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Applicant Context

GPA 3.8/4.0

ACT 35/36

Demographics Male, Asian, Central New Jersey, High-Income

Hooks N/A

Notable admissions Princeton, Cornell

Essay

Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family.

The first Saturday of every month is a keratin-shaving ritual. Tufts of black hair parachute their way to the concrete of my garage, some picked up by a sporadic gust of wind, never to be seen again, and some swept into the trash by a slightly annoyed mom. The left-side garage door is always open during these occasions, regardless of season or year, so the unsuspecting passerby who heard a toddler’s voice complaining about not getting a mohawk a decade ago could probably hear similar grievances coming from a much deeper voice today.

Pudgy-cheeked and too misbehaved for a trip to the barber’s, my kid self fretted over haircut sessions. They weren’t much to celebrate to begin with - the barber’s cloth itched seriously at the neck and the chair I sat in was so rickety that it was phased out of use at the dinner table before I was even born.

The garage door left ajar exacerbated this already dire situation. I slowly realized how ridiculous the vampire cape-esque barber’s cloth looked alongside my pending buzzcut when friends who came to ride bikes in my cul de sac peeked through the space between the ‘99 Sienna and ‘98 Maxima, pointing stubby fingers and laughing atop tricycles and training wheels. The chair I was stuck in became more and more precarious with each haircut as I squirmed uncomfortably during the ordeal, desperate to leave the scrutiny of possible onlookers, and to my dismay, all this fidgeting reduced the precision of my mom and somehow made the buzzcuts turn out even worse.

But the jeering toddlers quickly grew up and so did I, becoming tall enough for my feet to touch the ground while sitting in that antiquated chair. At this point, my mom figured that it couldn’t hurt to save herself some sweat and send me to the local barber for the first time. I could hardly contain myself as I sat in that barber shop, ecstatic for my long-standing mohawk request to finally materialize onto my head, instead to have my expectations defied as I was given an amateurish haircut that my mom could have easily pulled off.

And it wasn’t just the quality of the haircut that threw me off. Where was the complementary smell of fresh air mingled with musty shoes and garden tools? Where was the muffled drone of the cheap electric clippers that resonated melodiously in the dingy acoustics of my garage? Where were the dilettante, yet undeniably loving hands of the one stylist I could have small laughs with over my dad’s notoriously bad attempts at giving me haircuts? I gradually realized through my unsatisfactory run-in with Great Clips that all of these little things were essential to my haircut experience, irreplaceable idiosyncrasies that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

So at this very moment, I’m getting a haircut. It’s one of the rare occasions these days that I get to sit back, enjoy the breeze, and spend time with mom. I’m savoring every minute, since our exchanges have developed over the years from my mom consoling me while I threw tantrums to conversations that generate great anecdotes, insight, and advice.

And the left-side garage door is still open. I can see my dad outside mowing the lawn just as he might have done a decade ago, but he’s hunched over and I’m tempted to leave my haircut halfway to help. The backdrop of my neighborhood has stayed largely the same, but newer models, including one of my own, have replaced the ‘99 Sienna and ‘98 Maxima. It’s only during haircuts that I can see evidence of time passing contrasted with things remaining constant as if time has stagnated. And I’ve taken it upon myself to recognize and cherish those minute details that persist to this day, those homegrown haircuts that have found their way onto my head since my earliest memory.

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