_______________________________________________________________

As I approached the convention hall, I wondered if I had gotten the room number wrong. I
couldn't hear any signs of life, and I was losing my nerve to open the door and risk embarrassing
myself. As I imagined a security guard striding up and chiding me for being somewhere I shouldn't be,
a hand reached past me and pushed the door open, jolting me back to the real world. I peeked in.
More hands. Hundreds of them. Hands were flying, waving, articulating, dancing. I was at once taken
by awe and fear. You can do this.

I had never planned on taking American Sign Language, and I certainly hadn't planned on it
taking my heart. In my first term of college, I signed up for German, a language I had loved the sound
of since I was a child. A week before classes began, however, the course section was cut. In my
frustration, I decided I would take the first available language class in the course register. In hindsight,
that probably wasn't the smartest approach, but it was a decision that completely altered my
supposedly set-in-stone plan of becoming a linguist. The complexities of nonverbal language floored
me, and I found myself thinking about hand signs while writing essays on Saussure's linguistic signs. I
rearranged my schedule so I could take improv classes to help with my facial and body expressions.
Theater! That was completely out of character, but I suddenly found myself compelled toward
anything that would help immerse me in ASL and deaf culture--except actually getting involved in the
community.

I knew going to my first deaf convention would be intimidating. My hands shake when I'm
anxious, and nothing brings on nerves quite like throwing yourself into a situation where you are a
total outsider. Between my limited vocabulary, quaking fingers and fear-frozen face, would anyone be
able to understand me? What was I doing here? I had been studying American Sign Language for
nearly three years and had somehow managed to avoid spontaneous conversation with the deaf
community, and I was terrified. Workbook exercises and casual conversations with classmates — who
had roughly the same ASL vocabulary and relied on the same linguistic crutches as I did — had
become increasingly comfortable, but immersing myself in deaf culture and community was
something entirely different. I was afraid. However, American Sign Language and deaf studies had
captured my heart, and I knew this fear was a huge barrier I needed to get past in order to continue
working toward my goal of becoming an advocate and deaf studies educator.

It must have been pretty obvious that I was both hearing and petrified because I was
immediately greeted by someone who, very formally and slowly, asked if I was a student and offered
to accompany me. This small gesture is representative of how I became so fond of deaf culture in
such a short period of time. The hearing community tends toward posturing, indirect communication
and a sometimes isolating emphasis on individualism, and my limited experiences within the deaf
community have been the opposite. The straightforward communication that exists in a beautifully
nuanced and perspicacious language and the welcoming enthusiasm to grow the community is
something I intend to be part of. I am an outsider, and I have much to learn, but I want to do
everything I can to encourage understanding and exchange between the deaf and hearing
communities and make hearing spaces more inclusive, especially for those who have more
experience as outsiders than I do.

My devotion to language and learning about culture through communication hasn't changed,
but the path by which I want to pursue that passion has. My foray into deaf studies and American Sign
Language may have started as an accident, but no matter how nervous I still get when my fingers
fumble or I have to spell something out, I am humbled and grateful that this accident led me to a
calling that could have remained unheard my whole life.
Large Group Discussion
1. Give us a 30 second summary of the essay.
2. What was the theme to the essay?
3. What positive qualities did the writer show about herself/himself?
4. What title would you give the essay? (Arab Spring: understanding to
improve(or to solve))

Group Activity

You will be given an essay to read. In groups discuss the following questions:
1. Give us a 30 second summary of the essay.
2. What was/were the theme(s) to the essay? (self-improvement and how the
understanding of the problems that surround us help us to get involved with
our community to later help improve and even resolve the situation) What new
words did you find? (choose 5)
3. What positive qualities did the writer show about herself/himself? (Leadership,
fearless, supportive, caring and seeking to understand)
4. How has reading this essay helped you begin writing yours? (some tips to
make me understand better / show, not tell)

Example Essays:
A: The Number 12
B: Arab Spring in Bahrain
C: Poop, Animals, and the Environment
D: The Builder & Problem Solver
E: The Little Porch and a Dog
F: Life as an Undocumented Student
A: THE NUMBER 12
12 is the number of my idol, Tom Brady. It’s the sum of all the letters in my name. It’s also
how old I was when I started high school.

In short, I skipped two grades: first and sixth. Between kindergarten and eighth grade, I
attended five schools, including two different styles of homeschooling (three years at a co-op
and one in my kitchen). Before skipping, I was perennially bored.

