今天小編分享的教育經驗：哈佛大學公布7篇優秀文書及點評，打動招生官的秘訣原來是……，歡迎閱讀。
2023Fall，哈佛大學一共收到56,937名學生申請，最終1,942名學生獲得錄取，錄取率為歷史第二低3.41%，最低紀錄為去年（3.19%）。
哈佛大學一直以來都是頂尖學生心中的夢校，那麼究竟什麼樣的學生寫出怎樣優秀的文書，才可以順利被哈佛大學錄取呢？
近日，The Crimson公布了2023年度被哈佛大學錄取的7篇優秀文書并進行點評，這些文書代表了大學招生官所尋求錄取的學生的重要品質或特性，有非常高的參考價值。
各位正在準備申請的同學們可以仔細閱讀這幾篇優秀文書，看看令哈佛招生官稱贊的文書究竟是什麼樣子的。
01
Successful Harvard Essay: ‘When Life Doesn’t Gives You Lemons’
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With the blazing morning sun beaming through the window, I had an inclination to make a stand to sell Lebanese laymounada - a light lemonade flavored with a splash of rosewater. Throughout my childhood, anytime the temperature spiked over seventy degrees, there would be laymounada waiting for me at my Teta’s (grandmother in Lebanese Arabic) house.
At that moment, I scoured the cabinets and secured the glass pitcher only to realize we did not have lemons. To my disappointment, I realized my days of being an entrepreneur and generating revenue from my laymounada stand were over before they could even begin. I sat at the kitchen table, wallowing in disappointment. I wanted everyone to be able to taste my Teta’s laymounada. Suddenly, I had an idea that would either prove to be inventive or a total failure. I would sell lemonade without the lemons. Revolutionary, right?
I ripped off a rectangular sheet of paper towel and jotted down my business plan. I listed the key elements of the business plan: a drawing of a cup, a rose, and the price- "fifty scents"- to correlate with the rose-themed business. I sat outside of my childhood home located in a cul-de-sac of five houses and sold my neighbors a rose drink- a combination of filtered water, packets of sugar, and a dash of rosewater. Granted, I only made about $10 from a combination of my parents and generous neighbors who did not drink the "lemonade", but the experience allowed me to realize regardless of the obstacle, if you are passionate, you can persevere. Teta’s laymounada was my introduction to entrepreneurship.
The entrepreneurial skills gained from my laymounada stand allowed me to establish A&G Jewelry, co-founded with my sister when I was twelve. This business focused on representing our Lebanese heritage. Using supplies we found around our house and from our local craft store, we created a variety of pieces that featured traditional Middle Eastern coins, beads, and clay baked into the shape of Lebanon. My sister and I collaborated to create marketing tools to promote our new business. Before we knew it, A&G Jewelry had earned a spot at my church’s annual Lebanese festival. After tirelessly marketing and selling our jewelry for three days straight, we had made over $900 in revenue, which we decided to donate to the church.
Entrepreneurship took a new form in high school when my sister and I founded our second partnership, The Model Brockton City Council. We saw a need to engage our peers in local government by designing a simulation of our city council. We had to collect signatures, present to many administrators, and market our new club. The initial goal to have more people try my lemonade resonated with me as I strived to have more people engage in their civic duties. Today, over twenty-five of my classmates frequently attend my meetings.
With my first business venture selling laymounada, I made $10; with A&G Jewelry, $900; with the Model Brockton City Council, the revenue amounted to $0. Although there was not a financial gain, I attained experience as a negotiator, problem solver, creative thinker, and most importantly, I became persistent.
Twelve years have passed since that summer day with my "laymounada," and I have yet to maintain a long-lasting business. My six-year-old self would have seen this lack of continuity as a colossal failure, but instead, it instilled an intense curiosity in me. Little did I know the experience would remain so vivid after all these years. It has continued to push me, compelling me to challenge myself both academically and entrepreneurially. As I grow older, my intrinsic drive to have a lemonade stand, regardless of whatever obstacles come my way, persists as a deep-seated love of business.
When life doesn’t give you lemons, still make lemonade (or laymounada, as my Teta would say).
