You have just completed your 300-page autobiography. Please submit page 217. (University of Pennsylvania) (Limit to 800 words)

I hadn’t had anything for breakfast and my stomach was paying the price. I was always a picky eater in America, but here my selectiveness was beginning to hurt me. The irregular bumps of the unevenly paved road wasn’t helping either. I couldn’t bear to look outside, fearing the ultimate demise to my queazy stomach. I moved my head between my legs, but it was to no avail as my stomach continued to hurt. I was lost. But that’s exactly how I liked it. To be adrift in a world of uncertainty. Two things had pushed me to South Sudan; Deng and a personal quest that started in California a long time ago.
One summer during high school, I interned at the University of Southern California. Going from New York to Los Angeles may not seem like the biggest change of scenery but combined with my newfound independence, it seemed like two different worlds. No longer would an adult dictate what I was to do and I could suddenly walk to anywhere I wanted to go. I had my array of choices. I could do anything I pleased in my free time and whatever I did, it seemed like the right move. When I was seven my family went to Paris. They often poked fun at me that in Paris, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, my eyes were glued to the sidewalk and I wasn’t looking around. This time was different. I examined every store front, every distinct character on my bus, I contemplated my next lunching experience and enjoyed the parks. Time allowed me to do all of these things. Instead of speeding by, it strolled letting me enjoy every waking second. And when I finally entered my routine of getting to “work” and getting back, I was oblivious that time was accelerating. Finding my bus, Armando’s food truck and even my daily trek past the Church of Scientology became second nature. Before I knew it, I was packing my bags and saying my goodbyes. I would never forget that feeling though. The feeling of being lost, in a world where everything is new and being able to digest whatever came my way. Ever since then, I have yearned to make time crawl like it did that summer.
It was Deng’s smile that I remember most of all. He told us riveting stories. He had escaped genocide, escaped countries, he hadn’t seen his brother, daughter or wife in close to ten years, he had spent months in detention facilities and after that, this man, who spent his whole life escaping, and finally thinking he had found refuge, was to be deported. But out of all his horror stories and the narrow escapes he told us, it was his smile that resonated the most. It was spring break of my junior year in high school, and my family and I had traveled to Israel. While on vacation, I was planning on interviewing subjects for my history project. When I got wind that Deng, a South Sudanese refugee, was staying in my aunt’s village in southern Israel I knew it would make for a great interview. And like the tagline of a horror movie, I had little idea of what I was getting into. He chuckled while telling us stories of genocide. He chuckled! He wasn’t a sadistic man. But a kind one who had witnessed more things than any human should have. A kind man who, was visibly nervous, naturally laughed to fill up the negative space. Horror story after horror story, my mom, my brother, my aunt and I all fell in disbelief and a silence overtook us all. To break the silence, Deng flipped the script and asked us questions. “Do you hear about South Sudan in the news?” We all knew the answer but after a while, only my brother spoke. “No. We care too much about what Paris Hilton ate for breakfast than what’s going on in the rest of the world.” It was true. I can never look at tabloids the same way without thinking of Deng. Every time I see how short Kim Khardasian’s marriage lasted, I think of genocide. Ironic isn’t it?
Unlike my persistent stomach ache, the convoy finally stopped. Fellow aid workers began to exit, no doubt snickering about me. This is what I wanted, wasn’t it? To be immersed in a new land, so new that time would go so slowly and allow me to take in everything. This wasn’t New York to L.A., this was America to South Sudan. First World to third. Even though I had wished that time would speed up and I could finally return home, I knew that I would be thankful for my time here.

Brandeis University asked me "Matt, what costume would you wear if you had to wear it for an entire year and why?" Well Brandeis here it is...

I've always had a problem eating. It wasn't that I was against the institution, but I would just get bored. I'm lazy and I have the attention span of a toddler on C6H12O6 (that's sugar for you chemistry nerds). These two attributes combined with my sloth-like eating led to me developing the body of a twelve year old girl. Now my friends tell me that they'd love to be in my situation and let themselves go on a Nutella/Haagen-Dazs/Hershey's chocolate syrup binge. But I want that too (although Ben and Jerry’s is where it’s at). Hypothetically fat, I would tell myself that I would be able to turn my newfound "meat" into muscle (although again I'm super lazy and this would never happen). People would stare at me with disgust, wondering how I could let myself go. Fed up I would work out, (cue Eye of the Tiger) spending extra hours on the treadmill and getting blown off by the ladies (that part’s actually true). After months of strong will and progress, the fat suit would (literally and metaphorically) disappear and I would become the coolest cat in college. Now as you’re reading this you’re probably thinking okay so where’s the deep message, or is this just supposed to be hilarious (hopefully). The message is to be happy with who you are. whether you’re rocking Gandhi’s hot bod (like me) or something else, always be happy with that because you’re going to be stuck with that person forever.

