Common Application Essay ADMITTED to Top Schools Sarah ONeill

 Sarah ONeill Supreme Editing

Nearing the middle of what could only be described as a blissful week in paradise, I was tasked with helping researchers tag sharks. Seriously, as much as I enjoy poking through bloodied fish carcasses with fishing hooks and watching barracuda speed through the water with ferocity, I have to admit that when someone found two humpback whales wallowing in the shallows, I practically leapt out of the boat. Thankfully, I was able to stay put, even as the boat skipped across the cascading waves, tossing its riders around like ragdolls. As the driver skidded to a stop and left all of us bobbing on the ocean, my gaze flitted around the endless blue pool, scanning for any semblance of those gentle giants.

As fate would have it, right before the pandemic, I got to travel to the Bahamas for a marine ecology and conservation trip with school. I was able to live out so many childhood dreams and adventures. I was able to tag green sea turtles, scuba dive with nurse sharks. I even saw a bull shark basking on an abandoned pier. But my most incredible encounter, without pause, was one that involved 15-meters of crystal clear water, a choppy Go-Pro video, and two humpback whales.

“There! There! There they are!”

My head swiveled around immediately to register what I had just heard. Sure enough, there were two massive blots of dark blue cruising through the sea. With my flippers, goggles, and snorkel on in an instant, I jumped into the swirling waters. After swimming blindly in one direction, I saw them.

They were enormous and magnificent: While I floundered about, my feet meters away from the shallow ocean floor, they moved about effortlessly, as if they were splashing about in a bathtub. They swam side by side, moving several meters with a single flap of a tail. Never mind the fact that humpbacks had not been spotted in that area in nearly fifty years and never mind the fact that I had never even seen a whale before, their lack of concern to the small humans trying to catch up with them was enough to be marveled. 

As the humpbacks began to sing to each other, in a pitch and tune unlike anything of this world, I felt blanketed with a feeling of immense giddiness. This euphoric feeling would not subside until I was back in New York City, reuniting with my elder brother at the airport.

Most children outgrow their love for animals. Not me. My time with them, studying them, and appreciating them is not just a Saturday, pastime activity. In childhood, in fact, I was so infatuated with animals that my earliest memories are pressing my nose up against the tv to watch David Attenborough and opening picture books detailing Jane Goodall with Tanzanian chimpanzees. No time for coloring books, I was perfectly content with my mother’s (and now my) collection of National Geographic magazines. As banal as it may sound, I have known since before most people could pronounce “hippopotamus” that I wanted to study animals someday. 

I have always been infatuated with animals; From the social intricacies of a killer whale family to the devilishly clever defense mechanisms of an octopus, my love for animals has defined me all my life. Since even before I was ten, I have never been bored by zoology. Even today, I spend hours learning about how fish reproduce, how primates communicate, and even how hamsters escape from cages. Fittingly, my experience in the Bahamas only reaffirmed what I already loved about the natural world; the beauty, the simplicity, and the novelty all combine to form what I can honestly say that I would commit the rest of my life to. After all, it isn’t everyday when you can swim with a 33-ton behemoth. 

Sarah ONeill Supreme Editing Coatesville