Poetry is a form of art. Though I want to be an Economics Major in the University of Penn, I am a young aficionado of poetry and prose at heart. I would love to develop my skills through a disciplined and distinguished writing program and Penn’s School of Arts and Sciences offers to cater my aspirations. Believing that one must be a great reader before becoming a great writer, I indulge into books of every genre to harvest more knowledge.
Literature brings out in me an overwhelming joy and I wish to carry my fondness for reading and writing into my college majors. The uniqueness cultivated by Penn’s English Department is perceptible by the de facto of education, wherein the emphasis is on creative writing. Through this facet of the University, I want to channel my passion for poetry into academia. As a Founder and President of our school’s Poetry Club, if accepted, I plan to visit the Kelly Writers House religiously, and satisfy my perpetual craving for literature.
I can picture myself grabbing a turkey-and-cheese sandwich, without mayonnaise, at the 1920 Commons, and rushing off to the Kelly Writers House, carrying an armful of books by Maya Angelou and Eric Schlosser. Gathered in a close circle of chairs, my fellow literature lovers and I share professional works, with our own daring lines of free verses, swap suggestions, compliments, and light-hearted laughs.
During these workshops, my very soul seeps steadily through an invisible tube from brain to ballpoint, the not-so-simple phenomenon of input-output fabricating ink on paper, a painting made of letters. On my way to a morning class on modern American poetry, I pass Oldenberg’s famed Split Button and acknowledge Mr. Franklin, sitting upright in his chair. After the lecture, Professor Josephine Park and I conduct research by analyzing the influence of conflicts between America and East-Asia.
Being in the Penn family, I converse with colleagues, sisters and brothers that destiny lacked to give. I tutor secondary school students about reading and writing through the outreach program. Having been featured in a myriad of written works and publishing my own collections, I roll up my sleeves and organize literary pieces in the weekly undergraduate magazine, First Call. As the evening sinks, I bike to the Van Pelt Library, sit cross-legged in my favorite armchair and finalize the touches on a Second World War paper.
Traveling to the other parts of the City of Brotherly Love, I gather up with study group friends for our fine dinner. When I reach home, my roommate chatters about the highlights of her day. I then read an article from The Daily Pennsylvanian. Turning off the lights and setting my alarm clock for 6:00 am, I drape my jogging shorts and shirt on a chair for the morning. Before drifting off to sleep, I reminisce those final months when I submitted my application to Penn and smile in the quietness of my room, happy to be here at last.