Behind my house, through the forest, and into the murky creek, I stood waist-deep, hovering over the water with a net and a navy blue gardening bucket. “Quit your playing and come home!” my brother yelled. Panicking, I hastily dumped my assortment of little fish and waddled onto the bank. But when I got home, the fish never left. Waiting for me was 715 gallons of water, divided among 13 tanks.

Now, at seventeen, I still make room in my car for my four-dollar Walmart net, and I still wear zip-off pants in case I find a ripe spillway on my way home from work. While I sweat between a register and an espresso machine and wear my fish name tag, I daydream about which species of fish to blow my earnings on.

This aquatic obsession didn’t start with me, though; my fondest memory of my late grandfather is from when I was eight, listening to him recount his life in Thailand. Regrettably, I didn't listen until he started telling stories about wild rasboras. My father shared this passion, describing a childhood spent catching barbs with my uncle in Bangkok's street canals.

Fish always seem to find me. While volunteering at the Veterans Affairs hospital, I was offered the opportunity to assist with a trout fishing trip. At school, I shared my passion for aquariums with my teacher. Now, I maintain our class tank, a dream come true.

My love for aquascaping reflects an important trait: balance. When stocking a tank, I establish plants to remove harmful nitrates. Then, I use a cleanup crew of shrimp to eat algae, letting my plants thrive. After weeks of meticulous water testing, I can finally add a fish. I must be careful, though; impatience could throw my tank out of balance and “crash” it.

Although I try to mirror that balance, I struggled to keep up. Like the creek, time rushed away from me. Since then, I've changed in many ways: I made new friends, dyed my hair, and began breeding corals, but I never left the water. Living in slivers of time between work, school, and sports, I could never truly care for myself the way I did for my fish.

I rarely spent an evening at home; even rarer did I find time to rest. After school, I rushed to work or practice, leaving no space to breathe. Nearly stretched thin, I raced through brush and under bridges, following the sound of water to clear my head. Only after dipping my feet in did I dare look down and think. Peering around, I saw schools of tiny dace fighting the current. But deeper, I noticed snails fixed to the riverbed, keeping the waste in check.

I desperately darted around my schedule and lived in snippets when, much like a snail, I could've slowed down and latched onto something consistent. I asked myself why the dace exerted themselves to live in the same environment as the snails who grazed leisurely among the rocks. I understood that, much like my responsibilities, each had its own niche, but I wondered, “Why didn’t the minnows live elsewhere since it was so difficult?”

I crouched and began to think. Although it was energy-consuming for them, I realized they were adapted only to these small streams; the rivers they flow into contain many predators, and the ponds they flow into are unfit for reproduction. Only after seeing that it could thrive only in a balanced environment did I understand what I wanted my own environment to look like, and I finally began to slow down.

During my first free evening, I peered into the tank and saw my own reflection. My world is an ecosystem, but it fits inside a glass box. Empty, it stands complete and full of possibility. As I continue to outgrow tank after tank, I'll continue to shape my environment to fit all of its inhabitants.

(I kept changing it because I lowkey didn't have anyone to review it for me other than bs ai stuff that I forgot to cancel the free trial on and charged me a ton)

i want to use a quote in one of my supplemental essays but i have no idea who the author is. i saw it on tiktok but i know that's not where it came from because i searched it up and found it on like 5 other sites. i dont want to accidentally plagiarize.

For a long time, I treated effort like something to avoid, something optional, something painful. Growing up adjacent to the noise of divorce, I decided that things were impossible to fix and that I should only do what made me feel good. Without exaggeration, I drank 10 cans of root beer every day. I stayed up until 1 a.m. almost every night due to my intense anxiety. I believed trying anything remotely hard was setting myself up for inevitable failure, and I carried this mindset for years. I was so unhealthy from my terrible sleep and diet habits that playing video games for hours became my escape. Then one summer day before my freshman year, I decided enough is enough. I mustered up the motivation to go to the gym for the first time. I hoped having something to work toward would solve all my problems.
 
