Apparently, I got into college even while submitting the below as my personal statement. Now, as a random stream of consciousness piece, I think it's not bad at all...but rereading it almost five years later makes me question the sanity of the person on the admissions committee of NYU that read it and though 'Yes! We need to have this girl attend our school!"
Without further delay, I give you me, five to six years ago:
Summer of 2005. I was spending my lazy days with my cousin and sister in the embodiment of neutrality, the home of the mysterious International
I lounged in one of Geneva’s two Starbucks dreamily sipping my Frappucino,
watching my chocolate donut slowly melt under the gaze of the simmering sun
that streamed through the window and contemplating Life, the Universe, and
Everything, a fly caught my eye. It was a normal fly, or as normal as a fly
could get, whizzing around in my general vicinity and insistent on resting
occasionally on my jeans. What I noticed was that every now and again the
fly (let’s call him Marius) would pause his prowling to rub his
'hands' together, as if getting ready to hatch his master plan. I found this
quite interesting and my train of thought changed to wonder about what
he could possibly be thinking. Before I could get an answer to my inquiry,
my dear Marius was joined by a comrade and they proceeded to twirl around each
other in some tribal fly mating dance, their spirals of love creating an
intricate design in the air that I could easily picture by following their path. Baccalaureate,
While writing about my encounter with Marius I came to a realization, I became conscious of what I wanted to do in life: I wanted to write. I don't think it mattered what I wrote, or how I wrote it, I just wanted to put thoughts, observations, anything that could cross my mind at any point in time down on paper. I wanted to record all the obscure things that would spring up in wild bouts of imagination, all my random spurts of inspiration. Most of all though, I wanted my writing to make a difference. It’s an overly cliché dream, but I cling to it despite everything. Do I actually believe that I will one day become a famous writer who will change the world with her internationally acclaimed novels? Well, why not? But do I more realistically entertain the thought that someone could stumble onto a manuscript I’ve written, and suddenly decide to change an aspect of their life? Occasionally.
It was while watching this dance that I became aware of the jazz music that poured through the overhead speakers and, all of a sudden, I could almost see the music notes floating gently around me, just as I had seen the artistry of the love dance. Each cymbal crash and trumpet blare would hop and turn and salsa its way around the room, fading only to make way for the next beat. Again my short attention span was diverted to the now abandoned lukewarm Frappucino and the view beyond. The sun shone in a sky of baby blue, not once obscured by the pure white clouds that glided around it.
At first, I could only see myself writing fiction. I wanted to create an alternate reality where people could delve into if they ever wanted to get away from reality; the world I created would become a source of comfort. But as time passes I realize that it doesn’t matter. Naturally, I still want to write magical stories, as reading Harry Potter, Jean Paul Sartre, and The Vampire Chronicles leaves an irrevocable impact. It’s something that I can never leave behind, but I, just like every child at some point in their life, want to enlarge my prospects –do more. Writing, after all, is a form of expressive art. It can be used to bluntly say what you mean, or it can be used to convey an idea through imagery that is so thick you have to dive deep to find the hidden meaning. Both forms of expression captivate me, and it is one infatuation that I wouldn’t consider ignoring.
Anything that I could have thought of after, whether it was the cure for Cancer or the greatest technological advancement that man has ever seen, became a jumble of incoherent thoughts that are the results of lounging in one of Geneva’s two Starbucks, dreamily sipping a Frappucino, watching a chocolate donut slowly melt under the gaze of the simmering sun that streamed through the window and contemplating Life, the Universe, and Everything.