越來越多的留學黨都知道，美本申請文書的作用“怎麼說都不為過”，尤其是越來越卷的當下，文書成了體現個性差異最重要的展現。
到底什麼是好的文書？東西方文化差異，在文書創作中有哪些體現呢？文書寫作又要避開哪些坑呢？暑假開始，申請季的同學們即將開始瘋狂趕文書，“爸爸真棒”今天的作者將給大家來看看
哈佛校報Crimson剛剛公佈的《2024成功哈佛文書十篇》，以供參考。
最早從2017-18申請季，在每季結束的7-8月份，哈佛校報Crimson都會PO出十篇當年的成功文書，這個網頁的URL，https://www.thecrimson.com/topic/sponsored-successful-harvard-essays-20xx/。
把年號換上，即可訪問到這些網址。
最近我們終於等來了《2024成功哈佛文書十篇》（但其實只有九篇），今天就讓我們一起品評下這些文章的主題和質量。
整體的故事背景統計，2篇Queerness，2篇亞裔新移民，1篇殘障，1篇URM，1篇“中城去暴”，只剩下兩篇是沒有Hook的主題故事。
Equality和Social Justice比例，趨同了2023的是10篇。不過，這既可能表示哈佛招生價值，也可能表明哈佛申請人整體的主訴價值。如果大量申請都主訴著申請者的Equality和Social Justice價值觀，那麼被錄取的比例也就自然偏高Equality和Social Justice。
我見過的申請中，普遍都帶有這一價值觀。從客觀上看，申請中含有這一價值主文書（無論是否主訴該價值）的比例可能高於80%了。
品評2024的十佳文書，我覺得要換個心情。不再以哈佛的舊主題價值的文書作為參照，而是對比同樣Equality和Social Justice為主的2023年的十篇。這樣的品評，對未來的申請人更加有幫助。
I’m hiding behind the swing door of the dressing room when I text my mom just one word: “Traumatizing!” I’m on a bra-shopping expedition with my grandmother, and just in case it’s not abundantly clear, this trip was Not. My. Idea. Bra shopping has always been shrouded in mystery for me, and growing up in a household with two moms and two younger sisters hasn’t helped one bit: One of my moms doesn’t wear bras; the other proudly proclaims that her bras are older than me. A two-mom family without the faintest idea what a teenage girl needs—par for the course around here.
So when my 78-year-old grandmother volunteered to take me bra shopping, my moms jumped at the chance. Here I was with my frugal grandmother, outlet-shopping among the racks of intimates that aren’t sized quite right, that have too much padding or too little…You can see my predicament, and it’s no surprise that my younger self was confused by the words “wire-free,” “concealing petals,” “balconette.”
The saleswoman called to my grandmother from across the store, “What cup size is she?”
“I don’t know,” my grandmother screamed back. “Can you measure her?”
Measure me? They have got to be kidding.
***
“I just don’t want her to feel different,” I heard my grandmother say later that day. “Kids this age can be so mean.”
I love my grandmother, but she believes the world is harsh and unforgiving, and she thinks that the only path to happiness is fitting in. My grandmother had taken me bra shopping in a last-ditch attempt to make me “normal” because I was entering 9th grade at Deerfield in a few weeks, and she worried that I would stick out worse than the underwire of a bargain basement bra.
It’s true—I’m not your typical Deerfield student. I’m a day student with lesbian moms who have several fewer zeros on their bank account balance than typical Deerfield parents. I’m the kid with a congenital foot deformity, which means I literally can’t run, who will never be able to sprint across campus from classroom to classroom. I’m the kid with life-threatening food allergies to milk and tree nuts who can’t indulge in the pizza at swim team celebrations or the festive cake and ice cream during advisory meetings.
But fitting in was my grandmother’s worry, not mine. What my grandmother didn’t consider is that there’s no single way to fit in. I might be two minutes later to class than the sprinters, but I always arrive. I might have to explain to my friends what “having two moms” means, but I’ll never stop being thankful that Deerfield students are eager to lean in and understand. I may not be able to eat the food, but you can count on me to show up and celebrate.
While I can’t run, I can swim and play water polo, and I can walk the campus giving Admissions tours. My family might not look like everyone else’s, but I can embrace those differences and write articles for the school newspaper or give a talk at “School Meeting,” sharing my family and my journey. Some of my closest friendships at Deerfield have grown from a willingness on both sides to embrace difference.
On one of the first days of 9th grade, I sat down to write a “Deerfield Bucket List”—a list of experiences that I wanted to have during my four years in high school, including taking a Deerfield international trip and making the Varsity swim team. That list included thirteen items, and I’m eleven-thirteenths of the way there, not because I have the right bra, but because I’ve embraced the very thing that my grandmother was afraid of. Bra shopping is still shrouded in mystery for me, but I know that I am where I should be, I’m doing work that matters to me, and fitting in rarely crosses my mind.
