The Essay That Got Me Into NYU

NYU has been my dream school ever since I knew I wanted to become a writer. I started my college application the summer before my senior year began, I wrote four essays total and had an amazing teacher to help me through the process. I followed my own prompt instead of picking one of the Common App prompts, it was a risky move but I wanted my essay to tell my story and not spend 600 words trying to answer a question. I worked on my essay for five months total and it was a stressful process, but by the end of it I felt proud of my work, and thankfully it paid off! I am posting my essay in hopes that it helps someone who is about to apply to college.

Without further ado, here is my essay:

My Diary

Words locked and hidden away, secrets of shame and embarrassment: that is what diaries have traditionally signified to most people. Yet, growing up in Honduras my diary was my biggest treasure, my essence in every page, and every word my childhood self could come up with. I still remember the thrill of picking up my diary and that horrible green Crayola marker. With green ink, I wrote about princesses, pizza, and at some point, poems. Sharing my entries with my friends was the best part of my day; however, they refused to share theirs in return which left me curious and often upset. That was when I realized there was something that set my diary apart from the others: It wasn't secret.

To many, a diary is a private item - something forbidden - but to me, a diary was a story: one that my childhood self would love to share. I remember taking it to family gatherings as a 9-year-old, battling for the stage with my uncle and his Vicente Fernández karaoke. I would take that time to grab the mic and tell my aunts and cousins about my dreams, my stories, and the way I perceived the world. To me, a diary was a gateway to new concepts and incredible perspectives. I wondered why people chose to hide something so wonderful.

As I entered middle school my perspective of the world around me completely shifted, and that was when my real diary began. Living in Central America was a gift as a writer. The culture and its people were unique, as were the stories that surrounded me as a kid. Conversations at the dinner table opened my eyes to an uncomfortable reality. As I sat there listening to how our presidents were stealing money from healthcare funds and treating sick people with flour pills fabricated as a scam instead of real medicines, my perspective on things started to change. Everyday sightings like watching kids my age perform tricks at stoplights in order to survive inspired me to turn my diary into a blog— A Teenage Perspective. My voice needed to be heard. My entries became articles documenting the reality of my conservative nation, politics, and society.

Throughout high school, I became more aware of the lack of voices in my community. This made me realize how much I truly wanted to use my voice, although it would be harder than I’d anticipated. As third-world countries, we deal with misconceptions and stigmas all the time, but people fail to see the lack of freedom and media corruption that governs everyday life. For years Honduras has lived under a masqueraded dictatorship. Murders, attacks, and threats against human rights defenders and journalists are rampant and go largely unpunished. My community was facing conformism and fear, provoked by the sense of normalcy that corruption and violence held in the country. Growing up around these situations was the main reason I’ve always felt like my diary was worth being shared, hoping that anyone would find their voice through my own.

As I embarked on the challenge of using my voice, my community did not fail to impress me while they embraced what was perceived as an act of bravery. Writing my blog still gives me that same thrill I got by holding that awful Crayola marker, but the rush that gets my heart pumping is when I see my articles help in the slightest ways. I recently received a text message from a youth group called “Heroes 504” after I wrote an article on their attempts to change their town, which was struggling with severe poverty. The text read “Thank you for amplifying the voice of those of us who can’t be heard.” My diary was the beginning of a love story: my love for words, the world, and the stories my community makes me strong enough to tell.

Here are some tips I would suggest keeping in mind when writing your college essay:

DISCLAIMER: These are tips that worked for me and in no way am I suggesting this is what will get you into college. What worked for me may not work for you so don't run with it, do your research about the college you are planning to apply to and the essay writing process. Find what works for you.

- Set yourself apart from others: Talk about a situation that is unique to you, don't generalize your story. Try to fill your essay with vivid imagery about what your life has been like and how it has shaped you into the strong candidate you are.

-Paint the picture: The admissions committee doesn't know you or your story, they are reading thousands of files at a time. Try and elaborate your point concisely and concretely.

- Be yourself: You can craft a story, yes-but make sure it tells your story and there is truth behind it. Show the admissions committee who you are, and make them remember you. They want to get to know you in 600 words, make sure by the end of it they know you and your world.

- Don't try too hard: I wrote an essay that used words in the English language that I didn't even know existed, I tried to sound polished and refined. The essay you read has no special words and no out-of-the-ordinary metaphors. What ended up working for me was the rawest essay I wrote.

ps: HAVE FUN WITH IT. The admissions process is stressful but it can also be really fun and rewarding.

All the Contradictions of My Life

How come what makes me feel alive takes away my liveliness?

I love myself but I can’t stare at the mirror without wincing. I feel but have lost my senses. I am a good person with an evil gut. My heart beats but it stops every time grief comes around. I loathe social media yet I can't live without it. I feel sorry but won't say it. I want to be better but won’t change. My soul is heavy but feels so empty. I miss you but I don't want you back. I love putting my life in words but hate the feeling after I hit send. I speak too much but don’t say anything. In my lies there is truth. My hands touch but I can't feel anything. That night under blue lights when I told you to stay away, I needed you the most. I am fine until the interrogation is over. I love being recovered yet long for my illness. I hate being misjudged but show myself in the wrong light. I believe in myself but don't trust my intentions. I praise but doubt. I swallow my insecurities but spit them out to others. I want to fall in love but don’t trust anyone to catch me. I want to forget you but I hope you don’t forget me. I want to run away but tie myself to the ground. I want to scream but can only bring myself to whimper. I try to convince myself that I love him but I don’t even like him. I want to eat chocolate cake but keep counting my calories. I feel like I am a good person but hold so much unholiness inside. I trust that my friends know me well enough that they know that they don't know me. I wanted to be blonde but couldn't stand any sign of brightness in myself. I want to shine but spill water at my flame. I cry but my tears dry. I despise people but can’t stand watching them suffer. My legs walk but have no clue where they are heading to. I am writing this but my gut is screaming not to publish it. I want to live but can only manage to exist. I want to be different but compare myself to them. I want to tell them how much they hurt me but I stop myself. We did something bad but used "I love you" as an excuse. I have written 106 poems about you but won't let you read them. I can't wait for the future but miss the past. I run away from my past but put up my own stop signs. I hate my addiction but cry at the emptiness they leave me with when sober. We grow up but we grow apart. I get an A+ in every subject but how much do I really know? My best friend wasn't my best friend. I feel better but I can't stop turning the wrapper. I feel better but keep waiting for the avalanche. People die, people close to me die, and I feel guilty because I am alive. I read but can’t read you. I am excited about life but can’t stop thinking about death. I am loving but remain unlovable. My eyes project confidence but my mind says different. I tell you my secrets but I don't trust you to keep them. I convince myself the attacks stop but keep digging holes in my head. I tell myself this is what’s supposed to happen but warning signs are flashing, screaming that I am mistaken. I am strong but I am not strong enough. I am drowning but don't want to get out of the water.