But when I began homeschooling, everything changed. Free to move as fast as I wanted, I
devoured tomes from Jefferson, Hamilton, and Madison to London, Kipling, and Twain. I
wrote 10-page papers on subjects from Ancient Sparta and military history to the founding of
the United States and the resounding impact of slavery. I discovered more than I ever had,
kindling a lifelong joy for learning.

While high school offered welcome academic opportunities--studying two languages and
taking early science APs chief among them--the social environment was a different beast.
Many classmates considered me more a little brother than a true friend, and my age and
laser focus on academics initially made me socially inept. I joined sports teams in spring and
built better relationships, but my lack of size (5’1”) and strength relegated me to the end of
the bench. Oftentimes, I secretly wished I was normal age.

That secret desire manifested itself in different ways. While I’ve loved football since I was a
little kid, I soon became obsessed with personal success on the gridiron--the key, I figured,
to social acceptance and the solution to my age problem. I had grown up obsessively
tracking my New England Patriots. Now, instead of armchair quarterbacking, I poured hours
into throwing mechanics and studying film after my homework each night. Itching to grow, I
adopted Brady’s diet, cutting dairy, white flour, and processed sugar. But in the rush to
change, my attitude towards academics shifted; I came to regard learning as more a job than
a joy. No matter what talents I possessed, I viewed myself as a failure because I couldn’t
play.

That view held sway until a conversation with my friend Alex, the fastest receiver on the
team. As I told him I wished we could switch places so I could succeed on the gridiron, he
stared incredulously. “Dude,” he exclaimed, “I wish I was you!” Hearing my friends voice their
confidence in my abilities prompted me to reflect: I quickly realized I was discounting my
academic talents to fit a social construct. Instead of pushing myself to be something I wasn’t,
I needed to meld my talents and my passions. Instead of playing sports, I recognized, I
should coach them.

My goal to coach professionally has already helped me embrace the academic side of the
game--my side--rather than sidelining it. I have devoured scouting tomes, analyzed NFL
game film, spoken with pros like Dante Scarnecchia, and even joined the American Football
Coaches Association. Translating that coach’s mentality into practice, I began explaining the
concepts behind different plays to my teammates, helping them see the subtleties of strategy
(despite Coach Whitcher’s complaints that I was trying to steal his job). And I discovered that
my intellectual understanding of the game is far more important in determining my success
than my athletic tools: with the discipline, adaptability, and drive I had already developed,
I’ve become a better player, student, and friend.

Physically and mentally, I’ve changed a lot since freshman year, growing 11 inches and
gaining newfound confidence in myself and my abilities. Instead of fighting for social
acceptance, I’m free to focus on the things I love. Academically, that change re-inspired me.
Able to express my full personality without social pressure, I rededicated myself in the
classroom and my community. I still secretly wish to be Tom Brady. But now, I’m happy to
settle for Bill Belichick.

B: ARAB SPRING IN BAHRAIN

February 2011– My brothers and I were showing off our soccer dribbling skills in my
grandfather’s yard when we heard gunshots and screaming in the distance. We paused and
listened, confused by sounds we had only ever heard on the news or in movies. My mother
rushed out of the house and ordered us inside. The Arab Spring had come to Bahrain.

I learned to be alert to the rancid smell of tear gas. Its stench would waft through the air
before it invaded my eyes, urging me inside before they started to sting. Newspaper front
pages constantly showed images of bloodied clashes, made worse by Molotov cocktails.
Martial Law was implemented; roaming tanks became a common sight. On my way to
school, I nervously passed burning tires and angry protesters shouting “Yaskut Hamad! “
[“Down with King Hamad!”]. Bahrain, known for its palm trees and pearls, was waking up
from a slumber. The only home I had known was now a place where I learned to fear.

September 2013– Two and a half years after the uprisings, the events were still not a distant
memory. I decided the answer to fear was understanding. I began to analyze the events and
actions that led to the upheaval of the Arab Springs. In my country, religious and political
tensions were brought to light as Shias, who felt underrepresented and neglected within the
government, challenged the Sunnis, who were thought to be favored for positions of power. I
wanted equality and social justice; I did not want the violence to escalate any further and for
my country to descend into the nightmare that is Libya and Syria.

