Challenge 80: Prison Inmates

181. Should prison inmates be allowed to take college courses? Explain why or why not.

People go to prisons because they have done something wrong and need to be punished. There lies the classic debate of nature verses nurture. Were they made of bad material since birth or did the circumstance oblige them to act in a vicious way? Irregardless of their way of ending up in prisons, they are nonetheless humans. They make mistakes and they pay the price. However, even while they are prison, they should not be treated like filthy animals. There are still humans and they need the respect. Therefore, I think it is completely wrong to strip prison inmates of their basic right to education. Despite having committed crimes, they still have the right to an education. They should still be educated like any other person. And who knows? Maybe giving them an education is like giving them another chance in life, a chance to be better than before. Maybe they will be motivated by the fact that they can use this education to do something good in life, for their families, for theirs, a of course, for themselves. Maybe finding an education will change the way they view the world. Maybe they would want to earn a loaf of bread rather than steal one. Education can change their viewpoint. Ultimately, with this reasoning, we could have a better society and a better world. Criminals will come out of jail becoming new people because they have had the opportunity to learn about the world and about themselves. If they were did wrong things previously and did not wish for an education, in prison, by offering college courses, they would be obliged to take those lessons and make something out of it. They would learn of the world that is so different and better than their previous ones, and they may want to change their ways to become better people. Although there are a lot of "maybe's," unless we actually try educating prison inmates, we will never know what effects it will have. 

Challenge 61: The Silver Pen

55. Discuss an important personal relationship you have had and explain how it has changed your life.


I was introduced to it when I was in the fifth grade. It was a rather special event because I had never been allowed to use it previously: the ink pen. As silly as it seems, holding the ink pen for the first time in class was a glorious moment for me. The pen had a soft silver flow and tiny blue and yellow flowers decorated the length of the pen. As the year proceeded, so did my development in mastering the arts of writing in ink. It was difficult as first and I remember having to wash off plenty of ink from my fingers during the short breaks. I remember spilling it on the carpet at home once and earning a good scolding for doing so. I remember getting blue fingerprints on the pages of a precious school-owed book and having to stand outside class, my ears glowing pink with embarrassment and with my hands stretched upwards as a punishment. Those were the first impressions and I have to say, using the ink pen wasn't as "awesome" as I thought. However, the relationship with my white ink pen decorated in flowers strengthened as I grew more and more familiar with it. I would write pages after pages in the blue ink, hoping to perfect my writing and avoid smearing ink all over myself. My ink pen was different from others; some of them had rough covers, while others had a big, ugly chunk of steel as the lead. My precious pen was much tinier and much better and easier to work with. The lead of my pen was bend in a peculiar way and you had to tilt it just in the right angle to get the smooth effect. After I wrote something, I would silently watch the ink shine for some time and slowly sink into the tiny fibers of the papers. 
I wouldn't say that the relationship with my ink pen has changed my life entirely. However, it has taught me a few lessons about life and the way to live. You have to wait patiently sometimes for the best results to find their way. If you rush something, it might get destroyed. You have to take it slow, give it some thought, and really hope for the best. Secondly, not everything will go as planned. Not everything will be as smooth as you may imagine it to be. Things can turn out differently than you expect. And during that time, you shouldn't just tear out the paper and shove it in the bin. Instead, you have to learn to work around that blob of ink, find another way to make it work. Then only can you move on in life and really learn to complete the things you have set out to do. Despite these lessons, I lost my silver pen after I left for Woodstock. I have looked for it many times, but all I find are the fragments of lessons and encouragement the soft, silver pen has left for me. 

Challenge 79: Another me!

162. If you could invent something, what would it be, and why? (University of Virginia)

Obviously, I would invent something I need, something that will mean less work for me, and more time to just, as they say, "chill." I should invent something that should be useful. So, the best I can come up with is another me. Yes, I would invent another Bidushi. I know that things like cloning exist but inventing another me is different. I would ask whatever I want from the duplicate me without hurting her feelings. She will do exactly what I ask of her because she is me and she cares for me. Firstly, that would mean that I would get away from doing a lot of boring work, whether it be cleaning up my room or solving math problems. The second me could do all that work and make time for me to have fun. Secondly, I could really watch myself at work and observe what I look like when I am intensely memorizing facts for the next exam or listening to music and doing to art work. I could admire myself. Thirdly, having another me would also mean that I would be able to be in two places at once and confuse people! They would wonder how I could have attended that meeting but also have had a long conversation with my friends. It would be fun to watch people think that they’re crazy by tricking them. Fourthly, it would feel absolutely great to go against all the rules of nature. It would feel amazing to counter all that scientists and theorists have come up with since the beginning of time. Fifthly, I could send my other self on a mission to Mars or something that incredible.

