Student 2
Common App.
I am not a studio artist. I cringe at the thought of my third grade sunflower painting hanging on
our yellow kitchen wall. I remember the day I brought it home. My mother made me sign the bottom right
corner with a black Sharpie, and she promptly hung it up, proudly calling the family to the kitchen to
admire my “artwork.” My father put his arm around my shoulder as my brother and sister giggled at my
lack of artistic ability.
Today, I prefer a different form of self-expression. Imagine beautiful, detailed roses, textured
green grass, and a face to every animal. Now, think of those as an edible cake. Rich, red-frosting petals,
toasted coconut grass dyed green, black jellybean eyes and a pink jellybean nose for the bunny rabbit
shaped confection. I am a baker. I can make a cake taste as good as it looks, and I can do so in less than
the time it takes to paint a sunflower. I can lose myself in my work, just as a studio artist can, and not
come back to reality for hours. I am an artist when I bake.
My talents are not necessarily demonstrated in the classroom. My teachers describe me as
dedicated and diligent. I struggled with honors math as a junior – pre-calculus is not my forte – but I have
a determined mindset that will not allow me to give up. During that semester, I spent more time in my
teacher’s classroom than I did in my own kitchen! Yet during the same semester, I earned one of my
greatest high school achievements: an “A” on an assignment in AP English. For this quarter-long project I
wrote about love of food, and the cooking and baking traditions that have been handed down through the
generations of my family. The importance of breaking bread, sharing time around a dinner table and
cooking for others is paramount in my life.
My presence in class has been far more unforgettable than my understanding of mathematical
concepts. The cinnamon-scented waffles that I prepared for first period pre-calc are still
remembered…my mastery of graphing conics is not. The tutoring sessions necessitated a warm plate of
chocolate chip cookies to help aid the digestion of a multiple-step inequality problem. Although my final
AP English paper was a dazzlingly creative narrative, perhaps it might be most remarkable for the secret
Barry-family delicacies that my teacher has copied and added to his own family recipe repertoire. I know
Student 2
Common App.
I will not be remembered in these classes as the quintessential straight “A” student, but I have left my
mark in my own way.
Similarly, my talents in the sports arena have not necessarily been demonstrated by athletic
prowess. I show up to field hockey practice ready to get down to business, but I sometimes lack the
perfected skills possessed by the rest of the defensive line. My value to the team is demonstrated by my
conscientiousness, positive energy, perseverance, and provision of sugary treats. My arrival to practices
and games is greeted with cheers and hugs and girls eager to see what sweet I am proffering for the day.
Their enthusiastic reaction gives me motivation for the dreaded three-mile warm-up. Nerves race through
my veins before I run. I try to distract my mind from the physical harshness of our conditioning, and I
think of where I would rather be: the lovely open kitchen that I volunteer in every week.
Kaplan Family Hospice House, located in Danvers, MA, is a place where people come to live out
the end of their life’s journey. It is a peaceful, serene, and warm home to patients and their families, who
often arrive exhausted, frightened, and sad. This is where I spend my Saturday mornings surrounded by
the quiet dignity of those experiencing a natural part of living: dying. I am there to help cook food to
provide comfort and nourishment. I am also watching the ebb and flow of the lives of those traipsing in
and out of the kitchen. I marvel when someone attempts to cautiously eat a ration of bacon, eggs, toast
and pancakes, just because that is always what they have had for breakfast. Eating is a sign of the
continuity of living.
My experience at the Hospice House has taught me more than just how to make industrial sized
batches of cookie dough; it has illuminated a basic fact of life. I am dying. You are dying too. I certainly
do not spend too much time thinking about it, but being around such a place makes this hard to ignore. At
the Hospice House, food is a way to show my care and compassion for others. The conversations I have
over food are a gift to me, just as my cookies are to the hospice patients and my friends. Whether
providing relief from study sessions, hard workouts, or the pain of the end of life, the reward that I get
from baking is even better than the sugary high I give to others.