September 2014– Pursuing understanding helped allay my fears, but I also wanted to
contribute to Bahrain in a positive way. I participated in student government as a student
representative and later as President, became a member of Model United Nations (MUN),
and was elected President of the Heritage Club, a charity-focused club supporting refugees
and the poor.

As an MUN delegate, I saw global problems from perspectives other than my own and used
my insight to push for compromise. I debated human rights violations in the Israeli-
Palestinian conflict from an Israeli perspective, argued whether Syrian refugees should be
allowed entry into neighboring European countries, and then created resolutions for each
problem. In the Heritage Club, I raised funds and ran food drives so that my team could
provide support for less fortunate Bahrainis. We regularly distributed boxed lunches to
migrant workers, bags of rice to refugees and air conditioners to the poor.
April 2016 – The Crown Prince International Scholarship Program (CPISP) is an intensive
leadership training program where participants are chosen on merit, not political ideologies.
Both Shia and Sunni candidates are selected, helping to diversify the future leadership of my
country. I was shortlisted to attend the training during that summer.

July 2016 – The CPISP reaffirmed for me the importance of cooperation. At first, building
chairs out of balloons and skyscrapers out of sticks didn’t seem meaningful. But as I learned
to apply different types of leadership styles to real-life situations and honed my
communication skills to lead my team, I began to see what my country was missing:
harmony based on trust. Bringing people together from different backgrounds and
successfully completing goals—any goal—builds trust. And trust is the first step to lasting
peace.

October 2016 – I have only begun to understand my people and my history, but I no longer
live in fear. Instead, I have found purpose. I plan to study political science and economics to
find answers for the issues that remain unresolved in my country. Bahrain can be known for
something more than pearl diving, palm trees, and the Arab Spring; it can be known for the
understanding of its people, including me.

C: POOP, ANIMALS AND THE ENVIRONMENT

I have been pooped on many times. I mean this in the most literal sense possible. I have
been pooped on by pigeons and possums, house finches and hawks, egrets and eastern
grays.

I don’t mind it, either. For that matter, I also don’t mind being pecked at, hissed at, scratched
and bitten—and believe me, I have experienced them all.

I don’t mind having to skin dead mice, feeding the remaining red embryonic mass to baby
owls. (Actually, that I do mind a little.)

I don’t mind all this because when I’m working with animals, I know that even though they
probably hate me as I patch them up, their health and welfare is completely in my hands.
Their chances of going back to the wild, going back to their homes, rely on my attention to
their needs and behaviors.

My enduring interest in animals and habitat loss led me to intern at the Wildlife Center of
Silicon Valley over the summer, and it was there that I was lucky enough to meet those
opossum joeys that defecated on my shoes whenever I picked them up (forcing me to
designate my favorite pair of shoes as animal hospital shoes, never to be worn elsewhere
again). It was there that a juvenile squirrel decided my finger looked fit to suckle, and that
many an angry pigeon tried to peck off my hands.

And yet, when the internship ended, I found myself hesitant to leave. That hesitation didn’t
simply stem from my inherent love of animals. It was from the sense of responsibility that I
developed while working with orphaned and injured wildlife. After all, most of the animals are
there because of us—the baby opossums and squirrels are there because we hit their
mothers with our cars, raptors and coyotes end up there due to secondary rodenticide
poisoning and illegal traps. We are responsible for the damage, so I believe we are
responsible for doing what we can to help. And of course, there is empathy—empathy for the
animals who lost their mothers, their homes, their sight and smell, their ability to fly or swim. I
couldn’t just abandon them.

I couldn’t just abandon them the same way I couldn’t let big oil companies completely
devastate the Arctic, earth’s air conditioner. The same way I couldn’t ignore the oceans,
where destructive fishing practices have been wiping out ocean life.

These are not jobs that can be avoided or left half-finished. For some, the Arctic is simply too
far away, and the oceans will always teem with life, while for others these problems seem
too great to ever conquer. And while I have had these same feelings many times over, I
organized letter-writing campaigns, protested, and petitioned the oil companies to withdraw. I
campaigned in local parks to educate people on sustaining the seas. I hold on to the hope
that persistent efforts will prevent further damage.

