我念的新加坡RJC蠻恐怖的。就說我們那個Computer Club，committee里8個人4個國際olympiad，SAT除了我都>2320。學校堅持要寄去美國的期末成績單，我也是有B有C，更別提school ranking的百分比多恐怖。從小我給自己定位都是靠和周圍人比的，在RJC我自卑極了，還差點被某businessman勸誘放棄ED最喜歡的學校。

后來我才覺得，academic和ECA定位確實很重要，但是對于我們international applicants來講,或許不是最重要的。

看到某書上有個Harvard美國學生感嘆說，我很自卑我的SAT不是full score而只是2380我也不是XX sports的captain。人家本土2400和captains已經(jīng)排長隊了，還會缺一個泊來的？

我現(xiàn)在覺得美國那些大uni都是百貨商場。只不過我們不是顧客是貨物。但凡大百貨商場要實力也要面子，要夸自己進的貨好，還要夸自己進的貨全。美其名曰，cultural diversity. 大uni看我們，可能主要看這個。成績和課外活動什么的是個門檻，只要跨的過去了蹦得再高都難出彩，因為大uni的AO們早眼花了。我們的 application里，essay真得很關(guān)鍵。

剛寫essay時不知所措，本來有很多方案的，比如讀了本TSEliot想大耍把花槍。想到最喜歡的幾個學校都挺難，越想越覺得沒戲越覺得悲苦，終于把之前的功利心態(tài)漸漸淡了，只想真正的表達一下自己的心情。這樣琢磨essay的時候一下子開闊好多，小的時候很多想法都出來了。比如，為什么小學生好壞都要看數(shù)學競賽，還有很多家里人生活的一些坎坷。

有感而發(fā)的東西當然自己寫的舒服多了，后來證明，別人看得也不錯。電話問ED result時某AO竟然記得我的essay，說You are very earnest!

后來才知道我的很多朋友們對待申請文都有點偏差。有的成績非常優(yōu)秀的直接把申請文當作是再多填一張表格，更多的是把申請文看得太過神圣，于是飽讀各類 ‘successful essay collection’，要么就是像我那個TSEliot計劃一樣大?；?，從中國人口論述到美伊戰(zhàn)爭。記錄自己‘光榮史’的流水賬沒味道，AO當場被催眠，不了解的不感興趣的topic是卻有刺鼻味道的，AO敏感得很。我自己就險些掉進這個坑里。

翻開任何essay guide都說‘write in your own voice’，在application的壓力下確實是最難以辦到的真理。其實我們每個都是有advantage的，埋在我們經(jīng)歷里，不需要很偉大，只要有真實細節(jié)應(yīng)該就會不錯。分享我的一篇essay，語言很造作也很chin-glish表見笑，只想說明app essay就是我這樣記錄點小事也可以的。Because the love and respect I wrote about are real.

Hehe, 預祝老爹今年評職稱大關(guān)順利度過啦！（快點快點漲工資…）

題目：描寫一個對你影響很大的人。

In the sweltering mid-summer nights of Wuhan city, our apartment was never quiet: frogs chirped outside the window, mah-jongg clicking next door, people cheered or bawled, emptied beer-bottles clattered. Neighbourhood Aunties, back from the nearby Yang-tze towel factory, seized the square little mah-jongg table as the last stage to relive their youth. Away from this clamour, I watched my father. Piles of grey books almost obscured him entirely. Insects buzzed about the blazing-white florescent lamp above him. His off-white singlet, already drenched and translucent, could hardly collect any more sweat drops that kept trickling down his neck.

What a mismatched scene.

My father never played mah-jongg, nothing like it. At the age of thirty-seven, he was forced to leave his beloved job as an aquatic-life analyst during the city-wide “Big Retrenchment”, a season in which decrepit state businesses collapsed in mass, and the talented and the idle were alike left jobless. Undaunted, my father returned to school for a postgraduate degree. I laughed when he sat down at his desk to read English texts the way I recited my primary-school Chinese, and was amused by his excitement when he was admitted under a professor, only four years his senior.

It took me a decade to grasp my father’s story—the ruthless competition in adult world, and the courage and strength he needed to endure. Where millions of jobless middle-aged men turned hopeless, my father refused to resign himself to grumbling and desperation. He taught me an ancient faith that has motivated generations of ordinary Chinese to cope with the harshness in life: responsibility—for oneself and for others.

I believe, as it coloured my father’s life, this faith will carry me through my own.