《雙馨之家》
“太可怕了。“當我顫抖的手指打下這幾個字傳送給母親的時候，我正藏在試衣間的門扉背後。
我在和奶奶一起購買內衣，而這次購物完全並非出自我本人的意願。一直以來，買內衣對我來說像謎一般令人困惑。在一個由兩個母親和兩個妹妹的構成的家庭中成長，我常常感到無所適從：一個母親對穿內衣毫不在意，而另一個常自豪地告訴我她的內衣比我年齡大還大。在這樣的環境下，我對於青春期女孩的需求的一片迷茫，似乎已不足為奇。
於是，當我那位已經78歲高齡的奶奶主動提出要陪我去選購內衣時，我的母親們好像抓住了一個難得的機會。我和節儉的奶奶就這樣站在了琳琅滿目的打折內衣貨架前，眼前這些內衣款式各異，有的過於厚重，有的則顯得過於單薄……你能想象我當時的心情嗎？小時候的我，對“無鋼圈”、“隱形花瓣”、“3/4罩杯”這些專業術語一無所知，這讓我感到既疑惑又尷尬。
“她的尺碼是多少？”售貨員的聲音突然從商店的另一端傳來。
“我不清楚，”奶奶大聲回答道，“你能幫她量一下嗎？”
在這裡給我量尺碼？開玩笑的吧。
***
“我只是不想她感覺自己與別人不同，”那天晚些時候我聽到奶奶說。“這個年紀的孩子可以很刻薄。”
我愛我的奶奶，但她相信社會是殘酷無情的，而人通往幸福的唯一途徑就是努力融入社會。奶奶帶我去買內衣，是她為了讓我“正常”而做的最後努力，因為幾周後我將進入迪爾菲爾德高中讀九年級，她擔心我的與眾不同會比廉價內衣的鋼圈更格格不入。
的確——我不像任何一個典型的迪爾菲爾德學生。我是一名走讀生，我擁有兩個同性戀媽媽，她們的存款遠不及其他同學的家長。我天生腳部畸形，不能像其他孩子一樣在課堂間奔跑。我對牛奶和堅果有致命的食物過敏，不能在游泳隊慶祝時吃披薩，也不能在活動時享用蛋糕和冰淇淋。
可是，融入社會是奶奶的擔憂，不是我的。奶奶沒有考慮到的是，融入社會沒有一種單一的方式。我可能比跑得快的同學遲到兩分鐘，但我總能準時到達。我可能需要向朋友解釋“有兩個媽媽”是什麼意思，但我永遠感激迪爾菲爾德的學生願意傾聽和理解。我不能品嚐那些美食，但我總會出現在慶祝活動中，用我的笑容和熱情與大家共同分享喜悅。
儘快我不能跑步，但我熱愛游泳，擅長打水球，我還能在校園裡帶領新生參觀校園。我的家庭可能和其他人不一樣，但我可以接納這些差異，為校報撰寫文章，或者在“學校會議”上發表演講，分享我的家庭和我的經歷。在迪爾菲爾德，我最為珍視的友誼之一，正是建立在彼此尊重與接納差異的基礎之上。
在九年級的第一天，我寫了一份“迪爾菲爾德願望清單”——一份我希望在高中四年裡體驗的經歷清單，包括參加迪爾菲爾德的國際旅行和加入校游泳隊。清單上有十三項，我已經完成了其中的十一項。這並不是因為我擁有多麼合適的內衣，而是因為我勇敢地面對了那些曾讓奶奶感到擔憂和挑戰的事物。雖然買內衣對我來說依然是一個令人困惑的謎團，但我深知自己正處在一個正確的環境中，做著對我而言真正有意義的事情，“融入社會”這件事幾乎不再讓我困擾。
開啟這篇，讓我不由分說地想到去年那篇《Butterfly Identity》。同樣的Queer主題，記憶尚新，必然產生這樣的閱讀背景情緒。這對於這篇的AO來說也是再合理不過的了。經過2023的價值引導，這一年哈佛的Queer主題文書也有明顯增長的勢頭吧。
與《Butterfly Identity》不同之處，這一篇開篇，是一個普通的青春期場景，同時也是一個surprise的文書場景。我收集這麼多年的文書裡，只有2009年的一篇《My Bra》是以Bra這麼私密的女生話題為素材的。所以它放在文書裡，具有熟悉和陌生兩個特性。
這是一個很好的文書“hook”。注意這個hook不是我們所說的招生價值觀裡的Hook，它只是故事容易吸引讀者的因素而已。
接著，兩個mom的出場，就是故事的“anchor”了。這個場景在文書中的稀有性很顯然。大部分的Queer主題文書，都是把這個性別的關鍵放在作者自己身上的。而這一篇則是把它體現在家長、作者的Lesbian母親身上。
要知道，從第一例合法同性戀婚姻開始，同性戀婚姻還是一個20年新的社會現象。20年後，生於這樣家庭的子女剛剛長大到申請年齡。你可以說，Queer主題文書可以開始 “拼爹”了。
故事接下來，用Grandmother來代表傳統，也是一個很輕巧的結構設計。對於LGBT的偏見，首要地產生在家庭成員之間，父母是這個偏見的主要施與者，這是過去所有此類主題故事的特點。本篇作者沒有偏見的父母，但可以有這樣的祖父母啊。選擇祖母在這裡出場，恰當又合理。
接下來的內容就是一篇文書故事的流行發展了。從祖母的世界觀到我的世界觀，從我的價值觀到Dearfield的包容性，故事的發展體現了作者獨特的成長和給所在群體帶來的改變。
這種改變其實並非質和量的躍遷，它甚至都不是改變（willingness on both = embrace difference），但作者的表述語言卻讓它顯得像是一種變化。這是文字上的功力。
我最喜歡教給學生的一點是:
這篇還可以再修改的更significant，就是祖母這個形象，她完全可以也再被作者改變之列。想想是不是這樣？
看得出申請哈佛文書是有質量的。相對於2023的《Butterfly Identity》的B評分，我給這篇的是A。這樣一來我上面的修改意見，變得不那麼必要了。
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As late afternoon sunlight danced on my shoulders, I squished my eight-year-old face against the glass of the outdoor tank, eyes wide and searching for any signs of life. There! I scrambled from where I was seated, chasing the flickering sight of my prize. The otter darted away from me, his lithe body disappearing into a crack in the stones. I slumped against the wall, disappointed. Ever the HR representative, my mother saw my face and asked me what was wrong. I explained my frustration with the otters — they’re so fun to watch, but they refuse to be seen. My mother leaned down, brushing a long lock of hair out of my face, and told me, “Sometimes, the animals get tired of being watched. They just want to be left alone.”
I didn’t think much of the otters after that. Until I became one.
In October of my sophomore year, I was four months into my transition from female to male. I wasn’t out to my extended family, my wardrobe was a haphazard mess of cargo shorts and skirts, and my voice was still, to my distress, annoyingly high. Being transgender at Middleton High School was no small feat — I stuck out in a sea of over 2,000 cisgender peers, and most of my teachers did not know how to deal with people “in my situation,” as one put it.
One day, as I walked to my bus after school, I heard snickers from behind me. I turned around and saw a rowdy group of boys. One had his phone up, recording me. Everyone was laughing, and in an instant I knew they were laughing at me. I turned and walked away, doing my best to conceal myself from their view. The laughter continued.
I was the star of a humiliating show that I never asked to be a part of. I had become the otter. Their laughs kept ringing in my ears as I sat alone on the bus. I wanted to crawl inside myself and implode rather than think about going back to face them again the next day. My phone kept buzzing, but I refused to check it. It was only when I arrived home and checked those messages that I found that the video had been posted across social media for hundreds of my peers to see. It seemed like nothing, just a video of me walking, turning, and looking away. But their laughs were clear in the background, and I still understood the point of the video — look at the freak. Look at the new zoo exhibit.
Seeing that video, I realized that I couldn’t allow myself to turn into what they saw me as. They wanted an otter, a punching bag that wouldn’t fight back. I was not going to be their otter. The next day, I went to my first Sexuality and Gender Equality club meeting. I spoke to the administration about what had happened. I saved the video and showed people. I took control.
Maybe they'll never see me as an equal, but that is their blindness, not mine.
