50 Successful Harvard Application Essays

E
DA
K
ACELI
Homeless for Thirteen Years
I sat on my parents’ bed weeping with my head resting on my knees. “Why did you have to do that to
me? Why did you have to show me the house and then take it away from me?” Hopelessly, I found
myself praying to God realizing it was my last resort.
For years, my family and I found ourselves moving from country to country in hopes of a better
future. Factors, such as war and lack of academic opportunities, led my parents to pack their bags and
embark on a new journey for our family around the world. Our arduous journey first began in
Kuçovë, Albania, then Athens, Greece, and then eventually, Boston, Massachusetts. Throughout those
years, although my family always had a roof over our heads, I never had a place I could call “home.”
That night that I prayed to God, my mind raced back to the night I was clicking the delete button on
my e-mails, but suddenly stopped when I came upon a listing of the house. It was September 22, 2007
—eight years exactly to the day that my family and I had moved to the United States. Instantly, I knew
that it was fate that was bringing this house to me. I remembered visiting that yellow house the next
day with my parents and falling in love with it. However, I also remembered the heartbreaking phone
call I received later on that week saying that the owners had chosen another family’s offer.
A week after I had prayed to God, I had given up any hopes of my family buying the house. One
day after school, I unlocked the door to our one-bedroom apartment and walked over to the telephone
only to see it flashing a red light. I clicked
PLAY
and unexpectedly heard the voice of our real estate
agent. “Eda!” she said joyfully. “The deal fell through with the other family—the house is yours! Call
me back immediately to get started on the papers.” For a moment, I stood agape and kept replaying
the words in my head. Was this really happening to me? Was my dream of owning a home finally
coming true?
Over the month of November, I spent my days going to school and immediately rushing home to
make phone calls. Although my parents were not fluent enough in English to communicate with the
bank and real estate agent, I knew that I was not going to allow this obstacle to hinder my dream of
helping to purchase a home for my family. Thus, unlike a typical thirteen-year-old girl’s
conversations, my phone calls did not involve the mention of makeup, shoes, or boys. Instead, my
conversations were composed of terms, such as “fixed-rate mortgages,” “preapprovals,” and “down
payments.” Nevertheless, I was determined to help purchase this home after thirteen years of feeling
embarrassed from living in a one-bedroom apartment. No longer was I going to experience feelings
of humiliation from not being able to host sleepovers with my friends or from not being able to
gossip with girls in school about who had the prettiest room color.
I had been homeless for the first thirteen years of my life. Although I will never be able to fully

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repay my parents for all of their sacrifices, the least I could do was to help find them a home that they
could call their own—and that year, I did. To me, a home means more than the general conception of
“four walls and a roof.” A home is a place filled with memories and laughter from my family. No
matter where my future may lead me, I know that if at times I feel alone, I will always have a yellow
home with my family inside waiting for me.
REVIEW
Eda’s essay captures the reader ’s interest immediately with the startling title, “Homeless for Thirteen
Years.” It intentionally sets misleading expectations; she is not homeless in the traditional sense of
lacking a roof over her head, but in the sense of not having a true house to call home. Her readers
become emotionally invested in the story, worried for the fate of the girl weeping and desperately
praying on her parents’ bed. Eda soon reveals that though her family has suffered hardships, she has
not spent her life living on the streets. This disparity draws attention to her point that a home is more
than “‘four walls and a roof,’” but at the cost of potentially downplaying the situations of those who
are traditionally “homeless.” The technique serves her well enough, but beware of rhetorical devices
that may be unintentionally misconstrued.
Additionally, Eda’s essay at times delves into cliché. It would be improved with more nuance about
her definition of a home, lest it begin to sound like a dictionary entry. Avoiding phrases like “No
matter where my future may lead me” or “not going to allow this obstacle to hinder” would further
strengthen the prose.
However, Eda’s essay consistently engages her readers. Her theme is compelling by its own right;
the idea that home should be “a place filled with memories and laughter” is easily appreciated. But she
doesn’t present this theme as an abstract ideal. Rather, she concretely describes her desires to host
sleepovers and to have a room to gossip about, and her longing to have a familiar place where her
family will always be waiting inside. Eda’s essay grabs its readers and keeps them emotionally
invested. It makes them care.
—Indrani G. Das

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