I sometimes wonder if my preoccupation with social and environmental causes just makes
me feel less guilty. Maybe I do it just to ease my own conscience, so I can tell people “At
least I did something.” I hope that it’s not just that. I hope it’s because my mother always told
me to treat others as I want to be treated, even if I sometimes took this to its logical extreme,
moving roadkill to the bushes along the side of the road because “Ma, if I was hit by a car I
would want someone to move me off the road, too.”

The upshot is that I simply cannot walk away from injustice, however uncomfortable it is to
confront it. I choose to act, taking a stand and exposing the truth in the most effective
manner that I think is possible. And while I’m sure I will be dumped on many times, both
literally and metaphorically, I won’t do the same to others.

D: THE BUILDER & PROBLEM SOLVER

Since childhood, I have been an obsessive builder and problem solver. When I was 6, I
spent two months digging a hole in my backyard, ruining the grass lawn, determined to make
a giant koi pond after watching a show on HGTV. After watching Castaway when I was 7, I
started a fire in my backyard--to my mother's horror--using bark and kindling like Tom Hanks
did. I neglected chores and spent nights locked in my room drawing pictures and diagrams
or learning rubik's cube algorithms while my mother yelled at me through the door to go to
sleep. I've always been compulsive about the things I set my mind to. The satisfaction of
solving problems and executing my visions is all-consuming.

But my obsessive personality has helped me solve other problems, too.

When I was 8, I taught myself how to pick locks. I always dreamed of how cool it must have
been inside my brother’s locked bedroom. So I didn't eat at school for two weeks and saved
up enough lunch money to buy a lockpicking set from Home Depot. After I wiggled the
tension wrench into the keyhole and twisted it counterclockwise, I began manipulating the
tumblers in the keyhole with the pick until I heard the satisfying click of the lock and entered
the room. Devouring his stash of Lemonheads was awesome, but not as gratifying as finally
getting inside his room.
As the projects I tackled got bigger, I had to be more resourceful. One day in history class
after reading about early American inventions, I decided to learn how to use a Spinning
Jenny. When my parents unsurprisingly refused to waste $500 on an 18th century spinning
wheel, I got to work visiting DIY websites to construct my own by disassembling my bike and
removing the inner tube from the wheel, gathering string and nails, and cutting scrap wood.
For weeks, I brushed my two cats everyday until I had gathered enough fur. I washed and
soaked it, carded it with paddle brushes to align the fibers, and then spun it into yarn, which I
then used to crochet a clutch purse for my grandmother on mother's day. She still uses it to
this day.

In high school, my obsessive nature found a new outlet in art. Being a perfectionist, I often
tore up my work in frustration at the slightest hint of imperfection. As a result, I was slowly
falling behind in my art class, so I had to seek out alternate solutions to actualize the ideas I
had in my head. Often times that meant using mixed media or experimenting with
unconventional materials like newspaper or cardboard. Eventually I went on to win several
awards, showcased my art in numerous galleries and magazines, and became President of
National Art Honors Society. Taking four years of art hasn't just taught me to be creative, it’s
taught me that there are multiple solutions to a problem.

After high school I began to work on more difficult projects and I channeled my creativity into
a different form of art - programming. I’m currently working on an individual project at the
Schepens Institute at Harvard University. I'm writing a program in Matlab that can measure
visual acuity and determine what prescription glasses someone would need. I ultimately
plan to turn this into a smartphone app to be released to the general public.

The fact is that computer coding is in many ways similar to the talents and hobbies I enjoyed
as a child--they all require finding creative ways to solve problems. While my motivation to
solve these problems might have been a childlike sense of satisfaction in creating new
things, I have developed a new and profound sense of purpose and desire to put my
problem solving skills to better our world.

E: THE LITTLE PORCH AND A DOG

It was the first Sunday of April. My siblings and I were sitting at the dinner table giggling and
spelling out words in our alphabet soup. The phone rang and my mother answered. It was
my father; he was calling from prison in Oregon.

My father had been stopped by immigration on his way to Yakima, Washington, where he’d
gone in search of work. He wanted to fulfill a promise he’d made to my family of owning our
own house with a nice little porch and a dog.

Fortunately, my father was bailed out of prison by a family friend in Yakima. Unfortunately,
though, most of our life savings was spent on his bail. We moved into a rented house, and
though we did have a porch, it wasn’t ours. My father went from being a costurero (sewing
worker) to being a water-filter salesman, mosaic tile maker, lemon deliverer, and butcher.
Money became an issue at home, so I started helping out more. After school I’d rush home
to clean up and make dinner. My parents refused to let me have a “real” job, so on Saturday
afternoons I’d go to the park with my older brother to collect soda cans. Sundays and
summertime were spent cleaning houses with my mother.