Those boys wanted me to believe that I was merely an exhibit to be laughed at, but now I know I live for greater things. I live for lattes, for courtroom closing arguments, for the pesto I make at work. I live for Black Lives Matter and #enough and Pride. I live for kayaking and summer camp, for the kids in SAGE and my younger sister. My classmates tried to dehumanize me, trample me, and mold me into their image of transgender people. Maybe they’ll never see me as an equal, but that is their blindness, not mine. I do not live on display. I do not live in a zoo.
《動物園》
那些男孩想讓我相信自己僅僅是一個供人取笑的展品，但我知道我為了更偉大的事情而活。我為了拿鐵咖啡而活，為了法庭上的結案陳詞而活，為了我在工作中製作的香蒜醬而活。我為了“Black Lives Matter”運動、“#Enough”運動和“Pride”遊行而活。我為了劃皮划艇和夏令營而活，為性別平等俱樂部的孩子們和我妹妹而活。我的同學們試圖讓我失去人性，踐踏我，並將我塑造成符合他們對跨性別者偏見的樣子。也許他們永遠不會視我為平等的人，但那是他們的偏見，不是我的。我不是為了成為展品而活。我並不生活在動物園裡。
首先動物園裡的otter並沒有被不公平的歧視甚至bully。如果有的話，bully和歧視的施予方也只能是作為觀賞者、且 “slam against wall”的作者本人。
在構成故事的時候，作者在潛意識上缺乏敏感度，otter作為一個比喻的物件，在自己故事裡的合理之處是比較有限的。這裡有otter本身的原因，更有作者在技術上的原因。
其次，這篇故事的結尾落在自我覺醒和反抗中，把歧視的鍋讓“those boys”永久地揹著了。它所代表的負面資訊，其實也顯出作者本人在社會意識上的侷限性。
Middleton High School如果是這樣的狀況，那它就不配某年的Blue Ribbon、某某年的ESE、以及某某某年的Ranking了。
這篇我能給的評分是C，除非有人覺得單憑Female2Male的主題也該給個B-。Harvard Crimson的編輯很可能沒有仔細讀過這些被顧問推薦來的文書。否則，就不會犯這種“一將成名萬骨枯”式的邏輯錯誤。在你們校報空間裡貼文書，還是不要過分地盯在那張sponsor‘s check上。
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Fish Out of Water:
idiom. a person who is in an unnatural environment; completely out of place.
When I was ten, my dad told me we were moving to somewhere called "Eely-noise." The screen flashed blue as he scrolled through 6000 miles of water on Google Earth to find our new home. Swipe, swipe, swipe, and there it was: Illinois, as I later learned.
Moving to America was like going from freshwater into saltwater. Not only did my mom complain that American food was too salty, but I was helplessly caught in an estuary of languages, swept by daunting tides of tenses, articles, and homonyms. It’s not a surprise that I developed an intense, breathless kind of thirst for what I now realize is my voice and self-expression.
This made sense because the only background I had in English was “Konglish”–an unhealthy hybrid of Korean and English–and broken phrases I picked up from SpongeBob. As soon as I stepped into my first class in America, I realized the gravity of the situation: I had to resort to clumsy pantomimes, or what I euphemistically called body language, to convey the simplest messages. School became an unending game of pictionary.
Amid the dizzying pool of vowels and phonemes and idioms (why does spilling beans end friendships?), the only thing that made sense was pictures and diagrams. Necessarily, I soon became interested in biology as its textbook had the highest picture-to-text ratio. Although I didn’t understand all the ant-like captions, the colorful diagrams were enough to catch my illiterate attention: a green ball of chyme rolling down the digestive tract, the rotor of the ATP synthase spinning like a waterwheel. Biology drew me with its ELL-friendliness and never let go.
I later learned in biology that when a freshwater fish goes in saltwater, it osmoregulates–it drinks a lot of water and urinates less. This used to hold true for my school day, when I constantly chugged water to fill awkward silences and lubricate my tongue to form better vowels. This habit in turn became a test of English-speaking and bladder control: I constantly missed the timing to go to the bathroom by worrying about how to ask. The only times I could express myself were through my fingers, between the pages of Debussy and under my pencil tip. To fulfill my need for self-expression and communication, I took up classical music, visual art, and later, creative writing. To this day, I will never forget the ineffable excitement when I delivered a concerto, finished a sculpture, and found beautiful words that I could not pronounce. If biology helped me understand, art helped me be understood.
There’s something human, empathetic, even redemptive about both art and biology. While they helped me reconcile with English and my new home, their power to connect and heal people is much bigger than my example alone. In college and beyond, I want to pay them forward, whether by dedicating myself to scientific research, performing in benefit concerts, or simply sharing the beauty of the arts. Sometimes, language feels slippery like fish on my tongue. But knowing that there are things that transcend language grounds and inspires me. English seeped into my tongue eventually, but I still pursue biology and arts with the same, perhaps universal, exigency and sincerity: to understand and to be understood.
Over the years, I have come to acknowledge and adore my inner fish, that confused, tongue-twisted and home-sick ELL kid from the other side of the world, which will forever coexist within me. And I’ve forgiven English, although I still can’t pronounce words like “rural,” because it gifted me with new passions to look forward to every day. Now, when I see kids with the same breathless look that I used to have gasping for home water, Don’t worry, I want to tell them.
You’ll find your water.
