Này thì college essay

Nữa này.
Most teenage boys never admit to being friends with their sister. I do. My sister is the world to me, my best friend, and a guide through all of the toughest times. I feel that I have a unique relationship with my older sister, one that many of my friends cannot relate to.
Our incredible connection started with her immense love and the fading love between my parents. During my seventh grade year, my mother left the house and moved into her own home, leaving my father, my brother, and myself somewhat clueless. This was incredibly agonizing until my sister became involved. She had also moved out about a year prior to this event, but our relationship wasn??Tt as close then as it became. Within a week of my mother??Ts absence, my sister moved back home. She had already grown up and was independent, but she recognized my need for guidance. Unselfishly, she became my surrogate mother, and eased the pain of the broken home. She helped me through the suffering and long nights by talking to me, reassuring me, and making me think about the future. She would always recite a quote when I was down, which helped me through anything. "This too, will pass," is what she would say as she rubbed my head and wiped the tears off my cheek. Over the next two years, my sister and I did almost everything together. She took me to the zoo, museums, movies, and introduced me to snowboarding. She was the main reason why I stick to my morals as strongly as I do today. She never drank alcohol, did drugs, smoked, or stole in high school. I followed in her footsteps and have remained drug and alcohol free throughout my entire high school life. She shaped me into who I??Tve become, and pushed me to set goals and do my best.
In the middle of my freshman year, her fiancé, a graduate of the Air Force Academy, was stationed in San Antonio, Texas. With their wedding just three months away, she had no choice but to move to Texas with him. Naturally, I objected, but I knew it was only fair, since she had spent so much time with me in the near past. Her constant absence was the most difficult adversity I??Tve ever dealt with, and still is. We communicated through letters and phone calls almost everyday, and just like always, she was there for me when I was down and would say, "this too, will pass."
Throughout the past three years, the pain of having my best friend and sister living 12 hours away has quieted. She still pushes me, and gets angry when I earn a ??~B??T on a report card. The main benefits I have gained through this agonizing experience are an extremely strong relationship with my sister, strength to overcome difficult obstacles in my life, and a new strong relationship??"my brother in law. I thank her for all she has done, and she will always be the most important person in my life. (Unknown Author)


Shoot for the moon, even if you miss, you'll land on the stars.

Một bài nữa
Although where I was born and who I was born to was not a choice I could make, if given the choice I would choose the same, with maybe a Japanese grandmother or uncle for sushi.
Moving from Taiwan to America, my parents entered a whole new culture. My parents had some time to adapt to American culture before I was born, giving me the perfect balance to experience both cultures throughout my childhood.
Being a part of two distinct cultures has made a strong impact on who I am today. As a child in elementary and middle school, I would often be the brunt of stereotypical teasing from other kids. Some would assume I didn??Tt speak English and make noises with lots of k and ch sounds to make fun of me. Asking me why I don??Tt know martial arts was another favorite. That one persisted through early high school. Other kids, the more creative ones I guess, would don cone shaped rice farmer hats, and slant their eyes by pulling their skin with their fingers while acting stupid. I??Tm sure that most of those kids were just having fun and didn??Tt preme***ate their actions in utter hatred of the Asian race, but it still annoyed, and at times angered me. Now I can look back without anger and gather from my elementary and middle school "annoyances". As a result of my experiences, I discovered that I should treat everyone as an individual whom I know nothing about instead of a person of a certain culture who I know everything about.
Cultural influence also reached me through my friends. They ran the gamut of cultures, from Jamaican to Puerto Rican to Indian. Because most of them were minorities who grew up in a predominantly white environment, there was more understanding between us, and our connections developed into friendships. At their houses, I discovered unique ways of living, and through conversation I learned about their homelands, after sifting out the exaggerated stores and outright lies of course. Because I??Tve also traveled to Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and China myself, I??Tve developed a more open, global view on everything. Instead of having the mindset that Americans and Taiwanese are the only people that are important, I've realized that all cultures have immeasurable contributions to the human race.
The importance of diverse cultural experiences cannot be overlooked, it is perhaps the greatest teacher about life. Teaching me that although there are many different ways to dress, eat food, cook food, make music, create art, or treat different animals, there are no right ways, only preferences. Also teaching me that although culture can be very important for some people, it is better to treat everyone as an individual person with his or her own culture. (Unknown Author)

Shoot for the moon, even if you miss, you'll land on the stars.