哈佛點評：
優秀的大學文書都遵循一個簡單的公式:鉤子（ Hook ）+錨點（Anchor）+故事（Story）+成長（Growth）。
雖然具體細節可能有所不同，但如果您能夠包含這四個要素，您将寫出一篇吸引人的文書。
鉤子:"鉤子"的作用是吸引讀者。招生官每天會閱讀數百篇文書，因此要用有趣或者不同的内容最快速度吸引他們的注意力。
錨點:"錨點"是連接整篇文章并賦予其意義的想法或主題。優秀的主題是發人深省的，讓讀者看完後感到滿足。
故事:講故事的黃金法則是"展示，而不是講述"。不要只是告訴招生官你是多麼優秀的人，而是嘗試通過你的故事向他們展示你的個性、性格和成就。
成長:所有優秀的大學文書都清楚地展示了你如何從你的經歷中成長。一定要強調你從你的經歷中學到了什麼或收獲了什麼。
這篇文書成功的原因就是抓住了四個關鍵要素--吸引力、錨點、故事和成長。
02
Successful Harvard Essay:Abby's Essay
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Barreling through the hallowed, mahogany double doors, I was on a mission. I made a beeline for the back. Behold, a panoply of new prospects, each beckoning me to read them.
Every weekend, my father, my sister, and I make the pilgrimage to Book Mecca. The sensations one meets upon entering Barnes and Noble are unmatched. The aroma of coffee mingles with the crisp perfume of unopened books, and the tinny music drifts from the ceiling speakers, coalescing with the clanking of the Cafe equipment, which is intermittently overcome by the barista's peppy voice on the PA system announcing the latest limited-edition dessert. Where else can one enjoy a triple-layer cheesecake among bookstacks? As Virginia Woolf says, "one cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well."
My family, however, dines on knowledge. To us, Barnes and Noble is an all-you-can-eat buffet for the mind. After we snag our favorite corner table, I sit, like metal to a magnet, immovable for hours.
I may delve into an Agatha Christie novel and attempt to outwit Detective Poirot; though I never win, I find the sleuthing remarkably similar to analyzing confounders the culprits of unexpected results-in my clinical research. Alternatively, I may crack open an atlas to test my memory from the summer when I memorized the entire world map. Or, I might read Animal Farm to better understand the system that ravaged Ethiopia in the late 20th century and forced my grandfather to flee his own village.
Complimenting this mission to satisfy our voracious minds comes an equally important fulfillment: engaging with the coterie of miscellaneous characters we have befriended. After visiting the same Barnes and Noble for eleven years, we have forged friendships with several regulars, including a retired teacher couple, an octogenarian with a seven-year-old brother, and an eternally sunburned man named George who shelters feral cats at his pool company's office. After a dear Barnes and Noble-goer passed away, my heart was comforted when I read in her obituary that she, indeed, would be missed by "the old [bookstore] gang." United by their good humor and love for Barnes and Noble, this unlikely group teaches me that a community can form around anything, no matter how disparate the members are. They show me that, in Aristotle's words, "educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all."
While I have the luxury of Barnes and Noble, my father's reality growing up in rural Ethiopia bears a stark contrast and defines my legacy of education. He received a meager education in a laughable schoolhouse, using sunlight to study by day, and the moonlight by night. When he was nine, my grandfather opened a school so my father could continue beyond 4th grade, unlike many of his peers. My grandfather had no formal education, yet he knew the country's constitution by heart and exhorted nearby villages to educate their children.
My father's dedication to chauffeuring me to the bookstore and the library is an artifact of his father's same dedication. And I am the accumulation of this legacy. Behind me are all of the sacrifices and payoffs of my family's dedication to education, and before me is a lifetime of opportunity and fulfillment. Though I have never met my grandfather, I feel an incredibly palpable connection to him through our shared fervor to learn and teach. My father's and grandfather's stories remind me that education is not a commodity for many, but a privilege that I treat as such. I cherish all of my education's wonderful consequences: the obscure curiosities I have indulged in, the strong sense of identity I have developed, the discernment and morals I have bolstered, the respect I have gained for different viewpoints, and the ambition for excellence that I have inherited and extended. They are what fuel me, my college education, and my drive to pay it forward.