《如魚離水》
如魚離水。俚語：一個處於不自然環境中， 格格不入的人。
十歲那年，爸爸告訴我，我們要搬到一個叫 “Eely-noise “的地方。當他在谷歌地球上滾動瀏覽6000英里的水域，尋找我們的新家時，螢幕閃爍著藍光。滑動，滑動，滑動，就到了。我後來才知道，那個地方叫伊利諾伊州。
搬到美國對我而言就像是從淡水環境進入鹹水環境，不僅媽媽抱怨美國的食物太鹹，我也被困在語言的海洋中，被時態、冠詞和同音異義詞的巨浪衝擊。難怪我產生了一種極度渴望的感覺，現在我才明白，那是我想要表達自己聲音和情感的渴望。
其實也很正常，畢竟我的英文基礎只有“Konglish（韓式英語）”—一韓語和英語混合體一—還有從《海綿寶寶》裡學來的斷斷續續的片段。當我踏入美國的課堂時，我意識到了問題的嚴重性：我不得不依靠笨拙的啞劇，或者說是肢體語言，來傳達最簡單的資訊。學校變成了一個無休止的你畫我猜遊戲。
在令人眼花繚亂的母音、子音和俚語（為什麼“洩露秘密”會破壞友誼？）中，唯一能使我理解的就是圖片和圖表。很快我開始對生物學感興趣，因為那本書插圖比例最高！雖然我看不懂那些像螞蟻一樣的密密麻麻註釋，但色彩鮮豔的圖表足以吸引我這個文盲的注意力：綠色的食糜球在消化道里滾動，ATP合成酶的轉子像水車一樣旋轉。生物課以其對英語語言學習者的友好吸引著我，從未放手。
後來我在生物學課上學到，當淡水魚進入鹹水時，它會進行滲透調節—大量飲水，減少排尿。這跟我曾經上學時的情況如出一轍，我經常不停地喝水來填補尷尬的沉默，並潤溼舌頭髮好發清楚母音。這種習慣反過來成了英語口才和膀胱控制能力的考驗：我總是因為擔心如何提問而錯過上廁所的時間。我唯一能表達自己的方式是透過手指–在德彪西(Debussy)的曲譜頁和筆尖之下創作。於是，為了滿足自我表達和溝通的需求，我開始接觸古典音樂、視覺藝術，甚至是後來開始創作文學作品。直到今天，我仍然無法忘記當我演奏完一首協奏曲、完成一件雕塑、找到那些我無法發出卻美麗的詞彙時那種難以言表的激動之情。如果生物學幫助我理解世界，那麼藝術則幫助我被世界所理解。
藝術和生物學都有著人性、共情甚至救贖的力量。它們不僅幫助我適應英語和新家，它們連線和治癒人們的力量遠不止我個人的例子所能涵蓋。在大學乃至以後的日子裡，我希望能將這種力量傳遞下去，無論是透過投身科學研究，參加公益音樂會演出，還是僅僅分享藝術的美好。有時候，語言感覺像舌尖上的滑魚，難以捉摸。但知道有超越語言的東西存在讓我感到踏實和受到鼓舞。英語最終滲透進了我的生活中，但我仍然以同樣的，或許是普遍的，迫切和真誠的態度追求生物學和藝術:理解世界，也被世界所理解。
多年來，我逐漸認識到並愛上了我內心的那條“魚"，那個來自世界另一端、迷茫、舌頭打結、思鄉的學習英語的孩子，它將永遠與我共存。我也原諒了英語。儘管我仍然無法正確發音"rural"這個詞，英語給了我每天期待的新激情。現在，每當我看到孩子們帶著我曾經那種渴望家鄉水的喘不過氣的表情時，我都想對他們說:
必須說，移民主題被人寫得爛了，很難寫出具有個性化的好文書來。這一篇也是以語言困難為切入點，但不足的是前面分三段、128 words的introduction顯得太長了。這個部分有一個"Eely-noise"，是一處很好的表達主題的細節。它是Illinois的錯誤發音，還可以給結尾做呼應。
對了，以一個dictionary entry做開場的寫法，顯得老套了點。不免讓讀者覺得開篇hook不足。
進入的英語語言障礙的第四段，以“konglish” 和 “pictionary” 來描述這個主題元素，雖然很通俗易懂，但是缺乏形象畫面感，就不如《English in Our House》裡面的In our house, snake is snack。這就讓在後面結尾處總算出來的一個“rural”不僅僅是太晚，而且沒有可呼應的元素。
後面的Biology和Music，以及兩者之間的順滑過渡，撐起本篇文字的亮出。但是，故事從這兩個元素過渡到下一個college上的時候，卻有一個沒填的坑，“their power to connect and heal people is much bigger than my example alone”。
作者選擇只讓biology music治癒自己融入美國的困難，卻沒有寫出足夠connect people的內容來。這樣寫，算是從自己經歷向到社會和升學概念的硬著陸。
最後兩段，回到fish這個概念上，呼應篇首，總結全篇。除了“rural”一詞，沒有新鮮的內容。這就不必再用兩段，而是一段簡短的文字就足夠結尾。拿兩段話、88 words來對應篇首，加上段首三段式introduction，這不是錦上添花，倒顯得畫蛇添足。而且“rural”跟開篇的"Eely-noise"不構成呼應。
Crassandra Hsiao的《English in Our House》是A+。這篇我就給個B+吧。
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My nightstand is home to a small menagerie of critters, each glass-eyed specimen lovingly stuffed with cotton. Don’t get the wrong idea, now – I’m not a taxidermist or anything. I crochet.
Crochet is a family tradition. My grandmother used to wield her menacing steel hook like a mage’s staff and tout it as such: an instrument that bestowed patience, decorum, and poise on its owner. During her youth in Vietnam, she spent her evenings designing patterns for ornate doilies and handkerchiefs. Then the Vietnam War turned our family into refugees. The Viet Cong imprisoned my grandfather, a colonel in the South Vietnam Air Force, in a grueling labor camp for thirteen years. Many wives would have lost hope, but my grandmother was no average woman. A literature professor in a time when women’s access to education was limited, she assumed the role of matriarch with wisdom and confidence, providing financial and emotional security. As luxuries like yarn grew scarce, she conjured up all sorts of useful household items – durable pillowcases, blankets, and winter coats – and taught my mother to do the same. Because of these bitter wartime memories, she wanted my handiwork to be of a decidedly less practical bent; among the first objects she taught me to crochet were chrysanthemums and roses. However, making flowers bloom from yarn was no easy task.
Even with its soft plastic grip and friendly rounded edges, my first crochet hook had a mind of its own, like the enchanted broom in “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.” It stubbornly disobeyed my orders as I impatiently wrenched it through the yarn. My grandmother’s stern appraisal of my efforts often interrupted this perpetual tug-of-war: My stitches were uneven. The edges curled inward. I would unravel my work and start anew.
I convinced myself that cobbling together a lopsided rectangle would be the pinnacle of my crochet prowess but refused to give up. Just as a diligent wizard casts more advanced spells over time, I learned to channel the magic of the crochet hook. The animal kingdom is my main source of inspiration; the diversity and vivid pigmentation of life on Earth lend themselves perfectly to the vibrant and versatile art of crochet. Many of the animals I make embark on migratory journeys, like their real-life counterparts. Take Agnes, for example, a cornflower-blue elephant named after mathematician Maria Gaetana Agnesi who lives in my calculus teacher’s classroom, happily grazing on old pencil shavings and worksheets. As I fasten off the final stitches on every creature, I hope to weave a little whimsy and color into someone’s life.
Each piece I finish reminds me of the network of stitches that connects mother and daughter, past and present, tradition and innovation. In this vast cultural web, I am proud to be my family’s link between East and West. As I prepare for adulthood, I am eager to weave my own mark into the great patchwork quilt that is America.