Số 8.
Joshua Duclos '04
Oak Meadow School
Concord, New Hampshire
Twentieth century America has become a time for attacking and destroying the most malignant of our social diseases. At the forefront of these attacks has been racism. Although nationalistic and bigoted sentiments existed in America prior to the founding of Jamestown, it was not until the civil rights movement of the 1960's that racial equality became more of a reality than a dream. But as African-Americans, Hispanics, Asians and other people of color struggled to regain their cultural identity, the rest of the population was assimilated into an all inclusive racial category known as "white."
At some point in my life, I realized that the "white" race actually encompasses a great many distinct, and proud, nationalities. Included in these, was my own: Franco-American. I have never been able to understand why a people as culturally unique and historically significant as the Franco-Americans were deemed unworthy of their own racial grouping. The mere fact that they possess a skin tone less pigmented than other races should not force them into anonymity. It was this desire to distinguish myself from the millions of other "white" Americans that led me to the American Canadian Genealogical Society (ACGS) in search of my family roots. What I discovered was a connection to my past that spanned an ocean, two continents, and more than three hundred years.
I arrived at the ACGS eager to begin my search. Unfortunately, I was utterly perplexed as to where to begin. Sensing my dilemma, an elderly gentleman approached me, and asked, "What is the name? The one you are looking for?" His thick accent took me by surprise.
"Well," I said, "I think I'd like to start with Lacasse. That was my grandmother's maiden name."
"Ah, Lacasse. Well, let me see if I can get you started."
With the help of my new friend, I began my work. Hour after hour, I leafed through church registers, scrutinized country censuses, and viewed stack after stack of microfilm. Slowly, but surely, my work began to yield results. Three, four, five generations back. Another hour, and six, seven, eight and nine appeared. How much further could this go? With that thought, I resumed my inquiry into the census records of Chateau Richer, Quebec. Immediately following where I left off were written the words, "Antoine Lacasse (1642-1701): First member of the Lacasse family in North America."
My heartbeat quickened. Could it be that I descended from this man? I hastily checked, and then re-checked the records. Yes. Yes, he was my ancestor. The father of generation nine, the grandfather of generation eight and so on and so forth, all the way back to my grandmother.
Accompanying the marriage record was an abundance of information on the life of Antoine. I skimmed the text: Dec. 4, 1666 Antoine takes a lease on a farm. April 1670, Antoine purchases a brown milk cow.
The facts continued for pages, revealing nothing extraordinary. At the end of the document was a final comment. I read it, paused, and read it again. The words had stirred an emotion in me, something I was quite sure I had never felt before. I read them aloud. "One feels that in this house there was hope for a better life which was never realized." Simple words, nothing profound, nothing shocking, but they effected me. And I knew why.
Some three hundred years ago, my ancestor, Antoine Lacasse, ventured across the Atlantic and settled on a foreign shore known as New France. He labored all of his days in "hopes of a better life which was never realized." Two hundred years later, my great grandfather, Alexis Lacasse, journeyed from Quebec to America, hoping to find the very thing which had eluded his ancestors in Canada, a better life. Securing a job in Amoskeag Mills, he remained there until the cotton fibers he inhaled became the lung cancer that killed him. At age 44, Alexis had "hopes for a better life which were never realized." His daughter, my grandmother, Alice Lacasse, was only fourteen when she exchanged her schooling for a job. She too entered the mills, and she too had "hopes for a better life which was never realized." Alice had a daughter, my mother, Elaine, who completed her high school and even graduated from college. Elaine hoped, just as countless generations before her had, to achieve a better life. When Elaine's husband walked out on her and her six children, she feared that her hope would not be realized. But she was wrong. She raised her children well and sent every one off to college, each bearing the hopes of a better life. And now that it is my turn, I have more reason than ever to seek out the best education I can.
I have found my connection to my ancestors. It is neither language, nor country, nor family title. For more than three centuries, my predecessors have been striving, yearning, and devoting their lives in the hope of achieving something better for themselves and for future generations. To this day, it has not been realized. I plan to rectify that.
...WISEST IS HE WHO KNOWS HE DOESN'T KNOW...

nguyen quynh my
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Tiger or Eph ?