I think that these are enough reasons for me to invent another me. I could get away from work I don’t enjoy doing, I could observe myself to see what I look like when I’m working, I could trick people, I could go against the law of nature, and I could send myself to Mars!

(I'm sorry but this one is a rather careless one. In my defense, I am half asleep.)

Challenge 78: Lead Role

111. Imagine yourself being an actor/actress. Tell about your feelings before the opening night of the performance where you play the title role.

Everything feels to be passing in slow motion. My make-up artist is working over my face, applying the last-minute things before I appear on stage. I feel nauseous and there is a heavy load slowly building up at my chest. I try to smile away my discomfort, but it refuses to budge. I can see the eyes of the other actors; they are all excited and prepared. I feel a little jealous; I am not that confident even though I have more to speak. I should have never agreed to play the lead role. But it's too late. I can't back out now. I thought that it would be easier, though. I mean, there is just an excited audience behind that curtain and I just have to do my level best to please them, to make them stand up on their feet, and clap their hands together with admiration. Shouldn't be so hard, should it? Ah, the feeling is eating up my insides. I can't stand it no more. I feel like I have to throw up. Gosh, I wish this would go away. 

Maybe I should think about something else, something more soothing and calming. After all, that's what the director had suggested and she sure knows me well. Think about something happy, something funny. Oh, yeah, there was that time we went to the beach. Wait, what happened then? The beach. The beach. The beach... oh yeah, somebody fell into the water and we laughed. Was that all? Ah, this nauseating feeling is so frustrating. I cannot make it go away. 

I wish he would stop dabbing so much glitter on my face. It makes me look like a pampered princess. How is all that make-up supposed to hide the feelings I feel right now? Goodness, who hired him? Wow, is that the director signalling me. Yep, now is you time to shine, Bidushi! Yeah, great, thanks for the little push, Mr. Glitter-...Guy! Smile now, smile. Aw, my stomach feels so tight. I need to have some water. God, why do I need all this right now?

Okay. Now the show will begin. Right. I've gathered myself together and now, I'm going to put up an excellent show. That's it. I'm at the center of the stage. The curtains are lifting. Smile and let the performance begin!

Challenge 77: Improvisation

Modern improvisational comedy originated in Hyde Park on the campus of the University of Chicago with the Compass Players. Some of the Players went on to form the Second City comedy troupe, precursor to the Saturday Night Live show on TV. With this essay option we invite you to test your own improvisational powers by putting together a story, play, or dialogue that meets all of the following requirements:
A. You must begin with the sentence, “Many years later, he remembered his first experience with ice.”
B. All five senses—sight, hearing, taste, touch, and smell—have to figure in the plot.
C. You have to mention the University of Chicago, but please, no accounts of erstwhile high school students applying to the University—this is fiction, not autobiography.
D. These items must be included: a new pair of socks, a historical landmark, a spork (the combination of spoon and fork frequently seen among airline flatware), a domesticated animal, and the complete works of William Shakespeare. Have fun, and try to keep your brilliance and wit to three pages max. (U of Chicago)

“Many years later, he remembered his first experience with ice,” said Peter. He turned around only to find that there was nobody listening to him anymore. Sure, the audience had been fairly large when he first started with the story, but by now, there was just a dog looking at him hungrily and waging its tail. He threw at it the remains of the bun in his hands. The dog gave a joyful yelp and jogged away, waging its tail happily. Great, Peter thought, even the dog doesn’t want to be with me.

Peter had always been told by those elder than him that his skills of storytelling were unlike what they’d heard before. This boosted his confidence, and he thought that maybe he could use this talent to fill his pockets. After all, the university he was applying for was no joke: The University of Chicago. Now, after his first attempt turning out to be utterly disappointing, the University felt like a distant dream.

Anyhow, he gathered up his belongings and the remaining of his disappointment and headed home. Living in the beautiful city, he had always loved walking whenever he could. He loved observing people and studying them; it definitely helped him with his storytelling. He was so brilliant that he could thread out wonderful stories of as simple a case as the woman sitting in the cafe with a cup of coffee or a bookstore with a portrait of Shakespeare on the door and, predictably, the inside filled with the complete works of Shakespeare.

As he passed the big Bo-tree two blocks away from his home, he noticed something had changed. Being a quick observer, he realized that they had placed a new bench just underneath the tree. He always thought that there ought to be one right there; it just seemed like the perfect setting. Tempted, he thought, Why not spend a few moments here. After all, I don’t have a place to go and tell stories, he thought sarcastically.