《把編織帶到美國》
作為一篇申請文書，這篇採用了常見的五段式結構，Introduction、Development、Transition、Furthering和Conclusion。這篇《Crochet into America》的引入部分，簡捷並有細節，看得出作者有個好筆頭。中間的內容和過渡，奶奶的戰爭年代和難民經歷、我最初的困難，找到自己的創作物件，這些故事細節豐富、順滑流暢。
直到最後的結尾、簡單明瞭的總結這個故事，雖沒有呼應元素，但不失乾脆利索。選擇老式的寫作結構，就不要再把文書想得太複雜，這樣做是對的。可以說，這篇文書主要的吸引人處，還是它選擇了Crochet作為個人成長的代表。這個選擇很少見，因而很有趣。B+。
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I was in love with the way the dainty pink mouse glided across the stage, her tutu twirling as she pirouetted and her rose-colored bow following the motion of her outstretched arms with every grand jeté.
I had always dreamed I would dance, and Angelina Ballerina made it seem so easy. There was something so freeing about the way she wove her body into the delicate threads of the Sugar Plum Fairy’s song each time she performed an arabesque. I longed for my whole being to melt into the magical melodies of music; I longed to enchant the world with my own stories; and I longed for the smile that glimmered on every dancer’s face.
At recess, my friends and I would improvise dances. But while they seemed well on their way to achieving ballerina status, my figure eights were more like zeroes and every attempt at spinning around left me feeling dizzy. Sometimes, I even ran over my friends’ toes. How could I share my stories with others if I managed to injure them with my wheelchair before the story even began?
I then tried piano, but my fingers stumbled across the keys in an uncoordinated staccato tap dance of sorts. I tried art, but the clumsiness of my brush left the canvas a colorful mess. I tried the recorder, but had Angelina existed in real life, my rendition of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” would have frozen her in midair, with flute-like screeches tumbling through the air before ending in an awkward split and shattering the gossamer world the Sugar Plum Fairy had worked so hard to build.
For as long as I could remember, I’d also been fascinated by words, but I’d never explored writing until one day in fourth grade, the school librarian announced a poetry contest. That night, as I tried to sleep, ideas scampered through my head like Nutcracker mice awakening a sleeping Clara to a mystical new world. By morning, I had choreographed the mice to tell a winning story in verse about all the marvelous outer space factoids I knew.
Now, my pencil pirouettes perfect O’s on paper amidst sagas of doting mothers and evanescent lovers. The tip of my pen stipples the lines of my notebook with the tale of a father’s grief, like a ballerina tiptoeing en pointe; as the man finds solace in nature, the ink flows gracefully, and for a moment, it leaps off the page, as if reaching out to the heavens to embrace his daughter’s soul. Late at night, my fingers tap dance across the keys of my laptop, tap tap tapping an article about the latest breakthrough in cancer research—maybe LDCT scans or aneuploidy-targeted therapy could have saved the daughter’s life; a Spanish poem about the beauty of unspoken moments; and the story of a girl in a wheelchair who learned how to dance.
As the world sleeps, I lose myself in the cathartic cadences of fresh ink, bursting with stories to be told and melting into parched paper. I cobble together phrases until they spring off my tongue, as if the Sugar Plum Fairy herself has transformed the staccato rumblings of my brain into something legato and sweet. I weave my heart, my soul, my very being into my words as I read them out loud, until they become almost like a chant. With every rehearsal, I search for the perfect finale to complete my creation. When I finally find it, eyes dry with midnight-induced euphoria, I remember that night so many years ago when I discovered the magic of writing, and smile.
I may not dance across the stage like Angelina Ballerina, but I can dance across the page.
I, too, can dance.
《我，我也能跳舞》
我沉醉於那隻精緻的粉紅色小老鼠在舞臺上的翩躚身姿，旋轉間，她的芭蕾短裙輕盈飛舞，每次騰空跳躍，她身上那玫瑰色的蝴蝶結都隨著她伸展的手臂而飄逸擺動。
跳舞一直是我內心深處的夢想，而安吉麗娜這位芭蕾舞者，將這份夢想展現得如此輕鬆自如。每當她優雅地做出阿拉貝斯克舞姿，身體與《糖梅仙子之歌》的細膩旋律融為一體，那種自由與釋放的感覺讓我為之傾倒。我渴望自己也能融入音樂的魔法之中，讓靈魂隨之起舞；我渴望用我自己的故事去迷醉世界；我渴望看見每一個舞者臉上那如星光般閃耀的微笑。
課間休息時，我與朋友們會即興舞動，但每當他們似乎都在向芭蕾舞者的優雅靠近時，我的舞姿卻更像是一個零散的步伐，每次嘗試旋轉都會讓我頭暈目眩，甚至不小心踩到朋友的腳趾。如果在我尚未起步之前，就因笨拙而傷害到他們，我又怎能與他們分享我的舞蹈夢想呢？
於是，我嘗試了鋼琴，但我的手指在鍵盤上笨拙地敲擊，彷彿在進行一場不協調的踢踏舞。我嘗試了繪畫，但畫筆在我的手中卻留下了一片五彩繽紛的混亂。我也嘗試了豎笛，但倘若安吉麗娜真的存在，我對《瑪麗有隻小羊》的吹奏恐怕會讓她在空中停滯，笛聲尖銳刺耳，在空中翻滾，最終以一個尷尬的劈叉結束，打破了糖梅仙子精心構建的夢幻世界。
然而，從記事起，文字一直是我心中的摯愛。直到四年級的一天，學校圖書館員宣佈了詩歌比賽的訊息，我才真正開始深入探索寫作的奧秘。那夜，當我躺在床上試圖入眠時，靈感如同胡桃夾子中的小鼠般在我腦海中跳躍，將我帶入了一個神秘而嶄新的世界。到了清晨，我已經編排好了這些詩句，用它們講述了我所知道的關於外太空的奇妙知識，並最終贏得了比賽。
如今，我的鉛筆在紙上舞動，勾勒出完美的圓形，編織著關於母親慈愛、戀人傳奇的故事。筆尖的墨水在筆記本的頁間點綴出父親悲傷的故事，它們如同芭蕾舞者般輕盈地移動；當這位父親在大自然中找到慰藉時，墨水也優雅地流淌，彷彿從紙上躍起，伸向天堂，擁抱著他女兒的靈魂。深夜時分，我的手指在筆記型電腦的鍵盤上跳躍，敲擊出關於癌症研究最新突破的文章、一首描繪無言時刻之美的西班牙詩，以及一個坐在輪椅上的女孩學會跳舞的動人故事。
當世界陷入沉睡時，我沉浸在新鮮墨水的情感節奏中，心中充滿了要講述的故事，它們渴望被融入乾渴的紙張之中。我拼湊著短語，直到它們從舌尖躍出，彷彿糖梅仙子親自將我心中的斷章低語編織成連貫而甜美的旋律。當我大聲朗讀這些文字時，我將我的心、我的靈魂、我的整個存在都融入其中，直到它們幾乎成為了一種咒語。在每一次的創作中，我都在尋找那完美的句點，以結束我的作品。當終於找到時，我因熬夜而乾澀的眼睛中閃爍著興奮的淚光，我回想起多年前那個發現寫作魔力的夜晚，嘴角不禁泛起微笑。
我或許無法在舞臺上如安吉麗娜般翩翩起舞，但我可以在紙上盡情舞動。
特別是讀到兩個法語詞，“pirouette” 和“jeté”，你們有沒有不明覺厲？在我發給文書班課的資料裡，就有這些精選的法語詞彙，用起來吧，像一個Elite English Writer。
第二段，故事發展到三個“I longed for”，讓讀者從narrative的文字中，感受到螢幕前的一個小女孩的舞蹈薰陶和渴望。第三段，作者的筆頭幹練地滑向故事的轉折點，wheelchair上的殘疾女孩嚮往舞蹈，這豈不是折磨嗎。第四段，換鋼琴來試試吧。連finger dance 也還是不行，作者還超有想象力的場景，即Angelina Ballerina freeze in midair來說明自己在鋼琴上的失敗。
