Could you look over my personal essay for college applications, tell me what you think, and suggest edits. Essay: It looked like a prison. This was my first thought when I saw my school for the year. A crowd of students glanced up as I walked past the gate into the schoolyard. Feeling like a trophy, my stepsister Mireia proudly introduced me to her friends. I fumbled over the word hola, hating my accent, everyone staring at the foreigner with bad Spanish.
Mireia led me over to some pieces of paper taped onto the side of the building. She promised to make sure I made it to the right class, and I had no reason not to believe her. There was a crowd of people trying to see what class they were in. I had no idea what I was supposed to be looking at on the paper. Was I supposed to make sure I was in the right grade? I felt stares. The bell rang, and Mireia led me to where my grade’s classrooms were. Then she left.
The bell rang again, and everyone entered their classes. I was left behind in the hallway alone. Confused, I walked into a random class hoping it was right. The teacher started reading through the list of students in her class. I waited, praying that I heard my name, but never did. Sitting there waiting for someone to realize that I was completely lost, blood slowly flowing to my cheeks. I tried to act like I didn’t care that I was in the wrong room, but my embarrassment must have been obvious. The teacher looked at me, saying something quickly in Spanish. I nodded, feeling trapped. Not knowing what she said, but hoping I had responded correctly. I had been promised that I would make it into the right class, but instead, I felt abandoned.
A student from the class I was supposed to be in knocked on the door, telling me in a thick accent that I was in the wrong class. I panicked, knocking my chair backward, my cheeks reddening as the class started laughing at me. I kept telling myself that I didn’t care what they thought, but I clearly did. I was led into the right room, my face burning as the whole class turned around to look at me. I hated myself for so clearly showing my embarrassment.
I sat down, not noticing the teacher smiling sympathetically at me. Not noticing the person who kindly offered to let me sit next to them or that none of this was truly Mireia’s fault. I just wanted to go home. The final bell rang a few minutes later, and I walked out of the school alone.
But I came back the next day. This time I focused on everyone welcoming me to school. I focused on the students kindly doing their best to translate for me, and how lucky I was to be able to live in Spain, even if it didn’t feel like it at the time. While I occasionally slipped back into a pattern of negativity over the next few months, I now knew how to escape that prison and take advantage of the opportunities that lay before me.