The bench was empty and there seemed to be nobody around. He threw his bag pack on the ground next to him and lazily flopped onto the seat. It sure did feel new. The surface was smooth and safe from uncomfortable bulges. The backrest felt perfect. His body quickly absorbed the coolness of the bench to calm his heated body down. A short laugh escaped his lips as he thought about the events of the day. Maybe, he thought, I dream too much.

He lay there for a few moments, his arms outstretched and his feet dangling, taking in the calmness of his surroundings. He listened to the distant roaring of the engines of so many vehicles. He heard the ruffled footsteps of the passer-bys as they rushed to another place they had to be, another meeting they had to attend, another part of their life that was so important. Why hadn’t he such a busy life? He was only a student, but still, he felt like he had too much time in his hands nowadays. No matter, he thought, I’m sure I will also be viciously sucked into that cycle of what they call “professional” life. Running from place to place, from people to people, all to make some more money? Is that how life was meant to be?

As the weather started cooling down and the sun started making way for the stars, he left the thoughts behind and continued his way back home. The cool breeze blew at his face, ruffling his hair, and pushing him backwards. But he continued walking, against the incredible force, until he was at his doorstep. Through the thick glass of his door, he saw that somebody was already inside, and from the smell of baked goods and roasted chicken, he could tell that it was his grandmother. She had promised him a visit after her year-round trip.  Carelessly shoving the keys back on the inside of his jacket, he knocked on the door. From the other side, he heard the a big bang, which sounded like a pan had fell to the floor, rushed footsteps, clanking of keys, and finally, the clicking of the door. There stood his grandmother, clad in her nightgown, a thick, red sweater, and a wise smile. She leaned towards him and hugged him.

“Grandmother!” he said. “It’s so great to see you!”

“It’s lovely to see you too, son,” she replied gleefully, freeing him from a warm hug.

After that he let her talk. She was a talkative woman and it was always best not to interrupt her. She could talk on for days of the things she was excited about. Her eyes would tinkle, her thin lips would form a smile, and her hands would try to paint the pictures of her mind into thin air. It was amazing to watch. 

From the moment he had entered the house to the time he had fallen asleep, he had learned a great many things. From learning of the beauty of the Eiffel Tower at night to the smelly, Indian feet in Taj Mahal, he heard it all. He had heard how little the pair of woolen socks was of use in the cold winter in Finland and how shiny the spork was in the Germanwings Airlines. But the best part was that his grandmother had patiently listened as he used his extraordinary storytelling to tell her the story he had recited earlier that day. She smiled throughout, nodding that she had understood, and proudly clapping her hands when he had finished. The last of his thoughts before he fell asleep were that perhaps there was still chance, a chance that his storytelling could survive.

Challenge 76: Ugly, Yellow Table

67. At a crucial point in his career, the African-American writer James Baldwin withdrew to a secluded spot in the Swiss Alps. “There,” he later wrote, “in that absolute alabaster landscape, armed with two Bessie Smith records and a typewriter, I began to try to recreate the life that I had first known as a child and from which I had spent so many years in flight … It was Bessie Smith, through her tone and her cadence, who helped me to dig back to the way I myself must have spoken…and to remember the things I had heard and seen and felt. I had buried them very deep.” Inevitable, certain things—songs, household objects, familiar smells—bring us instantly back to some past moment in our lives. Start an essay by describing one such thing and see where it takes you. (University of Chicago)

It is extremely short and doesn't even come up to your knees. If you don't watch your step, you might bang your shins against it, and believe me, although it is round, it is going to hurt. The legs are short and poorly carved out. The color is a rather ugly yellow with tiny, brown stripes, and there are points at which it has worn off to expose the rusty nails. The brown lining shines beautifully against the light, and I think that is the sole part that looks presentable. I cannot remember how long we have had that short, round table. We never get rid of it because it comes handy at one point or another.

***

My first memory of the table dates back to 2002. The T.V. is barging in the background with the singing of little elephants on a birthday party. My mother is not around and it's just my sister and me together. We turn the T.V off. Carelessly, we look through our cardboard box of toys to find the chalk that my mother bought so long ago. Finding the chalk, we head back to the table and flip it so that it's on it's head. We sit on the back and draw with the chalk. We make a big flower covering the whole of the back and draw little starts around. 

I take glance underneath the table and there, I still see the flower my sister and I made ten years ago! It is a little faded and worn out, but it still brings back the memories.

