Cornell University Undergraduate College Application Essays

“You’ve been down there for hours! Dinner’s ready!”

My hands are two feet deep in an enclosure. I respond, “One second!” but that second lasts another half-hour. Dinner’s aroma wafts into the basement and gives my stomach’s hunger an advantage...

On our wall at home, there hangs a poster that reads "Mathematics knows no races or geographic boundaries, for mathematics, the cultural world is one country". This paraphernalia comes courtesy of my father - a math professor who would never let...

“To combat organ trafficking, we must allow people to sell their kidneys!”

Being a Model United Nations delegate has opened my mind to new ideas, whether representing Suriname on the issue of child labor, Iran on the problem of organ trafficking,...

I grasped the empty, plastic one-gallon container within my right hand as I strolled towards the salty waters of the Gulf of Mexico, trying not to gain others' attention nor look awkward. It would seem unusual and strange to others when they see a...

The painting is enormous. Its carved golden frame hangs squarely in the center of a muted red wall in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I lean in and read the information plaque to the right: Breaking Home Ties by Thomas Hovenden. Stepping back, I...

As a 3-year old boy, I recall with clarity my fear of joining other children lined up at the edge of the pool. I remember looking down at a painted black line at the bottom of the pool as if it were challenging me to jump in. I stood alone arms...

Tap-tap-tap. My fingers tactfully hover over my controller as a white ball darts between players on the screen. For me, the afternoon FIFA is a ritual that precedes even my mom’s famous grilled cheeses.

Soccer has long been a keystone in my life....

Angry Bohemian citizens throw their government officials out the window not once, not twice, but three times to protest rights violations. A future French Prime Minister escapes an enemy army besieging Paris by hot air balloon. A disgruntled...

In 3rd grade, I used to carry a copy of my passport to school. My after-school program teacher once asked me where I was from. “The US,” I replied. She dismissed my answer, insisting “Where are you really from?” Tired of the constant dismissal and...