity to produce stories that matter at a world-class institution. I’d be specifically interested in Medill’s design and multimedia courses, such as JOUR 290–0 Building a Visual Brand, JOUR 376–0 Media Design, and JOUR 320–0 Storytelling: Interactive News. These classes can empower me to tell stories in creative and innovative ways. To apply my skills in a real-world setting, I’d like to take advantage of Medill’s Journalism Residency program, join their multiple publications, like the Daily Northwestern and North by Northwestern, and participate in investigative journalism labs.
Furthermore, I would like to study with Northwestern’s Data Science program. With added skills like data visualization and analysis, I’d like to link journalism to facets of social science, political science, and design to make my work stand out in a sea of new content.
Besides studies, Northwestern amazed me with its culture. During my campus tour, I saw a student slip on water. Rather than stare or walk by, other students were quick to offer their help and asked if the student was okay. And when rooms weren’t available to sit in, a student who happened across our tour helped our tour guide find space for us. These events demonstrated NU’s cooperative and kind environment, a contrast to some of the toxic and competitive environments I tend not to enjoy.
For these reasons, I believe Medill is the perfect place for me to thrive and do something worthwhile.
Notes
I went on a tour and I went on their website for 15 minutes. It was really that simple.
Why University of Southern California?
As a journalist, I am embarrassed to say that I hardly read the news. NPR is lucky if I listen to Up First in the morning, and the New York Times rejoices when I’m bored during study hall. The fact is: it’s just hard to care when I have other things that matter.
By studying journalism at Annenberg, I’d be given a unique opportunity to produce stories that matter at a world-class institution. I’m specifically interested in Annenberg’s multimedia courses, such as JOUR 321 Visual Journalism and JOUR 414 Advanced Digital Media Storytelling. These classes can empower me to tell stories in creative and innovative ways. To apply my skills in a real-world setting, I’d like to take advantage of Annenberg Media’s newsroom, where I can produce impactful journalism.
But what makes Annenberg uniquely fit for me is the elevASIAN vertical. Many disregard the complex nature of Asian-American, and especially first-generation Asian-American, life, this hybrid of immigrated and integrated culture. But elevASIAN unapologetically raises the bar for Asian journalism. At elevASIAN, I can report on stories that matter intensely to me, and I can’t not try to be a part of it.
And if not Journalism, Public Relations serves my purpose. To make stories matter, people need to care and engage with it. With USC at the heart of LA, there’s no better place to engage audiences and hone my communication skills.
For these reasons, I believe Annenberg is the perfect place for me to thrive and do something worthwhile.
Notes
Copied from the Why Northwestern? essay for the most part. I did actually find the elevASIAN vertical to be interesting, though.
Conclusion
Writing under pressure sucks. Try writing for something that’s not your main essay and see if those ideas can be translated over. The best way to write a better essay is to write more in different contexts, in my opinion.
Of course, it’s difficult to get the college essay stress off your back, even when you’re not writing your college essay. So maybe take up a journal the summer before, try harder on your current English class essays, do something to exercise your thoughts.
Thank you to Mrs. Gutchewsky, Grace, and Northwestern.
