University of California - Santa Cruz Undergraduate College Application Essays

In a strong, confident voice, I began: “I would like everyone to close their eyes and imagine the stress and frustration you have experienced with fake news.” This was the opening of my team’s presentation to a group of venture capitalists judging...

Reverberating voices. Flying spit. Clinking shot glasses. A gaggle of grandpas in furry trapper hats, perched on potato crates, pontificating about Soviet politics in a farm shed. They agreed, yet still managed to yell. As a routine observer of...

Bylo, jest, bedzie. These words were stitched into my six-year-old mind as Babushka’s deft fingers stitched hems into shirtsleeves, needle pausing in midair to conjugate Polish verbs for me, to translate them into my native Russian and Ukrainian....

Sitting down in the authentic-looking Japanese restaurant, rated 4.5/5 stars on TripAdvisor, I find that my hopes are up. I sip my matcha latte and my mind buffers. After another sip, I ask myself, Do I taste the authentic matcha magic? Or does...

“Can’t you make it 40? I come here every day!” my grandma smirked at the vendor’s defeated face. She looked at me with a victorious smile as she claimed her trophy from the vendor. The vibrant color of the freshest produce, the unforgettable aroma...

Thump Thump. No sound had ever sounded better to my ears, although through a balloon encased in a beaker, it resembled more closely to "woosh woosh". For the past five months, I had been working on the model of an artificial heart for my...

At my first karate class, unimaginably intimated, I picked up my big black burly uniform and my inflexible white belt and attempted unsuccessfully to put it on myself. An older girl graciously helped me. I stood in the very back of the class, and...

"That's art?" my seating neighbor exclaimed in the crisp air of our busy art classroom.

I had to admit, staring at Russian modernist Kazimir Malevich's Black Square painting, I didn't particularly see the esthetic appeal or even the intellectual...

As a son of first-generation Indian immigrants, stories of hardship were not unfamiliar to me. Hate manifested in the form of chants like "Go back to YOUR country!". Hate manifested in the form of fear- fear of wearing our traditional kurtas or...

"Hey Gran how have you been hol-"

"Graaan? Can you hea-"

"Great, she can't hear us. *Sigh*. Mom, I thought Dad fixed issues with her sound?"

"Well, what are we supposed to do?"During the initial lockdowns, I tried to keep in touch with my...

At the age of seven, I would collect ladybugs in small containers, take them home, and play with them. I admired how they traveled high and low, imagining their view of the world to be even more exhilarating than mine. Entering high school, my...

The process of watering my houseplant grounds me. I believe that every plant lives its own story, just like the eight million different forms of life that inhabit the Earth. As I learn more about the life cycle of my plant and the support Aurora...