Essay My Roommate

Hey roommate!

Looks like we both made it. Great! Just wanted to let you know a bit about my best traits, and hopefully in the end we won’t end up as room-hates.

I hail from the burbs of Chicago, and, yes, it snows all the way to your nose, and blackens your toes, but in the Windy City it really does not blow. Truly, in this town I’ve found out who I am: innovative and energetic like the mighty Hoover dam. And with my brute ambition I make no contractions out of can; the “t” stays in my only knot that reminds me who I am.

Now, I guess I’ll have you know, that I’m a Yankees fan. Born in New York, I could say it’s not my plan, but really that it evolved from a friendship that I had when I moved to California ‘cause a job was offered to my dad. Living in the Golden State for my years from 2-8 created a base for me to create the open-minded me. Free of care, a child there is open to just breathe fresh air and inhale ideas free of fares. It’s how kids’ lives should be.

But times did change, as they do, because of towers and planes we decided we should move. To be closer to family is a decision made without blinkin’, so I had to pack up shirts and shoes and head Midwest towards the Land of Lincoln. Tears in eyes, I waved good-bye to my friends of the C-A-L-I. It was bright and oh-so-fly, but Illinois would get me thinkin’.

From the start I could tell the schools were very diff’rent: content based and standards soaring with no lax or relent. But I thrived and pushed myself past each class’s torment, and in the end my informed thoughts furthered in their ferment. Now each day I question, not out of spite or mad aggression, but because improvement has become this glad man’s mad obsession. So be prepared to stay up late, involved in friendly, long debates or conversations about fate or even simply what we ate. I promise you, my new roommate, I will not ever demonstrate any shape or form of hate, ‘cause that is not life’s lesson.

I’ll be your Kobe, you’ll be my Shaq—well… I mean, before that all went whack. Sorry, man, that was on the wrong track, but cut me some slack, ‘cause now we’ve got each other’s backs.

Let’s keep it cool, be friends and scholars, to you at school I’ll pop my collar and maybe even lend a dollar, all you’ve got to do is… holler.

Anonymous Student. "Hey roommate!" Study Notes, LLC., 18 Nov. 2015. Web. 13 Mar. 2018. <>.

Okay, this is not the ONLY way to write your Stanford (or any) roommate essay, but it is a GOOD way and it’s based on an essay that I think is GREAT. First, read the example essay, then we’ll talk about why it’s great and how she did it.

The prompt:

Virtually all of Stanford’s undergraduates live on campus. Write a note to your future roommate that reveals something about you or that will help your roommate—and us—know you better.

The essay:

Everybody has peculiarities that most people don’t know about. For example, I have a habit of pinching ear lobes. I also pour milk into my cereal, only to drain it out after soaking the cereal for a bit. Is that strange? Well, there’s more:

I have -2.75 vision but I hate wearing glasses because I feel confined and limited in my freedom to think. So you’ll see me squint quite often, trying to overcome my astigmatism--it’s not a death glare, I promise.

I’m also extremely tactile. I like to run my fingers over laser printing because I am amazed by my fingers’ ability to detect subtle impressions. This is why I hate wearing socks on carpet: my feet lose sensitivity. So I hope you don’t mind bare feet.

I have a fetish for things that smell nice, so I like to bury myself under fresh laundry just wheeled back from laundry room 8 (the one closest to our unit). I also alternate between three different shampoos just for the smell of it. So don’t be surprised if I ask to share our toiletry items; I’m just looking for variety.

Driving calms my nerves. Sometimes, my family and I go on midnight highway cruises during which we discuss weighty issues such as the reason people in our society can so adamantly advertise items like Snuggies. So I apologize if I keep you up late at night asking you to ponder the complex mysteries of our world.

Also, in my home, we have an open door policy--literally. Every door, excluding those of an occupied bathroom and the fridge, is always open. I hope you and I will be comfortable enough with each other--and with those around us--that we feel no need to hide behind bedroom doors.

Finally, I love shelves. They organize many different items under a unified structure and I find value in this kind of integrated diversity. And I love them as a metaphor: there is a place for everything, including even the quirkiest of our traits. That’s why no one should feel left out no matter how strange or odd they might think they are.

So, what are you like?

Why I like this essay:

I learn so much about the writer. I learn (in order, by paragraph) that she: is confident enough to admit she’s a little weird, values her freedom to think, is observant and sensitive to life’s small details, is great with wordplay, is ironic and self-deprecating even while pondering life’s mysteries, is willing to be emotionally open, values making order from chaos, (AND she’s smart enough to write an essay that actually creates order out of chaos--so her form matches her content).

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