scholarship contest

We are happy to publish the winning entries in our scholarship contest! These essays demonstrate tremendous insight into the application process. For those of you who are just embarking on the college application process, these essays will be very valuable!

First Prize: A.I., Atlanta, GA: Harvard ’18
Who Wants to be a Paragon?

Second Prize: Darya Bor, Scottsdale, AZ: Amherst College ’18
The Importance of Speech

Third Prize #1: Ryan Lenea, Seattle, WA: Middlebury College ’18
Don’t Be Frightened

Third Prize #2: Madison Tschauner, Hastings, NE: University of Redlands
The Number

Fourth Prize: Megan Riann Sekiya, Austin, TX: Tulane University ’18
Plan B

Fifth Prize #1: Ella S. Conte-Wood, Seattle, WA: Western Washington University
Finding Power in College Shopping

Fifth Prize #2: Kendall J. Paris Flossmoor, IL: The University of Iowa
More than just a Number

Fifth Prize #2: Kendall J. Paris Flossmoor, IL:  The University of Iowa

More than just a Number

Hi! My name is Kendall Jaye Paris and I am a horrible standardized test taker.

It’s true some might consider this a failure.  This, however, does not define me.  It defies logic based on my successes in and out of the classroom, but it is not who I am.

I could recite the names of our fifty United States in alphabetical order (in less than thirty seconds) by the time I was five.  I competed for six years in Taekwondo, earning my third degree black belt and numerous awards and trophies.  I can break boards – really hard solid boards – I can disarm a person possessing a weapon.  I have volunteered to teach a six year old boy how to write his name, to read, and to tie his shoes.  Now that’s a daunting task that I accepted without hesitation.  Accomplish all that in six months with a child living in one of the most crime ridden areas of the Chicago suburbs?   Bring it on!  So you don’t scare me, ACT.  I do give you credit for tripping up some pretty awesome fellow students I have had the pleasure of knowing.  And that is where my “admiration” ends.

ACT beat me?  I don’t think so.  I didn’t back down when I was teased for my speech impediment. (It’s not even that bad.  How do kids notice these things?  They are probably good standardized test takers, too.)  I didn’t let my best friend’s diagnosis of cancer at the age of eight scare me or render me paralyzed with fear, or the subsequent diagnosis of cancer that three of my uncles received in a matter of five years, define my life or my future.  I come from a long line of very strong women.  ACT, you don’t frighten me.  I don’t cower.  No way.  I keep going.   I have experienced far too many tragic and untimely deaths of friends, family members, and teachers to be afraid of a standardized test.  Just another challenge.  That’s all.  It’s more motivation to continue to strengthen myself inside and out.

A “standardized snapshot” to determine whether or not high schoolers will be successful in their college career?  Not impressed by that.  I’m a fighter (and a lover), an MVP award-winning varsity golfer, a badminton team captain, a National Honor Society student, a showcased graphic designer, a section leader violist.  Improvise a jazz piece on viola to fill unexpected time at a concert: I’m your girl.  Design tour brochures for our high school symphony orchestra trip to Brazil: I got you! Stand up and lead our high school’s “Operation Snowball” group in song/dance:  Been there.  Done that.  Organize, design, sell, and distribute spirit wear for our high school golf team.  Done. Done. Done, and done.

I will use any scholarship money I am fortunate to be awarded to pursue my dream of earning a bachelor’s degree in Speech and Hearing Sciences.  Upon graduation, I will attend graduate school and earn my master’s degree.  I will accomplish all of this, so that I may one day teach children with speech disorders.  I will make sure that there is at least one less of “us” to bully.

I am Kendall Jaye Paris, a horrible standardized test taker.  This was confirmed (without question) as I completed numerous college and scholarship applications.  I am, however, so much more than a number (though less than 36). I am so much more than the results recorded from one test, on one day, could ever hope to capture.  I am first and foremost a daughter, a sister, a niece, a granddaughter, a friend, a volunteer, an honor student, a teacher, a leader, an athlete, a musician, an artist, and a future successful college alumna.

Fifth Prize #1: Ella S. Conte-Wood, Seattle, WA:  Western Washington University

Finding Power in College Shopping

The college application process was a real challenge for me.  I felt as if I was being judged by people I didn’t know for things that didn’t even reflect who I really am. For example, I have never been a good test taker, so my SAT scores and my grades, that were largely affected by test scores, were not as good as those of someone who is able to take tests well. There is more to a person than the ability to do well in school, or the activities he or she did while in high school, because there can be outside factors as to why one student was able to do more activities than another, like time and family commitments. I felt that the essay was the only thing that truly showed who I was, and even that had restrictions that made it less “me” than it could have been. College applications only scratch the surface of who an applicant is as a person, and that was hard for me because I didn’t believe I was up to par with every other senior out there.