Abby的文書寫得很好，下面是她的做法，你也可以這麼做:
Abby使用了一種我稱之為"過道文書（aisle essay）"的方法。
"過道文書"是指作者推着購物車穿過她的過去、現在和未來，沿途收集她的轶事、興趣和價值觀。把購物車想象成這篇文書的背景。
Abby的購物車是巴諾書店的。堅實的背景使文章在一些容易描繪的世界中扎根，使Abby能夠深入到她生活的不同方面，而不會使文書看起來分散。
只要你文書中的每個小主題都在你的購物車中，這篇文書就會被視為一個統一的、合乎邏輯的部分。
Abby以明顯的核心價值觀結束了這篇文書:感恩。她并沒有戲劇性地聲稱她将改變或拯救世界。
相反，她只是讓人們看到了自己的真實身份:一個充滿好奇心、經常光顧書店的女孩--一個受到過去啟發并衝進未來的桃花心木大門的女孩。
你能想到一個最能代表你的場景嗎?在你的aisle essay中，你會從貨架上抓取哪些興趣和價值觀?
03
Successful Harvard Essay: Samantha C.
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I’ve always been a storyteller, but I’ve only been an alleged fish killer since age five. As a child, my head was so filled up with stories that I might have forgotten to feed Bubbles the class pet just one time too often. Once I pulverized an entire pencil, because I was daydreaming instead of taking it out of the sharpener.
More than anything else, I became an obsessive list-maker. I memorized and wrote down long lists of my stuffed animals, cities around the world, and my favorite historical time periods. I created itineraries and packing lists for my Build-A-Bears, then arranged them in rows on a pretend airplane. I drew family trees for a made-up family during the Industrial Revolution. I wrote lists until the spine of my notebook cracked under the weight of graphite.
For a long time, I thought this was something that I alone did, and that I did alone. Lying on the floor of my bedroom, I spun fantastical stories of mundane events. Each story opened and closed in my head, untold and unsung.
Years later, though—to my amazement—I discovered other people who were interested in the same things I was. Wandering into fanfiction websites and online forums, I was welcomed into a vibrant community of writers—serious, silly, passionate people who wrote hundreds of thousands of words analyzing character dynamics and exploring endless plot threads. When I finally started posting my own thoughts, I didn’t feel like I was taking a risk or venturing into new territory. I had been speaking these words to myself since I was five, preparing myself to finally shout them into the real world. And people responded.
Spurred on by this excitement, I started writing stories for other people to read. I had fallen in love with the community writing had given me, and with writing itself. I wanted to contribute my own small piece to a world much bigger than me. I shouted my stories up to the WiFi signals that caught and carried them, waiting to be found by someone else writing lists in her bedroom alone.
In high school, I also found joy in editing. I loved analyzing, polishing, and curating my classmates’ short stories, poems, and artwork to make them shine for my school’s literary magazine. I spent hours with other editors, passionately arguing the merits and weaknesses of dozens of writing pieces. Editing the school newspaper, meanwhile, became a way to spotlight members of the school community, from profiling new staff and faculty to polling the student body about the stigma surrounding menstruation.
I’ve now had my poems published in a national literary journal and have joined the editorial staff of an international literary magazine for teens. I feel like I’m discovering my power, and with it my ability to create change. Last year, I founded SPEAK, a creative writing program for elementary school students. I wanted to assist younger writers so they could create their own communities. During SPEAK sessions, I taught a group of students how to draw a map of a fantasy wolf kingdom they had designed, helped a girl edit her classmate’s poem about hula hoops, and listened to a third-grader talk faster and faster as we discussed the meaning of soup in The Tale of Despereaux.
I’ve now turned SPEAK into a self-sustaining club at my school, and I’m expanding the program onto an online platform. Writing changed my life, but it only happened when I started sharing my work, putting it out there, and starting conversations—not just responding. Alone, stories used to abstract me from the outside world. Now, stories connect me to the world, creating communities instead of pulling me away from them. For too many of us, our stories are born in our heads, and they die there. I’m going to change that, for myself and for as many people as I can bring with me.
哈佛點評：
我喜歡這篇文書，讀完第一句話後，我想繼續讀下去。到了第三段結尾的時候，我已經迫不及待地想要見到這個學生了!
這篇文書的成功是因為我們不僅深入了解了他們與生俱來的好奇心和想象力，而且我們了解了他們的個人成長。我們看到學生變得更加自信，并在更大的社區中找到了自己的位置。
流行文化和歷史典故是一種很好的接觸，使寫作變得人性化，同時使其具有很強的可讀性。
但最重要的是，有一條成長的叙事線索。
學生偶爾會取得一些成就，這些成就是成長的裡程碑，但這并不像是一份簡歷或人為的清單……當我們了解他們的創作過程以及故事在他們生活中的重要性時，這一切最終都融合在一起。
好奇、有創造力、關心他人……以及個人成長感。許多偉大的主題和個人特質讓讀者不僅喜歡這個學生，而且想認識他們。
04
Successful Harvard Essay: Simar B.
