The Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, and the leprechauns were easy to let go of—I wasn’t more than 8 or 9 when I realized that they didn’t really exist. That was okay—I could deal. But Santa was harder. Each year I would begin to doubt as my Jewish friends asked “do you really believe in Santa Claus?” But every year my faith would be reaffirmed when my sisters and I found huge presents, extravagant presents, presents my parents swore they would never buy us in the living room on Christmas morning. I was only when I saw the link to an order form for one of my presents in my internet’s history that I was forced to face facts. There was no Santa. I was 12 or 13, then.
I waited anxiously for my Hogwarts letter the year my grade turned 11. Then, since I am one of the youngest in my class, I waited another year. No letter. I had never truly thought there was a Hogwarts or that I was a witch—still, some small part of me had been genuinely hoping for it. My friends pretended to be crushed that their letters never came—I was as dramatic as any of them, but I actually was crushed.
The TV show I had been following for the past several months became extremely dark in the 3rd season—everyone’s lives seemed to be falling apart as the main characters were abused by invaders and each other. Marriages were falling apart—my favorite character was showing the early signs of insanity. I felt slightly depressed for weeks, spending hours on weekdays trying to work out how the season could be resolved. “You know it’s not real, right?” Asked my sister. “Don’t take it so seriously.”
I think there is a line somewhere. I don’t believe in the Yeti, or the Loch Ness Monster. I don’t even really believe in ghosts—I’m not superstitious.
This is what I have so far-- I'm still trying to figure out how to finish it and if Ishould try a different direction.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Collage Essay Part 2
All New England college brochures look the same—every single one is filled with pictures of trees in autumn, the colors explosively bright. They must know that here in the Midwest, our falls simply cannot compare. Still, a little originality would be nice. After all, they ask students to describe what makes us different.
“Can you believe this time next year, we will be in college?” My friend asks, eyes bright. She cannot wait to “escape” New Trier, as she puts it.
“No.” I say, flatly. The concept makes no sense to me—I can’t wrap my head around it. I can’t bring myself to believe I will actually go to college some day.
My mom is frustrated with me again.
“Alexa, I feel like I am doing all the work here. The college counselors say that you should be taking charge of the college application process.”
“I know, Mom. I am. I just have so much to do.” I was doing homework as we spoke, my mond only half on her speech.
“So what’s the deal, then, Alexa? Don’t you even care where you go to college?”
LCAE Draft 6
Have you ever drafted something so many times that you take the spirit out of it, because you can’t even remember what you originally meant to say?
Theory Two:
Maybe I look at the Naviance scattergrams because the little thrill of panic I get when I look at the GPA averages jump-starts me into action for a while, driven by my fear of not getting accepted into the college of my choice.That thrill of fear motivates me to get things done . . . for a time.
I’m so tense my hands are shaking as I enter the office, searching out my teacher.
“Mr. Rosenberg?” I say. My voice is a little quavery, but I’m too tense to feel embarrassed.
“Yes?”
“Um. . . I was wondering if you would be willing—I mean, if you would be comfortable writing me a recommendation for college.”
I don’t think it took him more than a second to respond, though it felt like a week.
“Sure. I’ll write you a great one.” I let breath out in a huge gasp of air.
“Thank you!” I barely hear what he says next—I am positively dizzy with relief. Later, looking back, I feel like a total moran. How could I get so uptight about speaking to a teacher?
I guess I was scared he would turn me down.
Hey guys-- still kind of unsure what question I'm actually trying to answer. Hopefully I'll figure it out this weekend. . .
“Can you believe this time next year, we will be in college?” My friend asks, eyes bright. She cannot wait to “escape” New Trier, as she puts it.
“No.” I say, flatly. The concept makes no sense to me—I can’t wrap my head around it. I can’t bring myself to believe I will actually go to college some day.
My mom is frustrated with me again.
“Alexa, I feel like I am doing all the work here. The college counselors say that you should be taking charge of the college application process.”
“I know, Mom. I am. I just have so much to do.” I was doing homework as we spoke, my mond only half on her speech.
“So what’s the deal, then, Alexa? Don’t you even care where you go to college?”
LCAE Draft 6
Have you ever drafted something so many times that you take the spirit out of it, because you can’t even remember what you originally meant to say?
Theory Two:
Maybe I look at the Naviance scattergrams because the little thrill of panic I get when I look at the GPA averages jump-starts me into action for a while, driven by my fear of not getting accepted into the college of my choice.That thrill of fear motivates me to get things done . . . for a time.
I’m so tense my hands are shaking as I enter the office, searching out my teacher.
“Mr. Rosenberg?” I say. My voice is a little quavery, but I’m too tense to feel embarrassed.
“Yes?”
“Um. . . I was wondering if you would be willing—I mean, if you would be comfortable writing me a recommendation for college.”
I don’t think it took him more than a second to respond, though it felt like a week.
“Sure. I’ll write you a great one.” I let breath out in a huge gasp of air.