Lớp học: Anh1 00-03Trường: Hà Nội - AmsterdamGiới tính:
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College essay samples

I''m gonna post several essays from the "50 Successful Harvard application essays" book, published by Harvard Crimson. Hopefully for the sole educational purpose, this would not violate the book''s copywright.The first one is written by UYen-Khanh Quang-Dang, who attended a public high school in Santa Clara, CA. She is a talented yound lady, who has just graduated from Harvard Medical School last year and who was a former president of HVA - Harvard-Vietnamese Association.WendyI was walking down the hallway, my shoulders sagging from the weight of my backpack nearly bursting with books on the way to a student council meeting, from the worries of the canned food drive, from all the thoughts which cluttered my brain just moments before. I sank into a deep thought about the two names, Wendy and Uyen-Khanh.My parents, my grandmother, and all my peers at the Sunday Vietnamese Languages School know me as Uyen-Khanh, my name as written on my birth certificate. Yet I was a wholly different person to my ?oAmerican? friends and teacher ?" I had always been Wendy. Even some of the award certificates I received read: ?oWendy Quang-Dang.? Wendy is an invented name bestowed upon me by my kindergarten teacher who decided that Uyen-Khanh was too difficult to pronounce. In fact, it became so convenient that I began to introduce myself as Wendy to avoid the hassle of having to slowly enunciate each syllable of ?oUyen-Khanh? and hear it transformed into ?owon-ton? or ?oooh-yenkong.? It was especially hard on substitute teachers, who would look up from the roll book, flustered and perplexed as they tried their best not to completely destroy my name. Wendy also greatly decreased the looks of terror and embarrassment as people would struggle to remember how to say ?oUyen-Khanh? two minutes after we had been introduced. But at that moment standing alone in the hallway, I decided that I wanted to be known to all as one person: Uyen-Khanh. Wendy had served me well for the past eight years since kindergarten, but it was time I let go of a nickname and recognized the name written on my birth certificate. I took me over three months of consistent persistence and patience to erase the name so many had known me by. Letting up on my determination to brand Uyen-Khanh into everyone?Ts memory for even just a second was not a possibility if I wanted my mission to be successful. This meant pretending not to hear someone calling me unless it was some form of Uyen-Khanh. I would interrupt people mid-greeting and stand my ground when my friends would glare angrily at me and whine, But I?Tve always known you as Wendy!? My philosophy was that people must respect my wishes to say Uyen-Khanh. By the end of those three long months my resoluteness had paid off and I was richly rewarded by the sound of Uyen-Khanh pronounced smoothly and effortlessly by my closest friends. I was thirteen years old born and raised in San Jose, the second largest Vietnamese populated city in the United States. A first generation Vietnamese citizen of this country, English was as native to me as the language of my ancestors, Vietnamese. I grew up a ?otrue American,? as my grandmother would call it, for I did not just adapt to the all-American lifestyle, I lived it. When I decided to shed the name casually given to me in kindergarten, it seemed to some that I was ?ogoing back? to my true heritage, believing that being called Uyen-Khanh would somehow make me more Vietnamese. The truth was I was more ?oAmerican? then ever when Uyen-Khanh replaced Wendy. Being born and raised in San Jose as a first-generation Vietnamese citizen made me who I am, a Vietnamese-American. Uyen-Khanh was just the name I was given at birth, and it was simply time to acknowledge it.
Source: http://www.hn-ams.org/forum/showthread.php?t=6721