Stepping into the gym didn’t magically solve my problems, but it stripped away my excuses. I went from a completely sedentary lifestyle to working out daily and cleaning up my diet to focus on protein, healthy carbs, fruits, and vegetables. The simple smell of rubber plates and the cold iron atmosphere offered a straightforward world that my complicated mindset lacked. I had a path I could measure: stay disciplined, push through discomfort, and be a little better every day. Energized by these early results, I walked on to the high school swim team after years away from the pool to see if that same discipline would apply.
 
After a few years of grinding through and proving I could better myself in the weight room and the pool, I hit a wall in my progress. I assumed working hard guaranteed continuous improvement, but my strength stalled and my swim times plateaued. My initial response was simple: work harder. However, after suffering injuries in both sports, I realized that putting in endless hours without strategy wasn't working. I had originally believed that enough effort would lead to a single moment of victory—a point where I could say I had finally "made it." But I realized that hard work without reflection was just wasted energy. Genuine progress offers no final destination because real, meaningful growth is an ongoing, daily practice of adaptation.
 
This shift from blind repetition to active reflection transformed how I handled academic roadblocks. In subjects like math, where I used to hit immediate walls, my old instinct was rooted in that same fear of failure: I would leave a question unattempted, stare blankly at the page or never asked any questions to the teacher, waiting for a sudden, miraculous “I get it” moment. Today, I approach academic obstacles with a completely different mindset. I recognize that getting stuck isn't proof that a problem is unfixable—it is simply feedback telling me to change my strategy. Instead of trying to force my way through a wall as I once did in training, I step back, break the problem into smaller components, and systematically test new approaches until the solution clicks.
 
changing my perspective on effort transformed not just my athletic training and academic work, but how I view my entire life. I no longer avoid difficult situations or expect immediate, clean outcomes. Instead, whether I am trying to understand a difficult problem in math class that is not clicking or overcoming a strained ankle in swimming, I bring the same steady repetition I developed in the pool and weight room. Life rarely provides perfect resolutions, but learning to embrace the continuous process of showing up, adjusting, and improving has given me a resilient foundation I can carry anywhere.

I’m writing a montage essay and I fear my personal statement is lacking focus and my anecdotes show reflection on specific values but i’m struggling to find a connecting principle between them. i’m using a cliche journal metaphor to tie them together at the moment. Could anyone help me? I’d really appreciate any advice.

Is anyone willing to look over what I have right now, just as a second pair of eyes? I don't know if my message is clear enough, and some parts feel unnatural.

Hi,

I realize im only going to be submitting this right before early action deadlines, but I just want to know which topic is better. I have the essays drafted, they just need editing.
Topic 1) car accident
How I got into an accident but instead of initially focusing on the crash, I focused on the fact my coffee cup hadn’t spilled (a small seemingly irrelevant detail) but it’s about how my brain automatically focuses on random details during stressful moments as a way to manage myself

2- veterinarian essay
How I used to strongly belief everyone had time and there was no rush. But volunteering at multiple veterinary clinics + certain experiences there changed how I saw love community and the importance of showing up for people whenever I can.

I can take constructive feedback, it’s okay!! Thank you all!!

