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I don't know the cap on Gtown essays, but mine's way too long, like 900 words. It has to be cut. Please read this and give me feedback, not just where it should be cut, but what you like and dislike. Thanks a lot.

Essay 1: Who I Am

We’re all continuously growing. We never stop—unceasingly, unremorsefully, we change. We change from what we were to what we are, and yet we always seem to be the same person to ourselves. Other people see us change, and so perhaps they are our best resource for telling us who we are.

First, of course, I looked within myself for the answer to this essay. Who am I? I asked myself, thinking it couldn’t possibly be that hard of a question. I thought about it. I thought about it at breakfast with my family, at school with my teachers, at the movies with my friends. I thought about it at midnight and still later as my computer kept me company, its bleak light reflecting my face within its screen. And I finally realized that it wasn’t myself who would come up with this answer. It was the people I spent time with who would most clearly see me for who I am. And so I turned to them for the answer—or if not the answer, something tangible, something I could put in words to communicate to the members of a committee that would read and evaluate my soul.

My best friend told me her first impression upon meeting me. “I thought you were a little snobby,” she confided. She went on, “I realized quickly that you were just quiet in your own way and it was easy to confuse your shyness with elitism.”

Quiet? To be honest, I hadn’t been expecting that. She added that she knew now that I was far from quiet—just a first impression.

I've moved all my life. I understand that a person’s attitude upon starting a new school every three or four years might be considered quiet. In actuality, though that person—me—is desperately trying not to step over lines without knowing where the lines have been drawn.

` So, I had the word “quiet”.

My Spanish teacher said I was fiery. He said that he’d never met a girl so willing to engage in discussion and debate—he said he wished that I would get into such spirited talk in Spanish instead of English.

Again, I was caught unawares by choice of words. Fiery. Not a bad word, but a word that calls to mind redheads and the Irish. Both of which are not me. I had always viewed myself as calm in a situation, but once I ran that by him, he laughed. He laughed a little longer than was necessary, I felt.

“You can hardly be accused of composure when you get into a conversation, Natasha,” he said. “But you are intensely passionate about what you believe.”

I am content in knowing that he (and many other people, on further probing) find me a person who is determined and dedicated to what she believes. Because my beliefs and my politics are so closely a part of who I am, being seen as passionate and feeling passionate about them puts me at ease. I feel good about stating that being “passionate” is one of my characteristics.

So, “quiet” and “passionate”. Though they seem to be contradictory words at first, I understand exactly how they fit into my personality. I like to think that I sort of hide away who I am until I feel comfortable, at which point I sort of unpack my beliefs and personality onto the people around me. How confident I am plays a huge part in what I show of myself on any given day.

Lastly I talked to my mother, the person who knows me better than anyone else has and ever will know me.

Her brow furrowed. People say I look just like her. Like any daughter, I always deny it and remonstrate them. But now I can sort of see it—the way she looks when she’s thinking reminds me of myself working in my room on homework, looking up and catching myself in the mirror with a agitated look on my face.

She smiled, finally. She said things designed to market me—intelligent, hard-working, curious. I nodded and smiled. Then she said that I'm one of the most ambitious people she’s ever met.

“You’re never content with who you are. In this, your ambition is both a gift and a curse. You’re always working toward higher things, and when you get them, you keep going. Maybe when you get to a certain height you should really stop—hey, maybe a different person would—but you have to keep going.”

I felt that tinge of slight surprise I’d gotten from talking to both my friend and teacher. Ambitious. It felt right, and it fell in with the other words like it fit. It was not, however, a word I would have touched upon in writing this essay by myself.

I see now that everything I’ve done up to this point has been in the hopes for something more. Every goal I've had has been on that famous ladder to the top, and I've just been taking it rung by rung.

I've been taking the rungs quietly, keeping my goals to myself. I've been taking the rungs with conviction and passion. I've been taking those rungs with ambition—always hoping, always thinking that something better is just a little further up.

What can I say, I'm an optimist. And that’s also part of who I am.

By Angelnikki1 (Angelnikki1) on Sunday, October 03, 2004 - 01:05 am: Edit

Isn't this way too long?

By Angelnikki1 (Angelnikki1) on Sunday, October 03, 2004 - 01:07 am: Edit

Oh! sorry, I didn't read your preface!!! This essay seems to be way longer than it should be. I would try to pick one thing to focus on because this needs to be cut in half!

By Babybird87 (Babybird87) on Sunday, October 03, 2004 - 11:47 am: Edit

Yeah, I know...I can't seem to find what to cut. It's around 900 and I think the suggestion is 500 words?

Does anyone have any other comments or suggestions about it?