Rate (out of 10) and evaluate my common app essay, answering: "Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. (650 words)" How would top schools react to this? And how can it be improved (note it's at the word limit):

Fifteen wooden pieces slide beneath my fingers—left, right, up, down. Click. Wrong sequence. Reset.

In Nairobi's City Market, amidst crowds and Maasai vendors, my mother bought me this puzzle box, teaching me to find patterns within chaos. Each piece moved in sync, affecting the others in a dance of cause and effect. The box reflected my own life, with each move between countries—Britain, Kenya, Uganda, Angola—adding pieces to my puzzle, each reset a step toward completion.

Britain was my first piece, one of gratitude and routine.

It’s 6 AM, torrential rain pounds outside, yet my mother is out fetching us a “cuppa” before school. This was our ritual, no matter which borough we called home, her way of creating stability in an ever-shifting world. I tried to return her devotion: drawing crayon portraits, and spinning bedtime stories to ease her stress. Part of me longed to understand it all, why I saw my father only twice a year, why others seemed so different from us. But…before I could  piece it together, we moved—Reset.

Kenya was my piece of independence and opportunity.

My friends and I would sneak out to local markets, clutching handmade calendars we’d crafted, each page meticulously planned, reflecting my desire for structure. Amid the vendors' shouts and jostling crowds, we pitched our calendars to passersby. With each sale, I grew more confident, finding a sense of belonging in creating and sharing something of my own. This sense evolved into Journey Home, my first story about a boy’s search for such belonging, inspired by friends I’d left and landscapes of memory. Selling copies, I realized, for the first time, I was in control of shaping my story. But… as I settled into this new rhythm, the pieces shifted again—Reset.

Uganda was my piece of expression and reflection.

In an empty music room, I searched for sounds on my trombone that could articulate emotions too complex for words. At home, I’d layer YouTube beats, voicing lyrics that turned noise into rhythm and pattern. My verses became my diary, a conversation between the pieces I’d left behind and the ones to come. At dawn, I’d meditate, serenaded by birds and roosters, absorbing their anthems as they intertwined with my own. These rituals became practices of insight, teaching me to focus on what I could influence while letting the rest go. My reflections and music evolved from questions about identity to celebrations of complexity, and opportunities for building new pieces. 

Angola was my piece of fitness and community.

“Passa a bola, passa!” The basketball thuds against hot concrete as I maneuver through local kids on my estate’s makeshift court. I relied on broken Portuguese, yet our connection was unspoken through the game. Each evening, under an amber sky, we’d play until darkness forced us home. Fitness became my constant, a piece I carried wherever I went: from leading community calisthenics deep in the favelas of Luanda, to sprinting up my village’s “killer hill” in training for my newfound love of basketball. This piece taught me that growth isn’t found in stability alone but in pushing past comfortable limits, and building connections through shared experiences.

Through years of solving my puzzle box, I’ve learned that each piece—London’s habits, Luanda’s community, and all in between—has shaped me, not despite their chaotic arrangement but because of it. Like the wooden pieces that slide beneath my fingers, my experiences across continents taught me that solutions don’t come from forcing pieces into place but from understanding how they move together, and create new patterns. Each reset wasn’t an end but a step forward, letting me build on the foundations of what came before.

As I move into college, I carry this wooden box as a reminder: the most meaningful challenges aren’t about finding single solutions but about embracing the complex dance of pieces that make us whole—and I’m ready to keep sliding new pieces into place.



And then do the same for this essay. 
My deck of cards is like a diary—a collection of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences.

While constantly shuffling and rearranging the deck, each of these values becomes more poignant. They're like visual mnemonics in my life's pages - each one eliciting a unique thought. Every card symbolizes a different value: a memory, a relationship, a lesson, or a pursuit. I hope to show some of the cards I have made and played so far.

'The Joker: Everyone needs some form of addiction, and I am addicted to smiles and laughter.

Pure disbelief filled the room, followed promptly by smiles and screams of confusion. I had just managed my first ever large-scale magic trick for my 7th-grade class. The euphoric scene is forever etched in my mind. At that moment, I was immediately reminded why I started card magic: to spread joy and positivity. What better symbol than 'the Joker,' a jester who spreads happiness everywhere he goes.

'2 of hearts': Just as iron sharpens iron, friends sharpen friends.

A two-year age gap separates me from my ‘second mother’: my sister. Maybe because she taught me how to ride a bike and how to study effectively. Maybe seeing her succeed through working countless hours built my work ethic. To me, she’s been a teacher, a sometimes annoying friend but all in all-loving. To her, I've tried to be her peace, her laughter, someone who only brings discomfort when I'm teasing her. We don't have the typical "I hate you, don't talk to me" sibling rivalry; we're each other's best friends, each other’s sharpeners. Or at least she's mine.

'9 of clubs': Change is always tricky. High school freshman year, taught me what I can and cannot change.

Hearing "Mismatch! Mismatch!" on every other defensive play or "Easy block" as I ran down for a fast break, during basketball, broke my confidence. 4 feet 11 inches with an insatiable passion for the game, yet not tall enough to play effectively. This verdict during my 9th-grade trials for the high school basketball team felt like an oxymoron. Although it did set me back, I focused not on my shortcomings but on aspects of the game in my control – stamina, effort and tactical awareness. Although joining the team didn't make me taller, it changed my relationship with basketball as I worked my way to become the starting point guard the following year. It became a constant reminder of what is achievable when I pay attention to what I can change.

'Jack of spades': They say Gemini's minds are always racing. Although I do not believe in the pseudoscience of star signs, I see a lot of truth in this statement.

A victim of my curiosity, I’m always chasing every loose end that comes my way. At age 13, I spent hours reading articles online and library books on data transmission and somehow ended with the fascinating theory of wave-particle duality. All because I wanted to understand how phones work. Similarly, during the monotony of the COVID lockdown, I fell in love with cooking and turned our kitchen into a spice lab. Mixing concoctions of spices and trying them in different dishes and even tea, purely because my bacon tasted bland in the morning. Curiosity has been my push to learn where I lacked the motivation. On second thought, I am a product rather than a victim of my curiosity.

When all the blank cards have been filled in, my diary may inch closer to being complete. Although I will occasionally pull it out to reminisce about my younger days, my next deck will be filled with new stories to tell and people to appreciate. Perhaps I will be the "Ace of Spades" as I overcome obstacles and accomplish my goals in college. Looking much further ahead, maybe a "Queen of Hearts," a girl to call my own.

Then suggest which is stronger and why.