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June 2nd, 2019. The birth of the new me, or "Simar 2.0" as mom called me. However, I still felt like "Simar 1.0," perceiving nothing more than the odd new sensation of a liberating breeze fluttering through my hair.
At age seventeen, I got a haircut for the first time in my life.
As a Sikh, I inherited a tradition of unshorn, cloth-bound hair, and, for most of my life, I followed my community in wholeheartedly embracing our religion. Over time, however, I felt my hair weighing me down, both materially and metaphorically.
Sikhism teaches that God is one. I asked mom why then was God cleaved into different religions? If all paths were equal, I asked dad, then why not follow some other religion instead? My unease consistently dismissed by our Sikh community, I decided to follow the religion of God: no religion. My hair, though, remained; if I knew my heart, then cutting my hair served no purpose.
Nevertheless, that unshorn hair represented an unequivocal beacon for a now defunct identity. I visited my calculus teacher's office hours, only to be peppered by incessant questions about Sikhism. He pigeonholed me into being a spokesperson for something I no longer associated with. Flustered, I excused myself to the bathroom, examining this other me in the mirror.
Why this hair? This question kept coming back.
I ransacked my conscience, and it became painfully obvious. Fear. Fear of what my conservative grandparents might think. Fear of what my Sikh family friends might say. Fear of what my peers might ask. This hair had usurped my sense of self.
So off it came.
A few days after crossing my personal Rubicon, I flew to India to meet my grandparents.
Breezing through the airport, I perceived something remarkably different about my experience: the absence of the penetrating surveillance that had consistently accompanied me for seventeen years. It was uncanny; I felt as an anodyne presence.
Apprehensively entering my grandparents' New Delhi home some eighteen hours later, I found myself enveloped in hugs. Savoring the moment, I failed to probe why. I recognize now that, in spite of their intransigent religious views, they appreciated that I had made a decision about my identity based on belief, based on being true to my evolving sense of self. I think my grandparents found that admirable.
A few weeks later, dad confessed, "I regret that you did not cut your hair earlier."
I have no regrets.
My hair made me work harder than everyone else simply because I looked different. Sanctimonious people lecture us on having pride in our differences, rarely considering the difficulties which being different entails. For example, a fake Facebook page created by an unknown schoolmate with my birthday listed as September 11th, 2001. Dealing with attacks fueled by ignorance never becomes easier, but such aggressions bolster my courage to face what other people think. In standing up for myself, I become myself.
On some level, I know appearances should not matter. Yet, in many uncomfortable ways, they still do, and they give birth to many disparities. Through the simple act of cutting my hair, I left the confines of intolerance, but my experience opened my eyes to those whose struggles cannot be resolved so easily. This motivates me to never be a bystander, to always energetically take the side of the persecuted in the fight against the powerful.
Over my years of shadowing, I have seen a healthcare system where patients receive inferior care solely on the basis of perceived race. Exposure to this institutionalized injustice motivates me to volunteer with a free health clinic to provide glucose screenings to the underprivileged. We must lead with personal initiative first, starting on the individual level and building from there. Only then can we bring about systemic change to reform the institutions and practices that perpetuate prejudice within medicine and without.
