Sample Common App Essay Admitted to Cornell by Sarah ONeill

 Empty tracks, fiery sun.

I bolted from the schoolyard like a small child trying to find her way through barley fields, longing for the howling wind to blow away the melancholy caused by my teacher’s comment. “Chuhan, why can’t you be a normal, relaxed kid, like your classmates?” Though in jest, this reflected my state while in middle school in China. Operating like the gears of a swiss watch, I precisely planned out every minute of my life: 32 minutes of geometry, 47 minutes of poetry, but 0 seconds for entertainment. After finals, while classmates battled Minecraft mobs, I feverishly jotted down another intense summer schedule. Like a hermit, I never relished in the jubilation of friends, chaining myself to my immature definition of contentment: high academic scores. Shielding others away, it was not until I moved to America and threw myself into Cross Country that my fever faded.

Crowded runway, ceaseless cheering.

I dashed towards the finish line, trekking up a hill before gravity dragged me down. It was my first Cross Country race at my new American school. What blew me away was the inundating air of applause as I roughed the tough terrain. I was nowhere near the end, but everyone—my coaches, friends, and even competitors— shouted, “Keep going!” Never had I felt so embraced or empowered, like a previously trapped frog leaping from its well to marvel at the infinite azure sky. No longer a girl chained to academic perfection, I high-fived my Science Olympiad partner after constructing our musical instrument and gleefully tossed petals into the sky with friends to shoot a Key Club video. Day by day, I emerged from my well. It was then time to find myself, again, in my hometown, where I visit every year.

Summer zephyr, fragrant blossoms.

I had a Cross Country training routine around my Beijing neighborhood. Checking my mileage, I took my eyes off the road, not noticing a sprinkler spurting water one foot ahead. The instant I was about to trip on it, it was pulled away—magically—allowing me to safely run ahead. Of course, it wasn’t magic: a handyman mopping community spaces moved it as he perceived the danger. 

“Thank you,” I said, humbly. 

“Oh, no problem!” he replied, with cordiality. The brim of his bamboo hat shielding his face from the sun as he meticulously mopped, not letting one dust speck rest between the cracks of the tiles. Despite his efforts, few neighbors greeted him. Hustling among fluorescent skyscrapers tall enough to touch the stars, people of Beijing succumb to the lightning-paced life, sparing no time to appreciate the handymen that serve us. However, I grew accustomed to greeting others through cross-country. While running along the path the following day, I recognized the familiar silhouette under the bamboo hat and said, “Good morning, Sir!” He recognized me, returning with a tip of the hat.

“Are you in high school?”

“Yes!”

“Ah! my granddaughter is in high school too.”

Our encounter became part of my running routine. I, with exhausted legs, felt rejuvenated with his shouts of “Come on!” He, after his labors, felt appreciative of my “Thank you!” Honestly, the old me may have just been too consumed with scores to make this connection, but I was different. 

Three Runs, my metamorphosis

These three runs, each an epitome of my evolving identity, coalesced into my story. Cross country showed me the power of a team and that high scores are not all that matters. Running in Beijing, I connected with members of my community. In fact, every time I boldly introduce a new project to Key Club members; every time I challenge my classmates with my accented yet unwavering English, I shake the rusty chains that once immured me to a narrow well. Today, I embrace my connections with others from every pulse of life, welcoming my future on the open road.

By Sarah ONeill Supreme Editing