Which college application essay is better?

#1:

Most of my life, I faded into the background, a quiet presence in a world full of louder voices. I was the one student at the back of the classroom praying the teacher wouldn’t call on me. In groups, I often found myself the only one without anything to say, terrified of how I would be perceived. Social anxiety has a way of making me feel like a ghost in my own life, floating along, observing, but never truly being seen or heard. For years, I convinced myself I was more comfortable in that role—quiet and shy. It wasn't that I didn’t want to connect with people; it’s just that my brain always convinced me I’d somehow mess it up. But between highschool and my future, I realized that blending wasn’t exactly living.

The unexpected turning point came in the form of a tearoom. Not exactly the setting you’d expect someone with social anxiety to flourish, but that's where I ended up: tray in the palm of my hand, tea pot in the other, staring down tables of customers who definitely expected me to speak.

At first, I panicked. There’s a particular horror to asking a customer, “Would you like jasmine or oolong?” and worrying they’ll respond with a question you can’t answer. For the first four weeks, I was sure every customer could see through my shaky smile. But something unexpected happened: they didn’t. People just wanted their tea and finger sandwiches, and maybe a smile—not a flawless, outgoing server.

The tearoom became my social bootcamp. In the quiet clinking of old china and the soft murmur of conversations, I found a rhythm. The once-terrifying prospect of small talk with strangers evolved into a challenge I grew to enjoy. I discovered the joy of giving random strangers compliments, like telling someone their choice of tea was my favorite or noting how much I loved their outfit. Watching their faces brighten made me genuinely happy and gave me the confidence to speak up more. I learned that a simple kind word could lead to meaningful connections, and I started to enjoy the interactions instead of dreading them.

Working as a waitress didn’t just help me earn my first paycheck—it helped me discover who I really am. I am no longer the girl who avoids eye contact or stands in silence in social gatherings. I became a part of a team and a part of something bigger. Each shift became a small victory over the anxious voice in my head, reminding me that speaking up wouldn't lead to disaster.

I used to think my fears were a weakness, something that set me apart in the worst way possible. But now, I see it differently. Social anxiety hasn’t disappeared from my life, but it no longer controls it. And in the process, I’ve discovered that my quiet nature doesn’t make me less; it makes me listen more, observe better, and connect with people in ways that others might miss.

I may not be the loudest person in the room, but I’ve learned that confidence comes from being comfortable in my own skin, even if it means moving at my own pace. And if I can do that while balancing a tier of delicate teacups and scones, I can probably handle most of what life throws at me. The tearoom showed me that growth takes time—like tea, sometimes I just have to let life steep. And with patience, the flavors of life can reveal themselves in surprising ways.

#2

"Because my soldiers do not buckle or yield when faced with the cruelty of this world! My soldiers push forward! My soldiers scream out! My soldiers rage!!!"

The first time I heard Erwin Smith’s words in Attack on Titan, I cried. In the show, his soldiers knew that death awaited them, yet they charged forward, determined to leave a mark and honor their existence. That moment hit me harder than I expected—it forced me to confront my deepest fear: death. But what I realized was that I wasn’t just afraid of dying. I was afraid that my life wouldn’t amount to anything before it ended.

For as long as I can remember, anxiety over death consumed me. Every ordinary day seemed like a chance for something to go wrong—a car accident, an illness, an unexpected accident. I saw every decision as a tightrope walk between failure and regret, terrified that I’d reach the end of my life without ever having truly lived.

This anxiety carried over into my future plans. My friends seemed to have everything figured out—they pursued careers that society respected: medicine, law, education. But I wanted something different. Fashion wasn’t just a passion for me; it was a way to express myself and find joy in color, fabric, and design. For as long as I can remember, I’ve spent hours dissecting brands, watching runway shows, and scrolling through Pinterest for aesthetics and inspiration for my own style. And yet, I questioned whether it was a career worth pursuing. What if it wasn’t enough? What if people didn’t take me seriously?

Erwin’s speech forced me to ask: if his soldiers were willing to face death so fiercely, why couldn’t I confront my fear of living authentically? His words taught me that life isn’t about seeking approval—it’s about charging forward, embracing the chaos, and pursuing what sets my soul on fire.

When it came time to decide how I wanted to spend my senior year, I thought I had found the perfect way to validate my passion: an internship at a local fashion boutique. But when I didn’t get the position, I felt defeated, as if I had lost my chance to prove that fashion could be more than just a hobby. It was the same anxiety again—whispering that I’d never be enough, that maybe my dream was unrealistic.

Then, my guidance counselor called me down and told me about a new opportunity: an internship managing the school district’s social media. It wasn’t what I had planned, but something about it felt like a challenge worth taking. I heard Erwin’s words echo in my mind—“push forward.” So, I decided to embrace the unexpected, even if it wasn’t what I originally wanted.

In just one month of managing Instagram accounts, I reached over 2,000 accounts and increased engagement by 20%. I attended various events to take pictures, set up meetings with administrators to discuss strategies, and edited videos and photos to create engaging content. Additionally, I used Canva to design eye-catching flyers and posters that celebrated our school spirit and provided insight into what was happening across the district. All of this made me realize that social media, like fashion, is about storytelling—it’s about creating narratives that connect people. Through this experience, I learned to trust my instincts and discovered that the skills I gained in one field could apply to another. That’s when I knew I wanted to be a creative director. Not just someone who makes clothes, but someone who shapes a brand’s identity and creates stories that resonate.

Despite personal doubts, Erwin's speech stays with me. His soldiers fought, not for guarantees or security, but because they refused to be defined by fear. I've realized that I'd rather stumble in pursuit of my dreams than succeed in something safe but without passion.

When my time comes, I want to leave this world with the same determination Erwin’s soldiers carried—unafraid, unapologetic, and fully myself. I want to live so fiercely that when the curtain falls, I will not buckle or yield. I will only push forward.