文書開頭，Simar就把我們帶入了一個有意義的成長叙事，盡管如此獨特，但卻普遍可以理解。
所選的題目是理想的，因為它不僅發人深省，而且具有啟發性，雖然不是所有的讀者都必須面對屬于錫克教的社會和文化責任和影響，但Simar以強烈而感人的清晰度将這種鬥争揭示出來。
通過他們的故事，他們巧妙地将自己文化和宗教的獨特挑戰融入到重新找回自己身份和成為真正的自己的強大體驗中。
在這樣做的過程中，學生巧妙地展示了他們有自我理解、内在力量和成長的能力，這些都是打破和重塑自出生以來定義我們的限制所必需的。
Simar用一種堅定的、清晰的聲音完成了這一切，積極抵制用極端的詞匯選擇或誇張的語氣誇大他們的鬥争的常見誘惑，這些誘惑可能會給招生讀者留下不好的印象。
相反，這篇文書的語氣仍然非常真實，在面對挫折和逆境時總是表現得誠實和實事求是，并提供了幾個現實生活中的例子。
Simar的文書是很好的例子，說明個人陳述（ personal statements ）不需要普遍以"幸福的結局"為特色，也不需要以輕松愉快和感激的中心語氣來展示成長。
Simar出色地以沉思、體貼和賦權的方式處理了我們通常認為的"沉重"話題。
05
Successful Harvard Essay: ‘The Color of Everything’
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There’s a theory that even though each color has a specific wavelength that never changes, how people perceive a specific color may have subtle differences based on small differences in photoreceptors, and the color that one person might consider red might still be red in another’s mind but could look different— a little duller, softer, cooler. Furthermore, how a person’s brain processes the color may also be linked to that person’s environment. Some studies have suggested that color sensitivity could be linked to one’s native languages: for example, people who speak languages that have specific names for eleven colors are able to easily distinguish those eleven colors, but people who speak languages with fewer color specific words may have a harder time distinguishing them.
So it appears that even at the most elementary level of sight, the world is not an objective thing. Instead, what we know and what we remember can influence what and how we see. The color blue may just be the color blue to a three year old, perhaps her favorite color even, but an adult might connect it to so much more—the lake by his childhood home or the eye color of a loved one.
I first consciously became aware of the power that our experiences have to change perception when I went to turn on a light in my house after learning about photons in class. What had previously been a mundane light suddenly became a fascinating application of atomic structure, and I thought that I could almost perceive the electrons jumping up and down from energy level to energy level to produce the photons that I saw. I then realized that my world had steadily been changing throughout my years in school as I learned more and more. I now see oligopolies in the soda aisles of the supermarkets. I see the charges warring with each other in every strike of lightning, and the patterns of old American politics still swaying things today. Knowledge and making connections with that knowledge is the difference between seeing the seven oceans glittering in the sun and merely seeing the color blue. It’s the difference between just seeing red and seeing the scarlet of roses blooming, the burgundy of blood pumping through veins, and crimson of anger so fierce that you could burst. Knowledge is color; it is depth, and it is seeing a whole new world without having to move an inch.
It is knowledge, too, that can bring people together. I love listening to people’s stories and hearing about what they know and love, because if I learn about what they know, I can learn how they see the world; consequently, since behavior is often based upon perception, I can understand why a person behaves the way they do. On a road trip during the summer, my mom kept looking up at the streetlights lining the highways. When I asked why, she told me that whenever she saw lights by a highway she would wonder if her company had made them. She would guess how tall they were, how wide, and what style they were. She told me that ever since she started working for her company, lights no longer were just lights to her. They were a story of people who first had to measure the wind speed to figure out what dimension the lights had to be, and then of engineers, of money passing hands—possibly even under her own supervision as an accountant—and then of transportation, and of the people who had to install them. I might never perceive lights the exact way my mother does or see her "red" but by hearing her describe what she knows, I can understand her world and realize her role in ours.
Beauty and color are in the world, but it is seeking the unknown and making new connections that unlocks them from their greyscale cage.
Amy撰寫了一篇出色的、發人深省的文書，以"求知欲"為中心，使用生動的描述性語言将有趣的科學理論、顏色和視覺研究聯系起來，展示我們有限或廣泛的知識如何塑造我們的現實和經驗。
整篇文章中顯而易見的是Amy不斷學習的熱情和成長，并将她的知識與周圍的環境聯系起來，以發現隐藏的真相。
一個人可以通過學習他人的知識或故事來理解他人的行為或感知，這是一個簡單但又深刻的宏觀主題--對知識、真理的好奇心、分享想法和經驗無疑可以将許多人聚集在一起。
我想起了狹義相對論和廣義相對論的發現者阿爾伯特·愛因斯坦的著名自語:"我沒有特殊的才能。我只是充滿好奇。"
這篇文章的結構非常好，每一段都進一步說明了Amy對新信息和聯系的渴望。總的來說，Amy得出了一個有力的結論:教育、同理心、傾聽、理解和聯系，所有這些都激發了她對生活的智力熱情。
Amy渴望了解所有事物，尤其是人，她将自己描繪成一個充滿好奇心且讨人喜歡的學生，是充滿活力的學術界的理想補充。
06
Successful Harvard Essay:Una's Essay
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The first word I ever spoke was my name. I was intrigued that my entire identity could be attached to and compressed into such a simple sound. I would tell everyone I met that my name meant "one," that it made me special because it sounded like "unique." When I learned to write, I covered sheets of paper with the letters U, N, and A. Eventually, I realized that paper was not enough—I needed to cover the world with my name, my graffiti tag.