第五段，Poetry Contest，進入寫作的主題。一夜的mice dream-about，激發出早晨的外空靈感，於是產生了作者的第一篇獲獎作品。
第六段，作者沒有在成長史上耽擱筆墨，而是直接跳躍到現在，有文學創作，也有科學報道。段尾的三個分句，以從前的wheelchair女孩嚮往舞蹈入墨，把讀者拉回到開篇。期間沒有用到一個關聯詞，卻能把情節無縫銜接在一起，這筆法值得學習。
第七段，作者為自己的寫作興趣給出一個更有畫面感的備註：靜夜思。舉頭望明月，低頭思胡桃仙子。給每一個故事創造一個完美的結局的時候，作者想到的還是四年級那夜發現寫作時的興奮。
第八段， “I may not dance…but I dance…”一句總結，回顧全篇。從語法到內容的強烈對比，給讀者勾畫出一個殘疾女孩的精彩成長！
這篇的好處主要在於：
說了這麼多，只是難掩閱讀的快感而已。這篇我給出少有的A+。
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Three days before I got on a plane to go across the country for six weeks I quit milk cold-turkey. I had gone to the chiropractor to get a general check up. I knew I had scoliosis and other problems; however, I learned that because of my excessive, to say the least, intake of milk my body had developed a hormone imbalance. I decided it would be best for my health to completely stop drinking milk and avoid dairy when possible. Little did I know, this was only the start of a summer of change; three days later I got on a plane to attend the Minority Introduction To Engineering and Science (MITES) program in Massachusetts.
I was afraid; afraid my support wouldn't be good enough, afraid to show that I cared, afraid they didn't care for me.
I assumed that most of the people were going to be unhealthily competitive because of my past experiences. I thought I would keep to myself, do my work, and come back no different. Living in a building with 80 people I’ve never met in a place I’ve never been while making a significant life style change was not easy. The first few days were not kind: I got mild stomach ulcers, it was awkward, and I felt out of place. That first Thursday night however, all of that started to change. On Thursday evenings we had “Family Meetings” and on this particular Thursday part of our Machine Learning class was working together when the time came to go to the dining hall for whatever this “Family Meeting” was. Honestly we dreaded it at first, “I have work to do” was the most common phrase. We learned that “Family Meeting” was a safe space for us to talk about anything and everything. Today’s theme was, “what’s something important about your identity that makes you unique?” but the conversation quickly evolved into so much more. People spoke about losing family members, being shunned at home, not feeling comfortable in their own skin, and more. So many people opened up about incredibly personal things, I felt honored to be given that trust. The room was somber and warm with empathy as the meeting concluded. Out of my peripheral vision I saw Izzy, one of my Machine Learning classmates, rushing back to the conference room. I realized something was not right. Instinctively, I followed her back to where we were working. Izzy sat down and immediately broke down, the rest of us filed in as she started to talk about what was wrong. It felt as though an ambulance was sitting on my chest, my breaths were short and stingy. I was afraid; afraid my support wouldn’t be good enough, afraid to show that I cared, afraid they didn’t care for me. In this one moment all my insecurities, some I didn’t even know I had, came to the surface. The heavy silence of hushed sobbing was broken by an outpouring of support and a hug. We all started sharing what we’re going through and even some of our past trauma. Slowly that weight is lifted off my chest. I feel comfortable, I feel wanted, I feel safe.
This is the first time I truly felt confident, empowered, and loved. I am surrounded by people smarter than me and I don’t feel any lesser because of it. I have become the true Francisco, or Cisco as they call me. I now, at all times, am unapologetically myself. The difference is night and day. As the program progressed I only felt more comfortable and safe, enough so to even go up and speak at a family meeting. These people, this family, treated me right. I gained priceless confidence, social skills, self-worth, empathetic ability, and mental fortitude to take with me and grow on for the rest of my life. Through all of this somehow cutting out the biggest part of my diet became the least impactful part of my summer.
《在MITES的家庭會議》
這篇Hook文書，從文字的角度上看，也具有一個值得學習的地方，那就是它的開篇。從瑣碎的旅行準備開始談起，讓人開始感興趣於作者的背景。什麼人匯對一個6周的旅行這麼緊張，要把身體檢查一遍，還要停止喝牛奶呢？原來，是一個即將參加MITES的男孩。看到MITES，你自然想到作者在其背景下的優秀，這就是Hook。
看不出這種寫法的同學可能在多數。這是一種輕意識流的手筆，是英文敘事寫作中常見的筆法。我在文書課裡會講到這個筆法，把看似瑣碎、不值一提的事物，用盡量細節的手筆來描繪出來，這實際上是西方油畫追求的做法。
相對立的，是中國國畫裡的大量想象式的筆法，儘管那也是細節豐富的。中文敘事文裡，很多人也習慣充滿想象式的筆法，而不善於使用真實事物的細節來傳遞敘事的畫面感。
本文的結構屬於簡單的五段式結構。但他用到了一個強對比性的情節來推升主題。故事到臨近末尾，作者是透過幫助Izzy來發現久違的自信的。大多數人比如Izzy，他們的故事則都會是透過受到幫助而找到家的安全感。相對於大多數，本文的選材是一種更高明、更有感染力的做法。這也是我在文書課裡講到的一點。
讀到這裡，我覺得自己是在講一堂文書課。Harvard Crimson也給我們提供了豐富的對比閱讀素材。這一篇，我必須給出的評分是A，因為這真不是一個簡單的URM男孩，他確有優秀之處。
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Lunch and recess were opportunities to ‘play’ Stephen Sondheim’s Sweeney Todd, so we murdered our friends. We’d bake the dead into meat pies and scream cacophonously, “WE ALL DESERVE TO DIE!” Nine-year-old me even teased my hair, donned my Mrs. Lovett costume for Halloween, and rambled on about Australian penal colonies and how dead fiddle players make for “stringy” meat. You cannot imagine my disappointment when everybody thought I was Frankenstein’s Bride.