***

We are bored. We wait for our tuition teacher to arrive. He is late than usual. Both of us are ready with our books and everything set on the table. When it gets too much, my sister gets up and brings the page of stickers we just bought. I don't remember what those stickers bore, but I think some sort of a celebrity. We stuck it on the table and laughed. But once the tuition teacher comes and we are engrossed in the math problems, his fingers pick the sticker out unconsciously. There is nothing left but the scar of what had been a colorful sticker. Over the years, that white patch has turned a blackish brown color.

***

The shelf is too high for me to reach. I really that little statue of a girl. I want to bring it to my room and keep it. I stand on my toes and still can't reach it. I get frustrated. I look around. I see the table. It is a perfect stepping stone. I drag it to the shelf. With the innocence of a child, I step on the edge. The table isn't balance and can't hold my weight. It tilts my way and I fall. I sit there crying and hitting the table.

***

It has been quite some time since I've seen the table. And I know exactly why. It is hidden underneath the mountains of books in my father's study room. He doesn't like it when we enter the room, even if it is my mother. I can understand why. It is frustrating when you find that things have magically been displaced since your last return. I can see that the table is not of much use to him except for holding the books. Dust has covered some of the little exposed surface of the table. It is amazing how much the table can hold. I quickly find the book I'm looking for and leave the room.

***

I had returned from school. I need to study for the SAT. I ask my father for the table because it is the perfect height for sitting and working. He hesitates, but realizing it couldn't be of more use than that, he nods. I roll is away quietly and carry it myself up to my room. I place it on the carpet on the floor. Something looks wrong. It isn't coherent with the rest of the room which consists of newer furniture. Still, it serves its purpose. 

Challenge 75: Clarinet

63. Discuss an activity, interest, experience, or achievement in your life (this could be a book, movie, or an activity or experience at work, home, or at school) that has been particularly meaningful for you. (University of Florida)

When I first took up clarinet almost five years ago, I didn't have the mind to continue playing it in high school. I took clarinet because I couldn't blow into the trumpet, couldn't make a sound through the flute, and couldn't even properly hold the trombone. However, when I took hold of the clarinet for the first time, I instantly knew that this was what I was going to settle for, as dramatic as that sounds. When I first blew through it, I created a beautiful G sound, according to the teacher, Mrs. Hugg, who told me that the clarinet was the best option. 

From then, I started playing the clarinet. As a beginner, I don't even have a count of how many reeds I broke. But,I kept playing, and being exposed to an instrument for the first time, I really enjoyed it. It was the beginning of a new part of my life, a new part of me. I was starting something that was previously foreign to me, just like learning a new language. It was challenging but by accepting that challenge, I made it a significant part of me. Although I had a hard time with little musical things like creating a perfect tone throughout and remembering my scales, I played it for five years happily. There were times when I really wanted to quit it because I got sick of playing the clarinet. However, I didn't quit because I thought I might as well perfect it as much as I could while I was still in high school.

I don't know if I will keep playing even after I have left high school. I don't know if I will even minor in music. Although I enjoy playing it, I think that there will come a time when I will just have to give it up. However, choosing to play the clarinet for six years was a good decision. It helped me take a break from school and let me play music that I had heard of. It was a good experience, and even if it was just for a few years, clarinet because a significant part of my identity. 

Challenge 74: Religion

36. Select any issue that is of importance to you and discuss your views. (New College of University of South Florida)

On my recent visit to the renowned Pashupati Nath Temple, I observed a few crucial things. One, there is this big stone just off the railing of the temple and you have throw coins at it. If you manage to make the coin stay at the surface, then you get to make a wish and it will come true. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it to stay. Second, I noticed the amount of people that come to the temple to pray. Devotees all the way from isolated corners of Nepal to visitors from India, there were countless people. I thought about how much religion means to them. I thought about how they have traveled long and far to reach the temple in order to offer their prayers. They call themselves devoted Hindus. 

To me, their dedication makes me feel two different things. One is that I feel a certain kind of respect for people who are so devoted to god, whether it be a Christian god or a Hindu god or anything else for that matter. Regardless of what religion they follow, I admire their faith and their capacity to believe in something greater than humans. But, at the same time, there are certain religious people who anger me. They are very religious, following traditions and all the ways of their culture. But, when it comes to doing something moral, they turn their backs. If a charity organization comes at their doorsteps asking for a little money, these people shoo them off and shut the door on their faces. If there is a question about sparing a few coins for a beggar, they quickly walk off avoiding any kind of contact. Is this also what their religion teaches them? To turn their backs of helpless situations? If people really want to do good in life, they will not achieve this goal by just praying all day long or chanting in the temples. They have to actually go out and go something good for the world. Then only will their religion and faith account for something.