This came to a screeching halt in kindergarten. One day in music class, I scratched UNA into the piano’s wood. Everyone was surprised that I tagged my name and not someone else’s. I didn’t want someone else to suffer for my misdeeds. I wanted to take something, to make it mine.
Kindergarten was also the year my parents signed me up for piano lessons, and every aspect of them was torture. I had to learn to read an entirely new language, stretch my fingers to fit challenging intervals, use my arms with enough force to sound chords but not topple over, grope around blindly while keeping my eyes on the music, and the brain-splitting feat of doing this with each hand separately. Hardest was the very act of sitting down to practice. The physical challenges were more or less surmountable, but tackling them felt lonely and pointless.
I only fell in love with music when I found myself in a sweaty church on the Upper West Side—my first chamber music concert, the final event of a two-week camp the summer before sixth grade. I was nervous. My group, playing a Shostakovich prelude, was the youngest, so we went first. My legs shook uncontrollably before, during, and after I played. I nearly became sick afterward from shame and relief. I was so disappointed that I thought I could never face my new music friends again. From the front row, I plotted my escape route for when the concert finished. But I didn’t run. I watched the whole concert. I watched the big kids breathe in unison, occupying the same disconnected body. I fell in love with music through the way they belonged to each other, the way they saw each other without even looking.
I stuck with that chamber camp. In the twenty chamber groups that have made up my last six years, I’ve performed in six-inch heels and nearly fallen off-stage during my bow. I’ve performed in sneakers and a sweatshirt, on pianos with half the keys broken and the other half wildly out of tune, in subway stations, nursing homes, international orchestras, Carnegie Hall, and on Zoom.
Chamber music doesn’t work when everyone aims to be a star; it works when everyone lets everyone else shine through. It’s more fun that way. A musical notation I rarely saw before playing chamber music is "una corda," which says to put the soft pedal down and play on only "one string," usually to highlight another player’s solo. I don’t need to be the loudest to breathe in unison with my friends, to create something beautiful. In that moment, I’m not just Una, I’m the pianist in the Dohnanyi sextet.
I started to love music only when I realized it doesn’t belong to me. I had to stop trying to make piano my own and take pleasure in sharing it. I learned that the rests in my part were as meaningful as the notes; that although my name means "one," I’d rather not be the "only." My favorite compliment I’ve received was that I made an audience member feel like they were sitting onstage next to me. This, to me, is the essence of chamber music. To pull your audience onto the stage, trusting your group isn’t enough—you have to fuse together, to forget you exist. For a few minutes, you have to surrender your name.
Una作為一名音樂家的成長經歷使得這篇文書頗具意義。
年輕時渴望用自己的名字和塗鴉覆蓋世界，作為自我表達的一種形式，這增添了好奇心和個性的元素。Una對潛在後果的認識和她承擔責任的最終願望表明了她的正直和自我意識。
一篇強有力的文書包含了脆弱性。Una在探索自己的旅程時展示了她的經歷，描述了彈鋼琴所帶來的身體和精神上的困難，以及孤獨和無意義的感覺。她還創造了一種面對障礙時的毅力和決心。
當Una描述她在室内樂音樂會上的變革性經歷時，她對音樂連接人們的力量的開放和深刻認識确實令人感動。
Una的文書通過她在不同場合的多樣化表演進一步展示了她對音樂的承諾。了解室内樂的協作本質以及她讓他人發光發熱的意願，展示了Una作為音樂家的成長以及對通過團隊合作創造的美的欣賞。
Una在文書的結尾意識到，創造美妙的音樂并不需要成為最響亮的人或明星。她接受與朋友們齊心協力的理念，并在讓别人發光發熱的過程中找到快樂。這種見解反映了她作為音樂家的成長以及她對合作和共享經驗重要性的理解。
總的來說，這篇文書成功地傳達了Una的個人旅程、她對音樂的熱愛，以及她對協作和無私的變革力量的理解。叙事結構、生動的描述、脆弱性、反思的基調，以及讀者感官、反思基調的融合，使Una的文章引人入勝、有影響力、令人難忘。
07
Successful Harvard Essay:Marina's Essay
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It's 8AM. Dew blankets the grass under my bare feet as my small hands grasp the metal of the backyard fence. I lift my heels, summoning enormous power in my tiny lungs as I blare out a daily wake-up call: ""GIRLS!"" Waiting with anticipation for those familiar faces to emerge from their homes, my mind bursts with ideas eager for exploration.
