College essays that made a difference - Princeton Review 2010
Karen A. Lee
The applicants
In high school, Karen received a full diploma in the International Baccalaureate program and was a two-year “A” student on the Academic Decathlon team. She played the violin in the school’s top orchestra, co-edited the literary magazine, was the secretary/treasurer of the French National Honor Society, and was a member of the National Honor Society and Mu Alpha Theta (Math Club). Outside of school, she studied piano and Mandarin Chinese.
Stats
SAT: 1600
SAT Subject Test(s): 800 Math Level 2, 690 Physics, 780 Chinese with Listening
ACT: 34
High School GPA: 5.46
High School: Garland High School, Garland, TX
Hometown: Garland, TX
Gender: Female
Race: Asian American
Applied To
Duke University
Johns Hopkins University
Rice University
Southern Methodist University
Stanford University
Essay
Karen used the following essay in her application to Stanford University.
How has the place in which you live influenced the person you are? Define “place” any way that you like … as a context, a country, a city, a community, a house, a point in time.
The Land Down Here
When it rains, the inhabitants where I live are the last to know. Welcome to Short People Land. At an early height of four feet eleven inches, I thought I had solidly established residence in the People of Average Height Land. Nonetheless, as I noticed myself moving toward the front of class pictures over the years and I remained four feet eleven inches on my twelfth birthday, I obtained Short Person status. While my personality has its roots in my childhood Average Height Land, becoming and remaining short has greatly influenced the person I am now.
Because I have not reached adulthood, human thought can naturally mistake me for someone younger. For instance, due to the limited size of our school’s gymnasium, ninth-grade students are barred from peprallies. When I tried to attend my first one as a sophomore, students behind me shouted, “Freshman! Go back to class!” I never forget that this confusion will not end with graduation. Employers and coworkers may view me as immature and inexperienced based solely on my height. Keeping this possibility in mind, I consistently put forth extra effort to exceed expectations until perfectionism became automatic. My physics teacher handed back my second lab report of the year with a comment that my lab reports bordered on overkill. I hoped to transform my height into an asset, a trait to make me and my meticulous care stand out in others’ memories. My work is by no means flawless, but living in Short People Land encourages my industrious attempts to prove that height and ability are not directly related.
On the other hand, being petite has always brought me the warmth of human companionship. As a short child, I had advantages in certain games, and my playmates welcomed the challenge of playing against me. In hide-and-seek, I would be the only one to fit under a table in the back of a closet under a staircase. I was one of the last people left in limbo. Many of these early diversions gave birth to long-standing friendships. When the stress mounts, we still rely on each other for commiseration. On another occasion, my Short Person citizenship helped me bridge the freshman-senior gap. When the seniors in the International Baccalaureate program at my school formed a club to tutor underclassmen, those who arrived for tutoring were too intimidated to ask for help. I joined a group of ninth-grade girls and casually discussed their biology lab with them. Until ten minutes into the discussion, they had thought I was just another freshman, but by that time, we had overcome their fear, and they gladly accepted me as their official biology tutor. I cannot describe my gratification when one of my protégées stopped me excitedly in the hall, “I made a B on my biology test! Thank you so much!”
While I accept my height with open arms, I recognize all the small annoyances packaged with it. For several years before I turned sixteen, I feared not being able to drive. I had difficulty seeing over the steering wheel and reaching the accelerator with my foot at the same time. In large tour groups at the art museum, I end up memorizing the back of patrons’ shirts rather than enjoying the masterpieces. Window blinds are adjusted so that glaring sunlight just misses everyone’s eyes but mine. Remembering my own frustrations, I developed a sympathy for others’ aggravations and a sensitivity to others’ needs. I can empathize with lefties trying to use a right-handed mouse or pale people who sunburn easily, both of whom, like me, suffer simply because of a physical characteristic. I remember to adjust the music stand in orchestra so that my stand partner can also read the music. At a pre-college summer program at Southern Methodist University, my apparent intuition for helping others earned me the nickname “Mother.” People came to me for first aid, pocket change, or advice. Probably my limited caretaking talents did not quite deserve my honorable nickname, but I always did my best to help and always felt content that they appreciated my efforts. Despite their inconveniences, irritations of the vertically challenged mostly disappear before one of Short People Land’s finest fruits, a sense of humor. Even I can laugh when someone quips, “You’re so short you could pole vault with a toothpick.” Knowing I would not take offense, my history teacher used me as an example for situations in which trying as hard as possible may still fail. He asked me to jump and touch the ceiling. I actually came within six inches, but I joined the class in laughing at the ridiculousness of his demand.
My residency in Short People Land has shaped my capacity for diligence, camaraderie, empathy, and laughter. Thanks to my height, I have nearly everything required to attack the ordeals of life and still maintain sanity. Neither have I lost respect for the people up there, so please do not hesitate to bend down. I’ll meet you in the Land Down Here.
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