What I didn’t realize at the time, or at least what I didn’t grasp, was that I was the consumer and I needed to judge schools based on what I wanted out of my college education.  The turning point in the process for me was when I set up an interview with an admissions counselor from one of the colleges I was interested in.  He helped me realize that the college application process should be about finding a school that is a good fit for you and that  admissions officers realize that grades and test scores aren’t all of what make up a person.  They try to look at you as a whole—and as a whole, I had something to offer.

After that meeting, I started looking at colleges not as big, scary, faceless places that feel entitled to pick and choose whomever they like, but as organizations made up of people who are dedicated to education and really want to find students who will flourish and succeed at their schools.  I stopped being scared to apply, regretting not doing more in high school and feeling down on myself, and started picking apart the schools I was interested in and deciding whether or not they would be a good fit for me, rather than worrying only about whether or not they would accept me.  What was important was if the school and I were a good fit for each other. I became the consumer who was preparing to buy a college education. I was not going to pay for a subpar education or one that wasn’t right for who I am. I realized that by shopping for my education, I was shopping for my future, and if I didn’t find a school that met my standards and was a place where I could fit in and would fit well with me, then I shouldn’t waste my money on it.

My advice to any terrified high school senior out there is to have confidence, know what you want out of a school and what will make you happy, and then do your research.  Realize that you are the consumer and you don’t want to pay for a product that won’t work well for you.  I would especially recommend talking to people at the schools you like and hearing what they think about how you would fit in at their school.  Be yourself and know that if a school doesn’t accept you, it’s not because you aren’t good enough but because that wasn’t the right school for you.

The idea of applying for and choosing a college should not be about “Who will take me?” or “Where will I be accepted?” but “Where will I succeed?” and “Where will I be my absolute best and happiest?” It’s hard for many people to see themselves in a positive light and as someone a school would be lucky to have, but you just have to realize that the whole process is about you being a consumer and if you take that power, you will make the right decision for yourself.

Fourth Prize: Megan Riann Sekiya, Austin, TX:  Tulane University ’18

Plan B

Applying for college is the most stressful part about senior year. In a matter of months, high school seniors are expected to figure out where they’re going to go for the next four years and what they are going to do for the rest of their lives. While they are undertaking this endeavor, each senior will find the college of their dreams. This dream school can be private or public, close to home or far, but the important thing is that it is everything the student is looking for. My dream school was Vanderbilt.

Vanderbilt became my Plan A. I loved it because it has top-notch academics, lots of extrcurriculars, a beautiful location, and a name that everyone knows. It is also extremely difficult to get into. But that didn’t seem like a problem to me. I was at the top of my class, involved in multiple clubs, president of the FFA, a volunteer at an animal shelter and an assistant coach of a softball team. Everyone told me I could get in. They told me Vanderbilt would be crazy to turn me away. So I applied early action and started planning my future there: what clubs I would join and what classes I would take. Plan A was a go.

In January I got the news. I didn’t get in. I didn’t even get waitlisted. I was just rejected. The future I had planned had disappeared. Plan A was gone. The problem was that I had never thought of a Plan B. I hadn’t even considered my future not becoming what I had thought of. Of course, I applied to other colleges and had been accepted to TCU, UT Knoxville, and Tulane. But I had never seriously considered going to any of them.

After the initial shock, crying and acceptance, I started planning. Plan A has been the only plan I have ever had to go with and I was determined to make it happened. I researched how to transfer to Vanderbilt, the requirements, and everything I would have to do to still get in. So I decided that I would go to Tulane for my freshman year and then transfer over. Tulane was the school most similar to Vanderbilt and so gave me the highest chance of getting in.

When my parents found out what I was planning, they sat me down to talk to me. They told me that I was a bright girl with a bright future ahead of me no matter where I ended up going to school and, for whatever reason, that school wasn’t going to be Vanderbilt. But other schools wanted me. Tulane had offered me $25,000 in merit scholarships and entrance into the honors program. Tulane thought I could succeed at their school. Instead of focusing on what I didn’t get, they told me I needed to focus on what I did get.