The best movie of all time

As a film connoisseur, I have spent my sixteen years looking for the best movie of all time. Using my unique rubric I’ve determined that When Harry Met Sally is in fact the best movie ever made. This Rob Reiner RomCom received exemplary scores on my rubric which consists of three essential categories: the effectiveness of its dialogue, the intrigue of its characters and the amount of Billy Crystal. Now my choice may come as a surprise to you as it overcame such favorites as The Shawshank Redemption or The Godfather but I promise it is well-deserving as we'll look at the rubric.

Movie	The Godfather	The Shawshank Redemption	When Harry Met Sally
Dialogue	Written by Mario Puzo. That’s all that’s needed to be said.	Morgan Freeman narrates most of it, so there’s that.	What was that? Sorry I was too busy re-watching the scene from Katz’s deli.
Characters	Clemenza is the man.	Morgan Freeman’s in it, ‘nough said.	Billy Crystal/Bruno Kirby is the second best acting duo. See The Shawshank Redemption below.
Billy Crystal	The Godfather would’ve actually been watchable if Billy Crystal took his talents to the Little Italy and joined forces with the Corleone Family to win not 4 not 5 not 6 not 7 not 8 but 9 Oscars.	Shame on you Stephen King for not demanding a Crystal/Freeman dream team, an Oscar would’ve been handed to you.	Adequate amount of Billy Crystal. I would have appreciated more.

Sweet Luke

It was the sound that attracted me, that drew me closer. My parents and I had just left a play that I would soon forget, but what happened next would be something I would remember forever. There in the middle of Times Square, we heard the sweet sound of the saxaphone and I was drawn closer. After he finished playing Coltrane, we began to talk. He didn’t tell me his name but when later asked he told me that his friends called him Sweet Luke. With this simple gesture, I felt like I’d known him for years. Like he was a family friend, like he was my friend. He told us his favorite song and he may have told us something else but all I could remember was the name Sweet Luke. I was mystified. I was around nine and I had just started to play the saxaphone. I tried to tell everyone about Sweet Luke, my saxaphone teacher and my grandfather. If my life was a book this would be a most resonating moment. Seven years later, on a long car ride my mom and I were having a discussion about people who have innately influenced us, people who are a part of our Karass. Surprising both of us, I said Sweet Luke, someone who shared this unique connection with me. I couldn’t explain to her what it was about him. Something about him had subconsciously influenced me for all these years and now, for the first time, I was beginning to understand how. Not the fact that he inspired the way I played saxaphone, but it was the way he had spoken to me. Like I was a fellow musician, a fellow human being. His benevolence was contagious. I felt admiration, admiration for this mysterious person who I had only met once and would probably never met again. Despite accepting that this would be an isolated incident, I had always believed it to be my destiny to meet him again. In some setting we would meet and be able to talk. I would have many more questions for him and hopefully we would become friends. Even though I knew this fate was implausible, I still had hope. Before writing this, I googled Sweet Luke just to see what I would get. One of the top hits was the MySpace page of a musician, called Sweet Luke. My hopes rose and the suspense built up when it was blocked on the school computer and I had to google it on my phone. Maybe I had found him. This extraordinary encounter, that had strangely helped define who I was. Maybe my ridiculous suspicion had come true. I could contact him, most likely he wouldn’t remember me but I would find solace knowing that we were connected. Moving across the room to find service to load this page, to find out if my ridiculous fantasy would somehow be answered. And then it turned out to be some white kid in high school from Illinois. But maybe that’s how it should be. It was just the idea of Sweet Luke, not the whole of him, that was a part of me. Maybe it was best I only knew Sweet Luke, the intriguing musician who treated nine-year olds as one in the same, than Lucas, who plays saxaphone only to get away from it all. To quote When Harry Met Sally (this is actually relevant), when Sally talks about breaking up with her boyfriend Joe she says, “you know what I miss, I miss the idea of him.” I only knew the idea of Sweet Like, but that’s what I missed, his essence and how he made me feel as a kid. How this incredible musician treated me as his equal. Even though I may not have fully understood his affect on me during this car ride, I now know that his reverence and genuine interest has innately influenced me and molded my young, evolving mind.

Why We Weed

The first experience I had with reading was when I was five years old. At this time, my reading ability was behind everyone else in my kindergarten class. I had not watched Sesame Street, and consequently I wasn't familiar with Big Bird nor the lower case letters. Despite not knowing how to read, I was still in love with books; being read them or just looking at their pictures. My favorite book was Owl at Home by Arnold Lobel. I enjoyed his stories about Owl's nighttime adventures, discovering the bumps under his blankets or trying to be both upstairs and downstairs. Not knowing how to read, I liked being read the stories. I would eventually memorize them and then tell them to my mom, trying to convince her that I had learned to read. After taking AP Lit I am now able to fully understand how Owl's troubling tone is supported by his terrified diction and how the Owl's adventures were in fact symbols of present day America. But back then was my first experience enjoying books, without reading.