The tempest of my thoughts, contained in a simple page.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Dear Stanford University,

Okay. I know my application probably won't look at all imposing amongst the stacks of class presidents and swim team captains and geniuses with SAT scores of 2360. Some of them will probably even have poetic, beautifully-worded essays. I like to say writing is my strong suit, but of course several of your other early applicants will claim that the essays are their forte as well.

But listen. You, in the Admissions office. You, deciders of my fate. Do you have any idea who I am?? I'm Abby freaking Erdelatz. I've lived in 4 countries and gone to 10 schools and still managed to keep up piano lessons for eight years. I can memorize the lines of every cast member in a show, including my own, by the second week of rehearsals without trying. I make my bed every morning without being asked, keep my room clean, have never snuck out or tried drugs, have a great relationship with my parents, and my hair is really soft! You have no idea who I am because on paper I amount to little, but in the real world I am spectacular. But you'll never know, will you?

You'll see a kid with probably some lovely teacher recommendations about my cheerful and cooperative personality in class, a few too many B's and B-pluses on my transcript, and who had some mildly interesting adventures as a military kid. You'll see average. You'll see pleasing, refreshing even. But you'll see average.

What you won't see, however, is me.

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