Admissions Reader Comments

This essay worked because it managed to show different facets of the student's personality through a single, unifying theme (the JTOP club). For me, this demonstrated the student's interest in exploring the world simply for the pleasure of learning new ideas. It showed that the student wanted to cheer on classmates and was willing to stand up and defend ideas she believed in. And it was quirky! Not everyone wants to sit around a circle debating the merits of calling "shotgun" (which I am a fan of—still), but that's what makes her different and an individual.

—Dana Messinger, Assistant Director of Admissions

Bridget H.
Hometown: Boise, ID
Intended majors: Latin American Studies/Behavioral Biology

Cinco Reasons Why I am Interested in Pursuing Latin American Studies and One Reason Why I am Not
Cinco) I'm still waiting for my Neruda—a man who likes me when I'm silent.
Cuatro) I'm in the kitchen again, arranging marriages between egg yolks. Keeping track of the time in order to determine

how much longer I can realistically put off studying for tomorrow's calculus test.

My extreme days of baking happen every few weeks, or whenever a birthday rolls around in our Spanish class. I am the cake guru. I am always trying new recipes, adding new things to the box mixes I buy in twos and threes at the self check out at the grocery.

In Mexico, our teacher tells us, they have a tradition of making a small cake, in addition to a regular cake. The large cake is for the guests to eat. The small cake is for the guests to push the birthday person's face into while chanting 'QueMuerde.' Take a bite.

Our class always forgets exactly what the phrase is. We get confused and start chanting 'QueMuerte.' That Death. Or once, a boy started chanting 'Torta Cara'—which means face cake.

Welcome to first period AP Spanish.

　　Tres) It deeply upsets me that neither the Wall Street Journal nor the Idaho Statesman seem to publish many articles relating to Latin America. I've taken to reading the New York Times, online, over sunny-side eggs on Sara Lee toast.

Dos) I learned how to 'BaileTipico' the summer before my junior year in High School.

　　The Gods were making soup in the Panamanian Jungle, which meant that the water pipes were always overflowing, and I was lucky if my shower consisted of something other than bucket collected rainwater, self poured over my sticky torso.

But bucket or no, every Friday was dance lesson day, and I'd wade through whatever broth lay simmering in the soccer field between my house and the dance studio. There I'd stand in sandals, amongst the chickens, while a large woman pushed Spanish through the gaps in her teeth. Vaguely I was aware that this was my signal to attempt to dance.

They called me 'Rubia'. Blonde. Mainly because their tongues get angry when they try to make the harsh 'i' sound that comes after the 'r' in my name. Eventually, even I couldn't say my name right. The letter 'i' scratched and gnawed at the insides of my cheeks on the way out. My name had gotten soggy and disintegrated in the Latin American rainstorms.

Since my return, my mouth has again become accustomed to the 'i' sound. America runs on the letter 'i' more than it runs on Dunkin' Donuts. Yet, I still retain the knowledge of 'BaileTipico'. It has been a year and I still haven't fully unpacked. My whole world was shaken when I learned to shake my hips, and now there's nothing that can keep me still.

Uno) In Spanish the word for popcorn translates literally to 'Small Doves'. The word 'esparar' means both 'to wait' and 'to hope'. The word equivocarse, or to make a mistake, is beautiful and makes my toes curly against each other in a happy way.
However, sometimes I wonder, because...

One) Latin American Studies is not Creative Writing.

Admissions Reader Comments

Bridget is a terrific writer. Even her title makes me eager to jump right into her essay. She conveys a genuine curiosity about Latin American culture and a love for writing. Bridget uses salient details to elaborate on these two academic interests, her topic of choice. Whether discussing the coverage of Latin America in main stream American publications or vividly describing her experience learning "BaileTipico," she paints a distinctive picture that leaves the reader wanting to know more. One of my favorite examples follows: "My whole world was shaken when I learned to shake my hips, and now there's nothing that can keep me still."

—Chloe Rothstein, Assistant Director of Admissions

Andrew T.
Hometown: Andover, MA
Intended majors: Writing Seminars / German
Speak

　　Count to twenty. Now imagine walking into Starbucks. As you make your way up to the counter, the delicate smell of brewing coffee arouses your senses. You politely ease your way through the herd of people gathered in front of the register and meet the eyes of the cashier. She acknowledges your presence with a slight nod as irritable grunts set in around you. You open your mouth to begin speaking, but nothing comes out. Silence. You continue to stand there, lips spread wide. Embarrassment overtakes you as the herd glares in your direction. The cashier remains motionless, unsure of how to cope with the silence. As time stretches onwards, your cheeks burn with shame. The herd begins to giggle uneasily, and some even go as far as to point. Twenty seconds pass before you are able to break the silence with a mumbled, "M-M-M-M-May I h-h-have a g-g-grande l-l-l-latte?" With an awkward smile, the cashier reaches for your gift card, and you retreat with your head tucked deep into your chest.

It was moments like these that made me truly ashamed of who I was. Ever since the age of six, I have stuttered. And before I traveled to Munich this past summer, I wished every morning that I would wake up without my stutter. I would often avoid answering the phone, even conversing with my family, anything to abstain from speaking. I was terrified of what other people would think of me when I stuttered, and so in an attempt to escape humiliation, I would simply keep quiet. Yet, I could no longer live my life running from the opportunities I so fervently desired to experience. I craved to be myself, to do the things that I wanted to do, regardless of my stutter. And so I gathered the courage to spend three weeks alone in Germany.

When my plane landed in Munich, my host mother came barreling into my arms. The amount of joy in her hug overwhelmed me. I had been with her for less than a minute and already I was a part of her life. What truly grabbed me however, was the way she introduced herself. While still embracing me, she squeaked, "Hello! My name is Monica, and I stutter." My heart stopped. The first words out of her mouth were the ones I feared the most. When she stepped back to look at me, I could not take my eyes off of her smile. She did not have a hint of shame in her voice. She was proud to be a stutterer.

The courage glistening in her eyes inspired me more than the words of any speech therapist or supportive friend. I always knew I had the will inside of me to accept my stuttering, but it took the simple encouragement of another stutterer for me to finally make peace with it. Witnessing her dignity increased my own self-respect. I believed in myself more than ever before. From those simple words, I learned that I am who I am, and that I need to embrace and welcome it. I realized that without my stutter, I would not have nearly the amount of perseverance, optimism, or integrity that I have today, as these qualities allow me to remain positive during the long beats of silence. They are what make me unique, and if I must stutter in order to possess them, then I would stand silent in Starbucks forever.

Before I went to Germany, I had always wanted to give a tour to a prospective student visiting Phillips Academy. I was afraid, however, that my stutter would prevent me from giving the enthusiastic tour that the school deserves. I was terrified that I would not be able to relay my love for Andover accurately, and as a result, would turn the prospective family away. But after realizing how proud I am to be myself, I confidently marched up to the Admissions building. I wanted to share my courage with those around me. I would not be ashamed. I would finally be the person I desired to be. I would do the things that I love to do, the things that make me happy. And as I approached the prospective student that I was about to tour, I extended my hand and smiled, "Hi! My name is Andrew, and I stutter."

 

 

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