Like Gypsy Rose Lee, my siblings and I spent our formative years at rehearsals and performances, where I was indoctrinated into the cult that worships Sondheim. In our household, Sondheimian theatre was a religion (I’m not sure how I feel about God, but I do believe in Sondheim.) My brother and I read Sondheim’s autobiography, Finishing the Hat, like the bible, reading the book cover to cover and returning to page one the moment we finished. At six, he introduced me to Sondheim’s West Side Story, which illustrates the harms of poverty and systematic racism. Initially, I only appreciated Jerome Robbins’ choreography (Sorry, Mr. Shakespeare). When I revisited the musical years later, I had a visceral reaction as I witnessed young adults engaging in deadly gang rivalries. Experiencing Tony’s gruesome death forced me, a middle-class suburbanite, to feel the devastating effects of inner-city violence, and my belief in the need for early intervention programs to prevent urban gun violence was born.
I began to discover political and historical undertones in all of Sondheim’s work. For example, Assassins whirlwinds from the Lincoln era up to Reagan’s Presidency. Originally, I simply thought it was hysterical to belt Lynette Fromme’s love ballad to Charles Manson. Later, I realized how much history I had unknowingly retained from this musical. The song “November 22, 1963” reflects on America’s most notorious assassination attempts, and alludes to each assassin being motivated by a desperate attempt to connect to a specific individual or culture to gain control over their life. Assassins awakened me to the flaws in some of our quintessential American ideals because the song “Everybody’s Got the Right” illustrates how the American individualism enshrined in our Constitution can be twisted to support hate, harm, and entitlement. I internalized Sondheim’s political commentary, and I see its relevance in America's most pressing issues. The misconstrued idea of limitless freedom can be detrimental to public health, worsening issues such as the climate crisis, gun violence, and the coronavirus pandemic. These existential threats largely stem from antiquated ideas that the rights of the few outweigh the rights of the majority. Ironically, a musical about individuals who tried to dismantle our American political system sparked my political interests, but this speaks to the power of Sondheim’s music and my ability to make connections and draw inspiration from unlikely sources.
Absorbing historical and political commentary set to music allows my statistical and logical brain to better empathize with the characters, giving me a deeper understanding of the conflicts portrayed on stage, almost like reading a diary. Theatremakers are influenced by both history and their life experiences. I internalize their underlying themes and values, and my mindset shifts to reflect the art that I adore. I’m an aspiring political changemaker, and Sondheim’s musicals influence my political opinions by enabling me to empathize with communities living drastically different lives from my own.
I sang Sondheim melodies before I could talk. As I grew intellectually and emotionally, Sondheim’s musicals began to carry more weight. With each viewing, I retained new historical and political information. This ritual drives me to continue studying Sondheim and enables me to confidently walk my own path because Sondheim’s work passively strengthens my ethics as I continue to extrapolate relevant life lessons from his melodies. Sondheim’s stories, with their complex, morally ambiguous characters, have solidified my ironclad set of morals which, together with my love of history, have blossomed into a passion for human rights and politics.
《索德海姆的音樂劇》
在我學會說話之前，我就已經唱過桑德海姆的旋律。隨著我在智力和情感上的成長，桑德海姆的音樂劇在我心中佔據了越來越重要的位置。每次觀看，我都會從中獲得新的歷史和政治啟示。這種對桑德海姆的熱愛驅使我不斷深入研究，也讓我更加自信地走自己的路。因為桑德海姆的作品，在我不斷從他的旋律中領悟生活教訓時，默默地強化了我的道德觀。桑德海姆的故事，以其複雜而道德模稜兩可的角色，鞏固了我的堅定道德觀，這份道德觀與我對歷史的熱愛相結合，轉化為對人權和政治的熱情。
除了有關桑德海姆的知識外，確實沒有讀出什麼Surprise來。而這個知識上的Surprise，還侷限於主觀性範疇。所以，我給她A-。
其實，作者只要寫出一個以桑德海姆投身到inner-city intervention的活動中，用它去影響了一個人，完成了一項任務，都會促使我把這篇的評分提升一個檔次。如果你想了解怎樣提升這類選材，可以參加我的文書課。在中國申請中，以文學、戲劇、表演為主題的文書故事，是一個越來越常見的題材。
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Each time I bake cookies, they come out differently. Butter, sugar, eggs, flour — I measure with precision, stir with vigor, then set the oven to 375°F. The recipe is routine, yet hardly redundant.
After a blizzard left me stranded indoors with nothing but a whisk and a pantry full of the fundamentals, I made my first batch: a tray of piping hot chocolate chunkers whose melt-in-the-mouth morsels comforted my snowed-in soul. Such a flawless description, however, belies my messy process. In reality, my method was haphazard and carefree, the cookies a delicious fortuity that has since been impossible to replicate.
Each subsequent batch I make is a gamble. Will the cookies flatten and come out crispy? Stay bulbous and gooey? Am I a bad baker, or are they inherently capricious? Even with a recipe book full of suggestions, I can never place a finger on my mistake. The cookies are fickle and short-tempered. Baking them is like walking on eggshells — and I have an empty egg carton to prove it. Perhaps beginner’s luck had been the secret ingredient all along.
I became engrossed in perfecting the cookies not by the mechanical satisfaction of watching ingredients combine into batter, but by the chance to wonder at simplicity. The inconsistency is captivating.
Yet, curiosity keeps me flipping to the same page in my recipe book. I became engrossed in perfecting the cookies not by the mechanical satisfaction of watching ingredients combine into batter, but by the chance to wonder at simplicity. The inconsistency is captivating. It is, after all, a strict recipe, identical ingredients combined in the same permutation. How can such orthodox steps yield such radical, unpredictable results? Even with the most formulaic tasks, I am questioning the universe.
Chemistry explains some of the anomaly. For instance, just a half-pinch extra of baking soda can have astounding ramifications on how the dough bubbles. The kitchen became my laboratory: I diaried each trial like a scientist; I bought a scale for more accurate measurements; I borrowed “On Food and Cooking: the Science and Lore of the Kitchen” from the library. But all to no avail — the variables refused to come together in any sort of equilibrium.