“What does that even say?” my friend whispers in history class as our teacher lectures. I look to see my words slant in their usual direction, down and slightly shifted to the right. My ‘t’s are long and tall, and my ‘a’s resemble ‘u’s more often than they should. I’ve always noticed the handwriting of the people around me, whether it was my 7th grade English teacher and her perfect cursive or my friend with their superb, typewriter-esque handwriting. I believe handwriting reveals something personal about a person, something that tells you a little bit about who they are. My teacher’s precise, neat cursive told me she was thorough and steady, while my friend’s neat print hinted at a cheerful personality. In the same way, handwriting like mine, hurried and sharp, shows how I think and feel.
​
My long and tall ‘t’s may represent the way I constantly overthink my future, even with how far away it is. I find myself searching long and far for answers that cannot be found yet, no matter how tall I make myself in order to see. Or maybe it’s the way my letters slope further down the more I write, showing how my mind twists in on itself. I remember one afternoon in the school library, working on an English question packet after failing a chemistry test. My mind kept racing, and as I wrote, my lines slid further down the page, each word getting messier as my thoughts picked up speed. When I looked back, I noticed my anger had come through each letter I scribbled down. Another time, after I passed my permit test and wrote the grocery list later, I noticed my handwriting grew rounder and steadier with my happiness. These moments make me realize that my writing reveals what is happening inside me, even when I don't notice it at first. Noticing these patterns in my handwriting has helped me stop and think when I'm stressed or overwhelmed. I have started to check in with myself more often; sometimes it encourages me to slow down and organize my thoughts before acting. And when I become more interested in a subject, my thoughts move faster, and I write faster. My words become slanted and my handwriting increasingly difficult to read, because the more my mind has to say, the uglier my handwriting becomes. The thoughts that feel the clearest to me are the hardest for someone else to read.
​
I could spend days studying every mistake or blemish in my handwriting, looking for a meaning underneath it all, which sounds crazy to do for something so normal. But, I think this shows a part of me that needs to find meaning in everything, even if it doesn't exist. The importance of my handwriting has less to do with what it reveals about me and more to do with what I see in it. And maybe, in trying to understand the world and people around me, I am really trying to understand myself. Looking back through old notebooks, I’m shocked by how much of myself those pages show, not just in the words I chose, but in the way I wrote them. The uneven slant of my letters during stressful semesters, the bold but neat print when I was excited about whatever plans I had for Friday nights, all of it tells a story beyond what’s written. My handwriting has documented my moods and what I have done, capturing pieces of who I was at different times.

One of Purdue's supplemental essay questions is "Briefly discuss your reasons for choosing your major and your interest in studying at this campus location (Indianapolis or West Lafayette)", and I am confused on how to answer it. Online I found that I should talk about specific research groups or professors, but I do not really care about that. My primary major is CS, alternate major is exploratory studies, and I want to attend the West Lafayette campus.

Hello, can someone please read my essay? I just want a look and some comments from an outside source and I also need help cutting out some words.

Does anyone wanna essay swap for the common app essay??

Heyy so I’m graduating early and have barely started my college essay I’m thinking about making it a self growth essay on how I turned myself into my alter ego without realizing it and highlighting some of my projects but I have now idea what I should do for my hook or if this essay topic even works and if it dose I genuinely don’t know what to write any tips or ideas that can help?

hi everyone! i'm applying for columbia ed and was wondering if anyone had any columbia supplement examples? i'm finding it hard to write with only 150 words. should i focus on showing my voice/personality? i was looking at the college essay guy for examples but they sound pretty dry to me... idk, i would appreciate any advice/help you guys have. thanks!

I just really need feedback from an outside source

can someone rate and read my essay pls thanks

I despise half-boiled eggs. I don't hate eggs when they’re scrambled, when they’re fried, or even when they’re hard-boiled.

Almost every day, it was Mom’s job to find a way to shove half-boiled eggs down my throat, and it was my job to push back. No matter what, I’d have a furious shouting contest, the world’s worst breakfast washed down with water or milk to get rid of the taste, and a prolonged period of awkward silence.

Throwing the eggs away wasn’t an option. I just couldn’t bring myself to throw away something that was perfectly edible, even if they were the dreaded half-boiled eggs. So, I’d wake up earlier than her to boil the eggs, but this time, three instead of five. I’d eat one instead of my usual three, leaving two for her. My plan worked flawlessly: there was even a dirty bowl to testify for me.

But alas, one morning, she caught me at the stove. An argument ensued, and I was forced to recook the eggs, making us late for school and work. Karma was on my side, though. Having to cook them again meant that the eggs ended up overcooked into slightly less repulsive, hard-boiled eggs.

During the tense silences that were served with the following half-boiled egg breakfast, I probed Mom about her insistence on them. But her explanations never satisfied me.

As a child, her busy parents left her in the care of her grandparents. Every day, a familiar delicacy was served—half-boiled eggs. She hated them and even fed them to her dog sometimes! How could she be mad at me for doing the same? She explained that throwing away half-boiled eggs had led to her malnutrition, so why only make me half-boiled eggs?