At first, I didn’t want to listen. Vanderbilt had been Plan A, and I was the type of person that had never needed Plan B. But I did what my parents asked and looked more into the schools that I had been accepted to. While looking deeper into Tulane, I realized there were things there that I hadn’t seen the first time because I had only considered it as a backup. Tulane has a fantastic study abroad program, the ability to double major and minor easily, a great surrounding city, a multitude of clubs to join, and is considered a part of the “Southern Ivy League.” There was also a zoo across the street that I could volunteer at. The more I looked, the more I realized that Tulane was actually a better fit for me than Vanderbilt ever was.

I will be attending Tulane in the fall. I will not be transferring. So if I had to give only one piece of advice to prospective college students it would be to consider all your options closely. Find your dream school and apply early and do all the things your high school counselors tell you to but actually look at your backup schools. Find out everything that they have to offer as well. Because if you look closely enough, you may find that Plan B is better than Plan A.

Third Prize #2: Madison Tschauner, Hastings, NE: University of Redlands

The Number

Five.  That is how many times I sat in that insipid room lined with chairs exactly three feet apart for four agonizing hours, number two pencil in hand, banking my future on the ACT.  Each time, a result of my disappointment in the previous score:  the score that is nothing more than a number that defines me to those who view it.  Over and over again I’d ask myself: How is it that I’m such a smart student in front of the books and in the classroom, yet so overwhelmed the moment I’m faced with a test booklet and an answer sheet coated with bubbles?  Throughout my college application experience, it was “the number” that gave me the most obstacles in the process.

Fifth grade was the pivotal year when my love of learning was transformed into a perfunctory education in test-taking.  I became a soldier who could prove that 36 points could get me into any college with abundant scholarships. The sacrifice of having a perfect number resulted in insufficient learning, an education ripped of the arts, leaving children wishing years later they had played the violin.  I know that I had been taught how to find the circumference of a circle, but I was never given the opportunity to find purpose in how all those numbers can collide and separate to give the correct answer.  Maybe if I’d been taught more thoroughly rather than for a test, I would have had a clearer picture of my future on graduation day.

Prior to taking the test, there was this small part of me that believed for once I could magically rock a standardized test after a three inch test-help book and hours of prep-tests.  Post-test I felt silly for thinking my intelligence could be measured in such way and still come out impressive.  I was embarrassed and discontented.  How was I going to get into the colleges I wanted to with only an average score?  I’ve always aimed far above average and this was one area I couldn’t grasp that goal.   I started researching all my college options, taking the “what are your chances” tests and observing what criteria I met.  I was always a few points shy when it came to that dreaded number yet outstanding in all other aspects.  I would continuously overhear my peers discussing their scores, and it never failed that someone was upset knowing how easy it was for others to attain that thirty or above.  This often left me uneasy as I found myself encouraging someone else’s feelings of inadequacy.  Sadly, I was the one who needed this pep talk and I can see that now, months later, after I have finished the crucial yet exciting process.

Ten.  That is how many colleges accepted me with superb scholarship offers, each of them confident in my ability to succeed regardless of that “number.”  For those who struggle as I did:  Although the ACT is a very important step in the college entry process and a high score is exceptionally valued, it is not an assessment of who you are as a person or student and it will not deter you from success.  It is one smidge blank on your application; know that you shine on many others.  You are more than “the number.” I am more than “the number.”

Third Prize #1: Ryan Lenea, Seattle, WA:  Middlebury College ’18

Don’t Be Frightened

College Admissions Process is standing across the room from me. He’s a big man with a dark, intense gaze. His thin lips stretch into a sly smile. “I have a deal you can’t refuse – the opportunity to get a world-class education,” he says.  “I just need a little of your time. How does that sound to you?” I sit down at the table he gestures to. “What do I have to do?” I ask.  “First I need you to pick a few of the approximately 4,168 colleges in this country that you would be interested in attending.” I look at him uncertainly. “Well, I don’t know anything about any of them…” “That’s no problem at all! There are 85,800,000 search results for ‘choosing the right college’ on Google. All of those websites contain useful information that could assist you in making your decision.”

He looms over me and I nod weakly. “Well okay, is that all?”  I ask. “Almost!” he says, gripping my shoulder a little too strongly. “I’ll also need you to write a personal essay, 650 words or fewer, that tells us who you truly are – your real essence. I’ll also need a number of subsequent essays on a range of different topics which you will need to thoroughly research. Lucky for you there are 11,915 books pertaining to college essay writing available on Amazon.”

