College Essay Somewhere along Interstate 95 south‚ I had my movie moment. At 2:00 AM nothing matters but sleep. So when a friend of mine shook me awake as our coach bus “La Cubana” passed through Washington D.C‚ my mind was elsewhere. Until I opened my eyes‚ my body was filled with instant annoyance at her. The moment I did open them though‚ I was greeted by my peer’s awestruck faces at the sight that lay before them. The air around me had suddenly transformed to remedy making me whole. I had never
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makes my ears hurt. I had slept on the icy cold floor‚ pieces of plastic‚ cardboard and legos prodding my skin. My cheek is still stinging from the smack the night before. Rising‚ I leave the room‚ and step down the stairs making sure I don’t make a sound. In the living room I sit on
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A memorable day in my life Life is full of various events and experiences. But all of these are not equally important‚ enjoyable and memorable. Some are memorable. I am a student. There are some memorable days and they remain evergreen in my heart. My first day at school is such a day. It was the month of January‚ 2007. I was then only six years old. My father proposed that I should be admitted into a school in class one the next day. I felt very excited. I could not think of anything else
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tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans. My sister‚ Kat Warren‚ came into my room in a pleasant shirt and black shorts‚ and of course she looked beautiful and sophisticated. “Hey‚ freshman‚” she greeted me early in the morning. “Hey‚ you can head to school first because I’ll be heading to school after you‚” I said in tediousness. “Sure! Being late on the first day of school? That’s a bad habit. Anyways‚ see you there‚” she replied in her cheery voice and giggled. She went out of my room and for few minutes
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to this day. I was at one of those monotonous‚ obligatory family gatherings that we’ve all experienced at some point in our lives‚ celebrating the engagement of my older cousin. I quickly took upon the role of the event photographer‚ after having been praised for my supposed artistic skill. Then‚ it dawned on me - none of my extended family had seen any of my artworks for at least the past 7 years. The last any of them had seen was likely the deformed stick-figure style I had embraced in my childhood
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pre-med route‚ making sure that I’m on track to complete both my degree requirements and the prerequisites for medical school remains a constant challenge. My major in neuroscience is already course intensive and combined with my premed requirements‚ it becomes very hard to find space in my schedule to take classes in areas I would like to explore. Furthermore‚ since I’ll be going into my junior year without having yet completed my first year writing requirement‚ the need for summer classes is made
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receive my graduation certificate‚ a significant decision stared me down. I wished to pursue higher education‚ be that as it may‚ my mother established a restaurant business. I felt obligated to support her full-time in her strenuous endeavors‚ in hopes that the guilt of dependency would repay itself. I was determined to attend community college as well as assisting part-time with an effort to hold up a part of my mother’s burden together with the goals of my dream. I had not regretted my choice;
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The First Day of Basic Training Grantham University Abstract The first day of basic training was one of the most horrifying days of my life. I was afraid. I was terrified. I did not know what to expect from or during basic training. I repeated over and over again‚ “Why did I join the army?” I should not be here. I was so far away from home. I had no family close by. Everything that could possibility went wrong did. First‚ I was late arriving to basic training. Second‚ I did not
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twinges of excitement flow through my body. The waiting was incredible‚ and it always seemed forever and a day before it would come true. This is a typical pre-teen‚ adolescent dream‚ yet it was as important to me as the sun rising. Nothing would ever top this‚ once I had it‚ no one could take it away. Getting my driver’s license was only half the battle; the dream was to have my very own car. I wanted it and I dreamed about it everyday. In my early years of high school‚ my older friends would drive me
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One day in Florida‚ two nine-year-old kids are playing in the park. The birds are chirping. The sun is shining. A dead body is rotting. The kids‚ Quentin Jacobson and Margo Roth Spiegelman‚ run home to tell their parents. Quentin wants to push the whole finding-a-dead-body thing from his mind‚ but Margo finds out the man killed himself and wonders why. Nine years later‚ Margo Roth Spiegelman‚ who is now eighteen‚ comes to Quentin’s window in the middle of the night. They haven’t really hung out
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