Common Application Personal Statement:
Scrubbing the last of the determined dirt off of my newly thrifted oak wood desk, I stepped back and looked at the new addition to my room with awe. I swore, then and there, to make the most out of the vintage furnishing. And I did: with smudges of ink, ribbons and medals, and, eventually, a throng of keepsakes, I filled up every worn inch of my desk with tokens of my ardor, love, perseverance, and aspirations.
Decorating the middle of my desk, a myriad of ink stains remain. Ranging from the dark blue of my favorite navy ballpoint pen, to the emerald green of my felt-tip marker, the stains encompass my passions. The relaxed scribbles of navy stemming from various stories scrawled across blank papers; the frantic marks of green, from the mountains of schoolwork I complete every day; both, a product of my zeal. From the first lousy argumentative essay I wrote in AP Lang, to the first-place winner I submitted to the Faulkner-like Sentence Contest, to the first rhetorical analysis essay I received full marks on, every piece of writing remains evidence of my growth. Today, the stains invoke pride, as I recall the long hours spent, the rhythmic scritch-scratching of my pen filling the room, and my joy, the next day, to present my work—whether a unique article finally finished or an arduous essay.
A few inches away from the remnants of my hard work lie various medals and ribbons—an accomplishment from my younger years spent swimming with Los Ranchitos Sharks; yet, equally a reminder of my love for my community. With a glance at my Shark’s trophies, the sounds of rambunctious giggles and loud splashes fill my mind; the image of my younger self overlapping with that of my equally enthusiastic students who, like myself, take on every new lesson in the pool with excitement and interest. Picking up a first-place ribbon, I am filled with appreciation for the patient swimming instructors who taught me and the bright students I help to glide to success.
Hiding behind my love-filled trophies sits a scrap of the brace which surrounded my left knee after a daunting surgery—a surgery needed to fix my ACL, torn in the midst of an everyday soccer practice. A hint of the putrid disinfectant from my surgery wafts into my nose, and I recall the months spent downstairs, unable to climb up to my room—the journey far too treacherous for my fragile knee. I recall the discomfort I felt, unable to even rise out of bed by myself. I recall the long hours spent missing the warm caress of the sun on my far-too-pale face. But most of all, I recall the delight I felt when I finally took my first steps by myself after the surgery; a semblance of my independence finally returned, the many hours spent pushing through my painful physical therapy exercises finally paying off.
On the far left of my vintage desk, opposite from the fragment of my perseverance, stands my Raspberry Pi Computer; miniscule, but full of diverse usages. Powering both my LED circuits and my aspirations, it holds my desire to help others who, like me, lost their mobility. Brushing my fingers over the blunted, metal spikes of the mini-computer, my determination to innovate electronic prosthetics—as similar to the intricate masterpieces that the human body builds as possible—arises; the yearning I felt for the relief of walking on my own two feet, and my hope to grant others the comfort I once lacked, filling my mind.
As I poignantly step away from my well-loved desk one last time, it will remain my proudest masterpiece: a collection of my greatest traits and accomplishments. At the same time, I am filled with excitement to fill my next desk—at whatever university I will soon call home—with a new plethora of knick-knacks and mementos; a new scattering of memories and achievements.
UC PIQ Prompt #3:
“Laura, vei întârzia!” my mom yelled—a familiar phrase from my Romanian household, where lateness is taboo. The first day of high school, I sprinted downstairs; not just into the car, but into a new world of languages that would shape how I connect with others.
My first class was Spanish. As my teacher introduced Spanish to us, I felt a familiarity with the language. Despite the grammatical differences, something about Spanish felt natural to me—I found myself deftly learning the language.
My first day in Spanish marked the beginning of my deeper connection with languages. Growing up bilingual, I’ve always viewed language as a bridge: Romanian connecting me with my family; English, with my peers. Spanish became a new way to build those bridges, and I eagerly embraced it.
My love for languages extended beyond academics. In Journalism, I explored how tone, diction, and literary devices could shape meaning—the click-clacking of my computer keeping me company late at night while I typed out a plethora of articles.
AP and Honors English classes strengthened my technical writing; Journalism developed my voice.
Eventually, my language skills reached beyond the classroom: as a swim instructor, I once taught Allison, a shy, Mexican girl, who struggled to understand English instructions. Swiftly, I put my decent—albeit rusty—Spanish to use:
I warmly reassured her, “no te preocupes, Allison, te ayudaré a nadar.”
Her face lit up.
Hearing her native language eased her anxieties and confusion; I immediately gained her trust, and she began to swim.
That moment taught me that language is more than solely a means of communication: it’s a connection. No matter if I’m writing an article or helping a child float for the first time, I am always using language to build understanding.
It is essential to who I am—and it is a skill I’ll carry for life, whether I’m publishing a story, learning a new tongue, or reaching across a cultural gap to make someone feel understood. At UC, I hope to continue exploring how language can bridge worlds—whether through journalism, studies abroad, or community outreach.