I reach up and wipe away a bead of sweat with my moist palms. “You’ll also need to get a number of letters of recommendation from your teachers, your SAT scores, your SAT subject test scores, your AP test scores, and $75 for each of those items to be considered. Oh, and you’ll need to submit those via the Common App website which, unfortunately, frequently crashes. Also, please do not neglect your college interviews, which are a critical piece of your application.”

I blink away a nervous tear. “I will need all of that information VERY SOON. Pay attention to the deadlines. If you ever need any guidance, there is a counselor at your school whose job it is to serve you, as well as 400 of your classmates!” He cracks his knuckles fiercely and glares into my sweat-stained face. “Are you wasting everyone’s time, Ryan? This is all for YOUR benefit, you understand. This will be good for you. You’re not wasting our time now, are you?”

“No, no,” I stutter, “I’m trying my best, please…”

I wake up three weeks later with the 17 College Admissions Offices I applied to jostling for space in front of me. They all start talking at once. “It is with regret that I inform you that we will not be able to offer you a spot at Stanford this year…” “I am delighted to inform you that Pitzer College was extremely impressed with your application…” “While your application was strong, Bowdoin College…” “We feel you would be a great addition to the George Washington Campus…” “While we appreciate the time and effort you put into your application, Northwestern University…” “I have the privilege of informing you that Middlebury…”

College Admissions Process leans over me, smiling. “Congratulations!” he says, clapping slowly. “Did you learn anything?” I gulp and ponder his question for a minute. “I learned that a judge of your credentials is not a judge of your character; that there are probably numerous colleges I would have loved, not just one; that in the long term it’s better to pick a school for how you think you would like it, not for its name recognition; that summing yourself up completely and totally in one essay is not possible; that this process is one of many challenges others and I will encounter in life, and whatever the result, life will move on; that you have no right to feel entitled if you are accepted, nor unworthy if you are denied;  that life isn’t fair, but it always rewards hard work and determination.”

College Admissions Process pats me on the back.  “Glad to hear it! By the way, have you figured out how you’re going to pay your tuition yet? I saw your parents’ tax return. They’re not going to be much help.” A fresh panic takes hold of me. “I hadn’t even thought about it! How much does it cost?” His meaty face bursts into a broad grin. “I have a friend you should meet.”

Financial Aid Application Process enters the room like a chilly draft.  “Ah, Ryan, correct? I have a deal you can’t refuse: free money. I just need a little bit of your time.” He extracts a sheaf of forms from a folder and extends them, his long fingers like insect legs. “How does that sound to you?”

Second Prize: Darya Bor, Scottsdale, AZ: Amherst College ’18

The Importance of Speech

My essay was written, extra-curriculars cemented in, portfolio decided, AP scores sent, and Common App submitted. The only element remaining of the college application was the interview, which was for me the most daunting of all college materials. For the essay, I had pre-planned and edited and rewritten over and over to attain perfection. The extra-curriculars, portfolio, and AP scores showed all my work over the last four years; everything I could do, I had already done. The interview, on the other hand, was information and evaluation on the fly; no time to prepare brilliant answers or handcraft witty remarks. The idea of a stammered sentence determining my future knocked the walls of my skull when I desperately needed sleep, even though I knew the rest of my application was solid and blazing excellence.

So I researched and practiced. The same questions are asked on nearly every interview:  Describe a well-spent summer, who has influenced you the most in your life, why are you interested in this institution, what magazines are currently lying on your desk – and I began to craft answers that shone the most positive light on me, avoiding vague and false representations, with all the care and detail of a philosopher pondering a puzzling riddle. Sometimes seriously, occasionally dramatically, I rehearsed in front of my bathroom mirror, making myself more comfortable with my image, my voice, my projection. I knew in my mind I was a candidate worth a second glance and an ‘admitted’ check, and to showcase that, I expanded the limits of my personality. Instead of smiling and swallowing a chuckle, I practiced laughing whole-heartedly – After all, a jovial, outward person is responded to more positively than a shy, reclusive one. Instead of attributing parts of my life to my parents or my upbringing, I claimed a stake in who I am – Yes, I was the one who designed the background for that play (even though I did not paint it – but shh, the interviewer doesn’t need to know what I failed to do; rather, what I did).

