Anonymous User wrote:Okay, I've edited and re-edited ad nauseum and I keep deleting but then adding more. I think I'm too close to it. I am naturally wordy AF and bad at being objective about my own writing, but I tried - I really did. It's currently exactly two pages double-spaced 11pt Garamond (is that formatting acceptable?). I think I'm finally happy with it, or as happy as I'll ever be at least, and ready to submit. But before I do, I need fresh eyes please!
Should I cut anything?
Is what I have effective?
Are the anecdotes/details helpful or just unnecessary?
Anything grammar or style-related is also welcome. I know I tend to use super long sentences but hopefully they're not confusingly so.
...Is it terrible?
Basically, just please HELP ME before I lose my mind. Much appreciated.
- [+] Spoiler
- Sympathetically, I waited as a flustered American woman searched for some centimes to purchase a plastic bag and hastily bag her purchases, normal in Paris but new to her. As an Asian-American, Parisians generally assumed I was just Asian, so the cashier felt free to loudly gripe about dumb amerloques (a French pejorative for Americans) all being so fat and demanding, too lazy to bag their groceries. The old me would have stayed silent: instead, I smiled at him after paying, playing up my accent as I thanked him in French for his understanding towards us Americans before turning to leave. Later that night, I could just make out the tip of the Eiffel Tower shining brightly from my window, and reminded myself why I chose to move halfway across the world. It’s not that I wasn’t aware of the difficulties that would entail; as a history major, I’d done enough research to fill a book, but the optimist in me had faith I would be alright. This was a long-cherished dream of mine, only I had always allowed self-doubt and a fear of failure to hold me back. Ultimately, the decision to move to Paris came down to whether I was willing to bet on myself—I chose to take that bet.
For someone afraid of failing, moving to a foreign country is an admittedly odd choice; I failed spectacularly and regularly, often seemingly without end. I had always been hesitant to speak in public, whether in French or just voicing my opinion, afraid of being judged and found lacking. In France, I had to overcome that fear and open myself up to embarrassment in front of everyone if I wanted to ever get anything done. It was difficult and intimidating, and I frequently felt foolish, but I had no choice except to plunge onwards. Though at times met with scorn or ridicule, I slowly gained confidence and had the opportunity to befriend plenty of kind Parisians, like the neighbor who invited me to practice my French with her over home-cooked meals or the woman at the boulangerie who came to greet me by name and give me daily updates on the exploits of her children, always making sure to give me one of the warm baguettes from the back. In failing constantly but persevering, I improved greatly both in my French and as a person.
Because I was in Paris, my experience may seem very bohemian and romantic, but let’s call a spade a spade–I was a member of the working poor. For the first time in my life, I was truly independent, with no safety net upon which to rely. I lived paycheck to paycheck in a tiny seventh floor walkup, barely making ends meet after rent and utilities, hardly having enough to pay for my phone bill, metro pass, and groceries, often forced to dip into what paltry savings I had. I took a second and third job, which while not technically allowed was commonly overlooked by the prefecture because they knew it was impossible to survive on our salaries alone. I relied on government housing assistance that took seven months, infinite red tape, countless interminable visits to my local CAF office, and becoming a self-taught expert on benefits regulations to finally receive. Not to mention the long and complicated process to finalize my visa that required at least five copies of every government document ever issued to me, translated and notarized at considerable cost, and endless hours in grim, fluorescently-lit waiting rooms. So, while my year in Paris is one I do not regret, an enriching one that involved lots of good, cheap wine on the banks of the Seine, making life-long friends, watching the glittering lights of the Eiffel Tower, and eating my weight in croissants; it was also an incredibly stressful year in which I became all too familiar with bureaucratic gridlock, often feeling very frustrated, afraid, and alone.
When an American moves to Paris for any length of time, we are called expats, but what we really are is immigrants. In immigrating to Paris, I learned to appreciate the daily struggle that is life in a foreign country, full of daily humiliations, where something as mundane as going to the grocery store can become a daunting source of anxiety and shame. I experienced but a taste of the loneliness and isolation that can accompany such a move, knowing all the while that I would eventually return home. I can only imagine how impossible it must feel to try to build a new life in a country that seems to resent your very existence at times.
From the moment I used my halting Mandarin Chinese to translate for a woman also waiting in the French immigration office, who later thanked me profusely while insisting I accept a bag of oranges, a sign of good fortune in Chinese culture, I realized how profound an impact I could have in the lives of good people seeking better lives. I want to help immigrants feeling lost and alone, adrift in a sea of endless bureaucracy, like I once did. As a child of immigrant parents who are in many ways the embodiment of the American Dream, persevering through seemingly insurmountable hardships to achieve success, going from depending on food stamps to owning a house and sending their children to college, I believe deeply in the vision that brought them to this country and I understand the accompanying struggles. Now more than ever, I think it is a dream that needs defending, and a law degree will allow me to better accomplish this goal. Deciding to drop everything and move to France was terrifying and risky, but I chose to bet on myself because I know that I am smart and capable. I only hope that you will listen to the optimist in you, and take a chance on me as well.
First point: your formatting will be fine, 11-pt garamond is pretty typical unless the application states otherwise. Heed the app, follow directions, and move on.
Second: I largely enjoy your writing style as it follows a fairly coherent stream of consciousness through your story. That said, I feel a bit of a disconnect between making the choice of moving to Paris for a short period of time (and maybe I'm missing this conveyance, but equating living abroad for a year or so is a bit disingenuous when compared to what Americans traditionally consider in the term immigration. This is entirely a connotation issue, but I think it could be problematic with the wrong reader). I think you are trying to show the decision to leave comfort for discomfort and how it opened up your eyes to the true experience of being an immigrant, and that's an interesting, albeit still somewhat unoriginal (don't let this deter you, I just mean others have likely spoken about their time abroad and how it broadened their horizons before) take on the experience. But I would caution more generally that your overall story needs to make logical sense that connects every word to the next. Your writing has done that mostly, but the ideas don't fully connect to me. For instance, why did you decide to make this decision? What did you hope for the experience before embarking on it, and how did those hopes differ from the reality you experienced? What did you expect that proved true, and what departed from those expectations so drastically as to be unimaginable?
These questions are not meant to suggest you need to reimagine your entire narrative, but I feel like you successfully fit a narrative into an experience, vice allowing the experience to drive the narrative. You clearly wanted to show that this experience was formative to you, both personally and potentially professionally, which is admirable. But that being said, I didn't entirely buy the connection between your experience in Paris and fighting for immigrants rights. I don't mean that to be harsh, but I felt like the connection was too far strained and forced. I can't say I have fantastic advice on how to connect this, and likely you can ignore this part because your writing is generally strong enough to make an admissions officer decide your PS was good enough to select you so long as LSAT/GPA were good enough.
Final point: In this type of writing, you probably rely on extensive sentence structure more than you probably should. I found myself reading several sentences, only to read them again to make sure I understood how all of the clauses interconnect. Keep in mind that the person you're targeting is reading thousands of these every year, and things like that could annoy them. Keep your sentence structure generally simple unless you're using it for a purpose. A complex sentence can be incredibly effective at illustrating a point, but you should use it sparingly in writings for admissions.
As I stated at the beginning: I like your general writing style, and I don't think this PS will hurt you if you submitted as it is. But from my personal perspective, you could tighten up the structure, focus the language, and hone the connection of your experience with what you learned from it to cause more of an impact.
But regardless, don't beat yourself up on this because you've written something that is true to you, and it does give your application a third dimension, which is the entire point of the PS.