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Yale Essay 1

My city.

The buildings. My home, a big flat built right after the Second World War, its grayish cement facade that protects the warm apartments inside, full of friendly and loveworthy people. My old school, where I spent most of my childhood learning about the world, about our rich history, about numbers, letters, discipline, frustration, fun, friendship - love. My high school, its small classes with light blue walls that have seen me find my favorite subjects, my passions, my beliefs, my people - myself. The restaurants and bars, drinking caffe seated outside in the sun, sharing aperitivi with my friends every Saturday, eating pizza with my dad. My mother’s bookstore. My grandfather’s house. The swimming pool. The tennis court. The Duomo, the gold Madonnina on top of it.

The trams. Their yellow exterior. I take them everyday, even though they are never on time.

The trees. Big green plane trees in the park near my house, that offer me some shade when I am feeling hot in the torrid Italian summer, during the days when the sun is so strong that even the cement starts to melt. Fragile little birches outside of my room window, I can hear their soft voices when they tremble during the autumn storms, or when the spring breeze rushes through their leaves.  


The faces. Waving. Speaking. Smiling. Laughing. Crying. I know them, they are my family, they are my friends. I feel at home with them and when they are around me it is so easy to feel happy and safe. The memories I share with my people are and will always be alive in me, bringing me interminable joy and peace. 

Why would I abandon everything that I have ever known, leaving behind the people whom I love, my childhood, my home? 


Sometimes I think about living away from Milan, away from my country and my culture, and I think I am misguided, that I should not leave Italy. However, in the last few years, a new sensation has come over me and will not leave. I feel that I am missing something and I have to look for it. I do not know its name or nature, but it comes with excitement and a little bit of fear. The fear of getting stuck: stuck in my routine, in my comfort zone, inside of what I already know. 

I have a strong desire to learn new things and see new places, and to get to know other people who come from different cultural and social backgrounds. I believe coming to the United States to study in an excellent University would be a great opportunity for me to broaden my experiences, learn, and find my calling in life. I could finally find what I have been looking for, in order to become the person I am meant to be.  

At the thought of leaving my current home, I feel worry and relief at the same moment: I know it is going to be difficult to leave Milan and the life that has been created for me here, but I am excited to have a chance to find another place to make my home. 

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first essay

My city. The buildings. My home, a big flat built right after the Second World War, its unattractive external appearance that protects the beautiful apartments inside, full of friendly and loveworthy people. My old school, where I spent most of my childhood learning about the world, about our history, about numbers, letters, discipline, frustration, fun, friendship, love. My high school, its small classes with light blue walls that have seen me find my favourite subjects, my passions, my beliefs, my people, myself. The restaurants and bars, drinking caffe seated outside in the sun, sharing aperitivi with my friends every saturday, eating pizza with my dad. My mother’s bookstore. My grandfather’s house. The swimming pool. The tennis court. The Duomo, the gold Madonnina on top of it. The trams. Their yellow exterior. I take them everyday, even though they are never on time. The trees. Big green trees in the park near my house, that offer me some shade when I am feeling hot in the torrid ...
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