The day of the interview, I was prepped and ready to go. Since it was over Skype, I had time before the scheduled hour to choose a nice, well-lit room to show my facial expressions and professional attire: a clean-pressed white blouse, a dark pencil skirt, and a traditional bun – an outfit that showed my care and attention to this important event. The interviewer was casual and friendly, and the numbing stress and short breath I had beforehand quickly eased into an amiable conversation; after all, an interview is nothing more than another chat, but with heavier consequences and rewards afterwards. I played my cards correctly, with my voice clear and loud and my speech ridden with relevant details: I had researched the college I was applying to, my academic plans, my extracurricular plans, my alternatives. The interviewer was not there to answer my questions, after all, but for me to answer hers. When asked about my interests, my childhood, my high school career, favorite books, bands, pastimes, what I had gained and accomplished, I replied honestly but proudly, talking about my achievements rather than my organization’s, my input rather than my friend’s, my contributions to my own education rather than my parents’. This interview was meant to showcase me, my intellect, my abilities, my personality, and give all the reasons for my dream school to allow me in their ranks.

At the end, when the interviewer laughed that she had run out of questions, she asked me if I needed to mention any pertinent information that was not covered. I knew that words said were worth more than words left unsaid, and I added personal qualities of mine I deemed important. If I had been in the same room as my interviewer, I would have given her my resume in a folder, shaken her hand, and left with a smile; however, that was unnecessary in my situation.

With that behind me, the confused and stammering rookie-interviewee I was disappeared, replaced by a confident adult who could sway a person’s opinion through rehearsed, solid answers and a pleasant but killer smile, gaining a spot at my dream school.

First Prize: A.I., Atlanta, GA:  Harvard ’18

Who Wants to be a Paragon?

I’ve only recently been able to let go of an insidious idea—that I, as a person, am boring. Dull. Uninteresting. It’s a pretty dangerous and widespread misconception that causes many prospective college students undue angst. The collective internal monologue of high school seniors moans: “Why would any college want me?  I’m just a normal, unremarkable person!” Since the beginning of high school, I’d set my sights on admission to a top college. But because I labored under the illusion that I was indistinguishable from the millions of other high-schoolers vying for that precious offer of admission, I set out to make myself the ideal applicant.

Take note: Perfect is boring. The best way to make yourself uninteresting is to attempt to hew to a mold—no matter how attractive that mold may seem on the surface. Throughout my four years of high school, I chased after all those positions and accolades that are considered the hallmark of the golden student. I became president of National Honor Society, despite the fact that I cared little about the organization. I started a club for no real reason other than to list my position as “founder and president.” I played a varsity sport that I didn’t enjoy; I made campaign posters for a student government position I didn’t want; I got up an hour early every Wednesday morning to attend Beta Club meetings I wasn’t invested in.

And it changed me. I read less; I wrote less. I used to spend hours riding my bike—and it began to gather dust. I was sacrificing the essential facets of my own personality to chase the myth of the perfect student—in the vain hope that my herculean efforts would make up for my perceived lack of inherent value or mystique. I thought I was too commonplace to get into a top school, and so I chased an ideal that ended up destroying elements of my individuality—my quest to escape dullness had led me to prune off the elements of my personality that made me unique.

Fortunately, towards the end of my high school career, I began to realize what I was doing. I sloughed off some of my more meaningless activities to focus on ones I actually cared about and enjoyed—such as our school newspaper and our math team. I started devouring books again, and I began writing for fun after a long drought. I started teaching myself Latin for no good reason,  I started going for long runs—and I did these things for their own sake, not for some wavering promise of an award or a resume item. I did them for myself.

And, when I wrote my college application essays. I didn’t talk about my resume-padders, about those bland, golden-boy achievements. One was a description of my dingy basement and how I use it as a little cove to retreat to—I do most of my writing there. Another was a collection of fifty haiku, each of which discussed a topic that interested me—from Hunter S. Thompson to mercury to random number generators to trebuchets. And (somehow) it worked. I’m convinced I got into Harvard on the strength of my essays—My grades were solid, my standardized test scores high, but I didn’t have any easily quantifiable indicators of my unique value. It fell to me to exhibit my uniqueness, and my essays were the portion of my application that best accomplished that task.

And that, I think, is the trick to the college admissions process. Instead of trying to tailor our lifestyles to fit the fictional ideal of the perfect student, we should focus on and refine our own idiosyncrasies. Images are powerful, and we all have our own stories. We should be trying to accentuate our unique predilections and passions, our ideas and our fears—not burying them under the generic baggage of the fictionalized perfect student. We need to tease out the beauty present in our lives. If I’d known that from the outset, I’m certain I’d have found the college application process much less stressful and much more rewarding in general.