Years later, at the corner of our yards, gates magically appeared; an open invitation connecting the backyards of four mismatched homes. The birth of the ""Four Corners"" inevitably developed into lifelong friendships and became the North Star in the lives of absolute strangers who have become family. As parents bonded at the gates, discussing everything from diapers to first dates, the kids took advantage of overlooked bedtimes and late night movies. Today, I launch into adulthood with the imagination, leadership, and confidence born from adolescent adventures.
Behind corner #1 lived the Irish neighbors, where I embarked on a culinary exploration of corned beef and cabbage served during the annual St. Patty's celebrations. My taste buds awakened with the novelty of a peculiar dish that seemed to dismiss the health hazards of sodium chloride, an element that conjures up mental images of chemistry experiments. With U2 playing on the speaker, and parents enjoying a pint of Guinness, adolescents discussed inventions that could lead us to a pot of gold; from apps that would revolutionize the music industry, to building a keg cooler from a rubber trash can (and yes, we actually tried that). Endless playtime and conversations fueled the gene of curiosity which molded my creative thinking and imagination.
Behind corner #2, vibrant Italians cheered on the creation of zip lines and obstacle courses, which taught me a thing or two about Newton's Laws of Motion. Body aches from brutal stops provided lessons in physics that prompted modifications. This inventive spirit during backyard projects required testing, redesigning, and rebuilding. I wanted to conquer the yard and use every square inch of it. My swimming pool hosted ""Olympic Games"", where the makeshift springboard I built would have made Michael Phelps proud. I dove into projects, disregarding smashed fingers and small fires. Through persistence and sheer will, repeated failures became a source of progress for all to enjoy. These lessons served me well when diving into the Odyssey of the Mind Competitions.
Corners #3 and #4, where Cuban roots run deep, entertained countless activities opening a world of learning and exploration. 1AM backyard stargazing encouraged my curiosity; the night sky like a blank slate, ready to be lit up with discovery. Through the eye of the telescope, I traced stars that were millions of miles away, yet filled my tent like fairy lights. Questions merged in a combinatorial explosion that only led to more questions. Could a black hole really cause spaghettification? Do the whispered echoes of dead stars give a clue to how old our universe truly is? Years later, at the FPL Energy, Power, and Sustainability Lab, conversations about smart grids, electric vehicles, and a possible colonization of the moon would take me back to that backyard camping, propelling my desire for exploration.
In my little pocket of the world, I embrace the unexpected coincidence that struck 20 years ago, when four families collided at the same exact moment in space and time. My Four Corners family, with their steadfast presence and guidance, cultivated love, maturity, risk-taking, and teamwork. Through my adventures, I became a dreamer, an inventor, an innovator, and a leader. Now, fostering my love for learning, spirit of giving back, and drive for success, I seek new adventures. Just as I walked through the magical gates of my beloved Four Corners, I will now walk through transformational thresholds to continue on a journey that began as a girl, at a fence, with a heart full of hope and a head full of possibilities.
Marina的文書很好地解決了許多大學申請者的擔憂:如果你沒有經歷過戲劇性的劇變或克服難以置信的困難，你就沒有任何有趣的東西可寫。瑪麗娜的文書以充滿朋友的社區中的快樂童年為背景，通過描述性細節和感官語言與讀者建立聯系，讓不認識她的人能夠第一手了解塑造她的世界。
這篇文書最有力的方面之一是Marina的身臨其境的叙述，這種語言的特殊性确保了這篇文章讀起來不會像一般文章一樣--很明顯，只有 Marina(或者可能是她後院的朋友之一)才能寫出這篇特殊的文書。
Marina的作品還很好地實現了申請論文的其他目标之一:利用生活中的小事件更廣泛地展示你這個人的一些核心方面，展示一種根深蒂固的信念、一種生活哲學的形成，或者一種已成為決定性品質的人格特質。
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