I then approached the problem like a pianist, taking the advice my teacher wrote in the margins of my sheet music and pouring it into the mixing bowl. There are 88 pitches on a keyboard, and there are a dozen ingredients in the recipe. To create a rhapsodic dessert, I needed to understand all of the melodic and harmonic lines and how they complemented one another. I imagined the recipe in Italian script, the chocolate chips as quick staccatos suspended in a thick adagio medium. But my fingers always stumbled at the coda of each performance, the details of the cookies turning to a hodgepodge of sound.
I whisk, I sift, I stir, I pre-heat the oven again, but each batch has its flaws, either too sweet, burnt edges, grainy, or underdone. Though the cookies were born of boredom, their erratic nature continues to fascinate me. Each time my efforts yield an imperfect result, I develop resilience to return the following week with a fresh apron, ready to try again. I am mesmerized by the quirks of each trial. It isn’t enough to just mix and eat — I must understand.
My creative outlook has kept the task engaging. Despite the repetition in my process, I find new angles that liven the recipe. In college and beyond, there will be things like baking cookies, endeavors that seem so unvaried they risk spoiling themselves to a housewife’s drudgery. But from my time in the kitchen, I have learned how to probe deeper into the mechanics of my tasks, to bring music into monotony, and to turn work into play. However the cookie crumbles in my future, I will approach my work with curiosity, creativity, and earnestness.
《完美餅乾》
我的創造性思維使烘焙這項任務永遠充滿趣味性。儘管過程重複，但我總能找到新的角度讓配方變得鮮活生動。在大學及以後的生活中，可能會有像烤餅乾這樣看似單調的事情，它們可能會變得像家庭主婦的乏味工作一樣令人厭倦。但從我在廚房的經歷中，我學會了如何深入探究任務的機制，將音樂帶入單調之中，將工作轉變為遊戲。無論未來我製作的餅乾如何不盡如人意，我都會以好奇心、創造力和誠意來對待我的工作。
文字上的可取之處，在於作者baking cookie的細節和詞彙的掌握。如果你要以某件事物作為比喻題材的話，請你務必將它的細節和專用詞彙搞明白，用進來。
這一篇non-hook，考慮到以上兩點，我能給的分是B+。
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As I rode up and down the gentle slopes of the Peabody skatepark, I watched my younger brother race down from the highest point on the halfpipe and fly past me at the speed of light. I wish I could do that, I thought, eyeing the enormous curve that towered over me. But I didn’t dare make my way up to the top. Instead, I stuck with the routine I was comfortable with, avoiding the steep inclines at all costs.
Each week during the summer before my fourth grade year, my brother and I would visit that same skatepark, and I would take my mini-BMX bike to the bottom of that monstrous ramp, ready to attack the giant. I started off low reaching only a quarter of the way up at first, too scared to go any higher. But each week, I gained more confidence and kept reaching greater heights. Halfway there, two-thirds, three quarters. Until finally, I mustered up enough courage to complete my final challenge.
With my brother’s shouts of joy ringing in my ears, it seemed as though the concrete mass was calling my name, drawing me closer and closer, until I couldn’t resist its pleading any further. I walked my bike up the stairs and approached the steep drop off. My hands started to sweat and my legs began to shake as I inched toward the edge, staring in the face of doom. Finally at the lip of the ramp, I paused briefly, took a deep breath, and moved forward just enough to send myself speeding downwards. I couldn’t contain my excitement as my, “Woooo!” echoed around the park. I had finally ridden down the tallest ramp!
Throughout my life I have enjoyed having a plan and being in control. When working in a group, I make sure that everyone knows exactly which aspect of the project they will complete. I organize all my homework in a planner so that I never miss a due date. Each night, I outline my schedule for the following day so that I know what meetings, sports events, and other activities I have to attend. When I visited New York City over the summer, I prepared a detailed itinerary to follow. Rarely is there a day when I don’t have a general idea of what I’m going to do, but sometimes my plan doesn’t correlate with how the day truly plays out.
Over the years, I have learned to adapt when situations take an unexpected turn, and, similar to that time at the skatepark, I have been able to step out of my comfort zone more often. It isn’t the end of the world when things don’t go exactly as planned; often times, sudden changes and new experiences make for a more enjoyable and interesting time. As much as I enjoy a strict itinerary, some of my best nights have begun by hopping in the car with my friends, picking a direction, and going wherever the wind takes us. As hard as I try to plan out my day, an unforeseen event is almost inevitable. Although this can bring about some stress, scrambling around to figure things out is not only an essential skill, but can be a fun challenge, too.
I can’t imagine a completely organized life without a little uncertainty. Unexpected circumstances are bound to occur, and making the most of them is one of my favorite parts of life. Regardless of how much I love having a plan, my flexibility and willingness to step out of my comfort zone is something I have and will always take pride in.
《計劃的不確定性》
我難以想象一個井然有序的生活能完全擺脫不確定性。畢竟，意外情況總是無法避免，而恰恰是這些意外，成為了我生活中最迷人的部分之一。儘管我熱愛規劃，但我更為自己具備的靈活性和勇於突破舒適區的勇氣感到自豪，這是我會一直珍視的特質。
接著的，時group project、NYC trip的plans給出這個個人素質的更多例證，並總結plan並引出計劃之外的偶爾的uncertainty。第六段，用整一段話來描寫這個偶爾的現象。這本是全篇文書的精華之處，但作者的筆頭功力不足，文字上流於抽象了。如果能給出具體的例子，或者呼應一下前面的biking經驗，就會時一篇更好的文書了。
這一篇non-hook文書，考慮到以上兩點，我能給的分是B-。
整體上來看，《2024》的文書選擇，看得出2024年6月的哈佛招生心態繼續著2023年的故事主題。DEI、URM、Immigrant，這些仍然是今年哈佛招生的主訴價值。
其中，Queerness在DEI中的比例繼去年增加後，今年維持在20-30%的水平。新移民的比例則一直維持在20%的水平。URM的比例仍然是10%。剩下的non-hook，是middle class的主打曲，則是20-30%。
有人可能覺得我這樣來理解招生比例是武斷的，甚至無端。但我所講的，是哈佛招生辦的潛意識層的價值判斷。他們如果把non-hook的樣本文書突然提高到4-5篇，那我才可能改變這個判斷。我的判斷和量化，都是依據的。依據不充分和沒有依據是兩個概念。
2023年8月，在經過高法判決後的一個月裡，哈佛招生很顯然經過了一個調整轉向期。選出的文書，文字質量並不如2022以前。但是經過一年後，2024每篇文書故事，我不僅清晰地看到 equality和justice，而且文字的質量恢復到2022以前的水平了。
這說明什麼？是有hook的申請者都學會了寫作，還是會寫作的申請者都找到了hook？我更相信後一種判斷。
想了解怎樣提升文書檔次
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6月29日週六下午14:00
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什麼樣的孩子適合讀男校？
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