I worked twice as hard in school. I helped clean my church, joined the choir, and tutored my
younger sister in math. As tensions eased at home, I returned to cheerleading, joined a
school club called Step Up, and got involved in my school’s urban farm, where I learned the
value of healthy eating. Slowly, life improved. Then I received some life-changing news.

My father’s case was still pending and, due to a form he’d signed when he was released in
Yakima, it was not only him that was now in danger of being deported, it was my entire
family. My father’s lawyer informed me that I’d have to testify in court and in fact our stay in
the US was now dependent on my testimony.

The lawyer had an idea: I had outstanding grades and recommendation letters. If we could
show the judge the importance of my family remaining here to support my education,
perhaps we had a chance. So I testified.

My father won his case and was granted residency.

Living in a low-income immigrant household has taught me to appreciate all I’ve been given.
Testifying in court helped me grow as a person, has made me more open-minded and aware
of the problems facing my community. And my involvement in the urban farm has led me to
consider a career as a nutritionist.

Though neither of my parents attended college, they understand that college is a key factor
to a bright future and therefore have been very supportive. And though we don't yet have the
house with the small porch and the dog, we're still holding out hope.

I believe college can help.

F: LIFE AS AN UNDOCUMENTED STUDENT

At six years old, I stood locked away in the restroom. I held tightly to a tube of toothpaste
because I’d been sent to brush my teeth to distract me from the commotion. Regardless, I
knew what was happening: my dad was being put under arrest for domestic abuse. He’d hurt
my mom physically and mentally, and my brother Jose and I had shared the mental strain.
It’s what had to be done.

Living without a father meant money was tight, mom worked two jobs, and my brother and I
took care of each other when she worked. For a brief period of time the quality of our lives
slowly started to improve as our soon-to-be step-dad became an integral part of our family.
He paid attention to the needs of my mom, my brother, and me. But our prosperity was
short-lived as my step dad’s chronic alcoholism became more and more recurrent. When I
was eight, my younger brother Fernando’s birth complicated things even further. As my step-
dad slipped away, my mom continued working, and Fernando’s care was left to Jose and
me. I cooked, Jose cleaned, I dressed Fernando, Jose put him to bed. We did what we had
to do.

As undocumented immigrants and with little to no family around us, we had to rely on each
other. Fearing that any disclosure of our status would risk deportation, we kept to ourselves
when dealing with any financial and medical issues. I avoided going on certain school trips,
and at times I was discouraged to even meet new people. I felt isolated and at times
disillusioned; my grades started to slip.

Over time, however, I grew determined to improve the quality of life for my family and myself.

Without a father figure to teach me the things a father could, I became my own teacher. I
learned how to fix a bike, how to swim, and even how to talk to girls. I became resourceful,
fixing shoes with strips of duct tape, and I even found a job to help pay bills. I became as
independent as I could to lessen the time and money mom had to spend raising me.

I also worked to apply myself constructively in other ways. I worked hard and took my
grades from Bs and Cs to consecutive straight A’s. I shattered my school’s 1ooM
breaststroke record, and learned how to play the clarinet, saxophone, and the oboe. Plus, I
not only became the first student in my school to pass the AP Physics 1 exam, I’m currently
pioneering my school’s first AP Physics 2 course ever.

These changes inspired me to help others. I became president of the California Scholarship
Federation, providing students with information to prepare them for college, while creating
opportunities for my peers to play a bigger part in our community. I began tutoring kids,
teens, and adults on a variety of subjects ranging from basic English to home improvement
and even Calculus. As the captain of the water polo and swim team I’ve led practices crafted
to individually push my comrades to their limits, and I’ve counseled friends through
circumstances similar to mine. I’ve done tons, and I can finally say I’m proud of that.

But I’m excited to say that there’s so much I have yet to do. I haven’t danced the tango,
solved a Rubix Cube, explored how perpetual motion might fuel space exploration, or seen
the World Trade Center. And I have yet to see the person that Fernando will become.

I’ll do as much as I can from now on. Not because I have to. Because I choose to.

Adapted from: https://www.collegeessayguy.com/blog/personal-statement-examples-for-college