Immediately seeing the contradiction, I prepared to stand my ground. Like a lawyer in court, I was going to prove I was right. But when I noticed her droopier-than-usual frown, her barely open eyelids, and her flat, tired reply, I stopped. I was so focused on my argument that I hadn’t realised—I had worn her out. Silently, I shut my eyes and let the slimy, sour egg yolk pour into my mouth. That day, the argument could wait.

Our disagreements didn’t stop after that one morning: I still argued, schemed, and announced my disdain for half-boiled eggs. Maybe Mom felt more understood; maybe she was just tired from my schemes. But as I became more conscious of when I pushed back, the awkward silences sometimes gave way to laughter and playfighting. On good days, she’d occasionally flaunt her generosity by frying the eggs instead.

Now, I can make the eggs exactly the way she likes them: six minutes in boiling water for soupy yolks and lumpy whites. I still don’t understand her insistence on eggs being half-boiled; I’d still rather have them fried. But I’m beginning to see the distinction between making a point and knowing when to. When eyelids are heavy and words are flat, I’m learning how to swallow the yolk.

Main criticism I have is that it doesn't have enough introspection and it doesn't dig deep enough into who I am. How can I integrate that in the topic. Every time I try it becomes clunky and overcrowded. More, how I can I show the transformation outside the kitchen without bloating it? Should I abandon the half-boiled eggs?

This is my essay, I think it’s good but all feedback is appreciated, it’s for the first prompt of the common app but I don’t know if another prompt would fit better, so here it is.
I was seven years old when I learned that a shark has to keep moving or it dies.
Seeing one in the aquarium for the first time, bigger than any other creature there, I had found a new favorite animal. I sat on the carpet of my elementary school library flipping through a marine biology book trying to learn everything and document it all with colored pencils. On the top of the page I see the fact: Most species need water flowing over their gills to breathe, so if they stop swimming, they don't breathe.
I started to like sharks like every other kid, sharp teeth, fast swimmers, and cool reputations. I came to love them because of their steely-eyed philosophy. It doesn't pause to second-guess itself mid-hunt or freeze because the water ahead looks unfamiliar. It just keeps moving, because that's the only option that keeps it alive. But the shark fact wasn't something I learned and quickly forgot. It has become the lens through which I approached every difficult moment in my life.
The morning after my eighteenth birthday, a tree fell onto my bedroom. 
I woke up to see a gaping hole in my ceiling and immediately sprinted to check on my brother. The front door was blocked, so I went around back and looked at the bigger picture: a tree through the house, debris across the driveway, and no obvious place to start. I felt the particular kind of stuck that can make a person freeze. And then, unbidden, that library-carpet fact surfaced: if it stops moving, it dies. Not because every issue is life-threatening — it obviously isn't — but because the paralysis in the face of adversity can be its own kind of drowning. I got up and started clearing off the driveway; it was the only option. It wasn't easy. It wasn't fun. But it was movement.
That instinct — the instinct to jump over a wall rather than stare at it — is the same one that I had been learning from the robotics team. We lost every single match my junior year. Every single one. I was sitting on the sidelines watching our intake fly out for the fourth time that day, tempted to give up hope. But a shark doesn't stop swimming when the current is against it, it keeps moving, keeps breathing. We had an hour until our next match, so I started moving. I figured out that the end-stops had been worn down to nothing, something that could have been the issue the whole time, and I replaced them. We didn't win the next match but the intake stayed together for the first full round, and more importantly, we found a real cause, something to iterate on.

 It's not really about being right the first time. It's about treating failure as a data point instead of an ending point, then building the next version. A shark's body is optimized by millions of years of that process — a series of small adjustments because the alternative to adjusting is dying. That's what engineering is too: not a single moment of genius, but a refusal to let a stalled design stay that way. 
I want to study mechanical engineering, and I realize the path started all the way on that library carpet. Sharks taught me to never stop pushing — the only other option is suffocating. Robotics taught me that the fix never comes on the first try, and that's fine, as long as you keep going. I want to spend the next four years learning to do that on purpose — with design software instead of colored pencils, in a machine shop instead of an aquarium — but chasing the same question I've had since I was seven: how is this built, and how can I make it better.

Could anyone read my essay please? Starting to have doubts and EA deadline is in a few days🙏