“Thank you!” I barely hear what he says next—I am positively dizzy with relief. Later, looking back, I feel like a total moran. How could I get so uptight about speaking to a teacher?
I guess I was scared he would turn me down.
Hey guys-- still kind of unsure what question I'm actually trying to answer. Hopefully I'll figure it out this weekend. . .
Collage Essay
LCAE (Long Common App. Essay) Draft 1
When I was about 4 years old, I
Boring. What a boring beginning to an essay. I’m bored and I’m writing it.
The summer before my junior year, I decided
Not much better.
My fingers shake as I set them on the strings—I can feel the eyes of the crowd boring into my back.
Seems a little clichéd.
The car lurches up the ramp, and as my body slides to the back of my seat I feel my stomach twist uneasily.
Yes! A first sentence! Success.
. . .
It’s going to be a really long summer.
My college counselor smiles at me in an innocent, patronizing way as we sit together in her living room, her huge hairy dog sitting on my feet and whacking his tail against my legs. We have been meeting for a year now, though very infrequently—this is still only my 3rd or 4th visit.
“Alexa,” she says, beaming with triumph. “I think I know the right schools for you.”
“Really? What do you recommend?” I’m thrown by this statement—think I have been in her presence for all of 4 hours in my entire life. How could she expect to know enough about me to diagnose my “right college”? She launches into a long lecture about certain colleges and their focuses—while I nod and smile, I pet the dog covertly under the table. My counselor has forbidden me to take notes during our meetings, preferring to take notes herself and then give them to me. I know I should be interested, but my eyes are glazing over and the edges of my brain becoming fuzzy. I feel like I’m about to fall asleep.
I spend too much time looking at Naviance scattergrams. I don’t watch horror movies, but maybe this is an equivalent—looking at the accepted GPA’s of each school over and over, going through the long list for colleges I will definitely be accepted to. Not that I’m worried about getting into college—but will it be the right one? It seems like a bad sign that my little circle in the graph of my top college is filled with other people’s red X’s.
LCAE Draft 3
Okay, by now I should probably know what I’m talking about. I mean, I should have a thesis or something. What is my thesis again?
Mom: “Alexa, let’s do a practice college interview.”
Me: “Mom. . . I really don’t want to. Come on.”
Mom: “Alexa, I feel like I’m getting a lot of resistance from you here. If you want to get into a good college, you are going to need this interview to be well prepared.”
Me: “. . . I know. . . “
Mom: “Okay, here we go. Hello, Alexa. Where do you go to school?”
Me: “New Trier High school, in Illinois?”
Mom: “Try, Alexa. You have to try to get as much information about yourself in as possible. This is not the time for one word answers.”
Me: “Mom, you just asked where I went to school. What else was I supposed to say?”
When I was about 4 years old, I
Boring. What a boring beginning to an essay. I’m bored and I’m writing it.
The summer before my junior year, I decided
Not much better.
My fingers shake as I set them on the strings—I can feel the eyes of the crowd boring into my back.
Seems a little clichéd.
The car lurches up the ramp, and as my body slides to the back of my seat I feel my stomach twist uneasily.
Yes! A first sentence! Success.
. . .
It’s going to be a really long summer.
My college counselor smiles at me in an innocent, patronizing way as we sit together in her living room, her huge hairy dog sitting on my feet and whacking his tail against my legs. We have been meeting for a year now, though very infrequently—this is still only my 3rd or 4th visit.
“Alexa,” she says, beaming with triumph. “I think I know the right schools for you.”
“Really? What do you recommend?” I’m thrown by this statement—think I have been in her presence for all of 4 hours in my entire life. How could she expect to know enough about me to diagnose my “right college”? She launches into a long lecture about certain colleges and their focuses—while I nod and smile, I pet the dog covertly under the table. My counselor has forbidden me to take notes during our meetings, preferring to take notes herself and then give them to me. I know I should be interested, but my eyes are glazing over and the edges of my brain becoming fuzzy. I feel like I’m about to fall asleep.
I spend too much time looking at Naviance scattergrams. I don’t watch horror movies, but maybe this is an equivalent—looking at the accepted GPA’s of each school over and over, going through the long list for colleges I will definitely be accepted to. Not that I’m worried about getting into college—but will it be the right one? It seems like a bad sign that my little circle in the graph of my top college is filled with other people’s red X’s.
LCAE Draft 3
Okay, by now I should probably know what I’m talking about. I mean, I should have a thesis or something. What is my thesis again?
Mom: “Alexa, let’s do a practice college interview.”
Me: “Mom. . . I really don’t want to. Come on.”
Mom: “Alexa, I feel like I’m getting a lot of resistance from you here. If you want to get into a good college, you are going to need this interview to be well prepared.”
Me: “. . . I know. . . “
Mom: “Okay, here we go. Hello, Alexa. Where do you go to school?”
Me: “New Trier High school, in Illinois?”
Mom: “Try, Alexa. You have to try to get as much information about yourself in as possible. This is not the time for one word answers.”
Me: “Mom, you just asked where I went to school. What else was I supposed to say?”
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