近日，约翰霍普金斯大学在官网上公布了五篇2030届的优秀文书范例。
这些故事看似平凡，却都有一个共同点 —— 这五名学生都没有试图告诉招生官“我有多优秀”，而是在讲述“我是谁、我如何思考，以及什么真正塑造了我”。
今天，老师就带大家一起看看五篇文书，看看这些学生是如何从日常生活中的一个细节、一段经历，写出独属于自己的故事！
The Secret Ingredient is Connection
拥挤的学校食堂里，一个威严的声音喊出了我的名字：
“MATZ！”
我的高中田径教练朝我走来。他每迈出一步，周围的喧闹声仿佛就减弱一分，而我们之间的距离也随之缩短。我知道接下来会发生什么。
“记得，”他站在我面前，目光直直地看着我，“柠檬方糕。”
他笑着补充道：“还有，你能不能在上面画一张笑脸？”
我想让他的生日甜点成为一份难忘的礼物，于是记下了要买树莓果酱，好用它来画出那张笑脸。
很多老师和同学都叫我“面包师”。整个高中时期，无论是特殊的日子还是普通的日子，无论是为一个人还是一群人，无论是朋友还是陌生人，我都曾分享过数百份自己亲手制作的烘焙美食。
对我而言，烘焙意义非凡。它让我得以与自己、与他人，以及与世界各地不同的文化建立更加深厚的联系。
在厨房里，我会从一名学生变身为一名化学工程师，同时也是自己的首席研究员。每一次创作，都是一场发生在宏观与微观尺度上的化学之舞。我会多加一点面粉，再揉一揉面团，因为我知道这样能够增强面团的韧性；与此同时，我也会思考其中的化学反应，以及糖分究竟会如何发生焦糖化。
按照食谱来做当然没有问题，因为这让我能够练习基本技巧。
现在是冬天，所以我要做一道经典甜点：糖霜饼干。
我希望自己的饼干质地均匀，于是用力搅打黄油和糖。但我的好奇心总是会占据上风。作为一个喜欢把创造力、创新和糖以等量比例混合的人，我决定合上食谱。
我把面团擀成一大片一大片的长方形，然后在脑海里做起三角函数计算，确定每一块面团应该有多大。
饼干出炉后，我用糖霜充当“胶水”，一丝不苟地把它们拼成一个三维结构。再加上好时巧克力棒做成的窗户，以及撒上的糖粉“积雪”，一座糖霜饼干屋就完成了。
毫无疑问，它一定会在学校的节日烘焙比赛中惊艳全场！
当然，并不是我的每一次实验都能得到这样的结果。
每当想起过去那些失败的探索，我都会忍不住笑起来：有一次，我做出来的砂糖糖霜吃起来像沙子；还有一次，酸面团发酵失败，最后硬到必须用锯子才能切开。
但无论成功还是失败，每一个作为“科学家”度过的小时，都让我感到快乐，也让我获得新的知识。
根据我的经验，我可以确定：一份神秘烘焙惊喜的预告，与社团会议的出席率之间存在着强烈的正相关关系。
所以，把玉米面包从烤箱里取出来之后，我在第二天 Tri-M 音乐荣誉协会会议的议程上写下：
“甜点！”
然而，我的烘焙工作远没有结束。
我找出一把干净的打蛋器，开始制作第二批，不过这一次，是纯素版本。黄油换成了植物油；鸡蛋则让位给了它们的“亚麻籽兄弟”。
这一批的分量更少，我了解社团成员的饮食构成，但其中的关心却一点不少。
虽然它们不是幸运饼干，但我希望每一份甜点里都藏着一句话：“欢迎你。加入我们吧。这些，是我专门为你做的。”
每一个搅拌碗里，都藏着一张通往远方的车票。
抓住这个机会，我和一位朋友开启了一场环游世界的旅程。
我们首先向南飞行两千英里，来到墨西哥。在那里，他教我制作 polvorones —— 一种传统饼干，通常在婚礼和节日期间享用。
受到启发后，我又带着他跨越大西洋，飞往以色列。
在那里，我教他如何编织巴布卡面包（babka），把一条条面团交错编织成漂亮的纹理。而在这交叠的面团之间，也仿佛形成了我与自己的犹太文化遗产之间美丽而紧密的联系。
当我们准备回家时，只需要离开厨房就好了。
我敲响教室的门，脸上的笑容，恰好映照着我手中那块柠檬甜点上用果酱画出的笑脸。
我的前田径教练邀请我进来。他搬来几把椅子，开心地收下了我的生日礼物。
但比柠檬方糕本身更加甜美的，是它所创造出的机会：我们一起回忆过去，聊起未来的计划，在这么长时间之后重新叙旧。
我制作的每一份烘焙食品里，都藏着一种秘密配方，那就是“连接”。
—— 2030届学生 David M.
An authoritative voice bellows my name in the crowded school cafeteria: “MATZ!” My freshman year track coach advances towards me, each stride squashing surrounding chatter and closing the distance between us. I know exactly what awaits me.
“Remember,” he says, standing in front of me with eyes fixed on mine, “the lemon squares.” He adds with a grin, “And could you put a smiley face on top?”
Wanting his birthday treat to be memorable, I make a note to pick up raspberry jam for drawing the image.
I am known as “The Baker” by countless teachers and peers. Throughout high school, I have shared hundreds of my homemade delights for special days and ordinary days, individuals and groups, and friends and strangers. Baking is incredibly meaningful to me as a way to strengthen my relationships with myself, others, and cultures around the world.
In the kitchen, I transform from student into both chemical engineer and principal investigator. Each creation involves a dance of chemistry on a macro and micro scale; I pour in a bit of extra flour and knead, knowing it will strengthen the dough, and I ponder the reactions that will caramelize its sugars. Following recipes suffices, for it allows me to practice technique. It is winter, so I am making a classic: sugar cookies. I want my cookies to be homogenous, so I beat the butter and sugar vigorously. But my curiosity often takes over. An enthusiast of using creativity, innovation, and sugar in equal parts, I decide to close the recipe book. I form the dough into large, rectangular sheets and do some trigonometry in my head to determine their measurements. Once the cookies emerge from the oven, I arrange them meticulously into a 3D structure using icing as glue. After adding Hershey's chocolate bar windows and powdered sugar snow, the sugar cookie house is complete and sure to wow at the school holiday bake-off!
However, not all my experiments turn out this way. I chuckle as I recall failed explorations of yore: granulated sugar icing that tasted like sand and improperly leavened sourdough that required a saw to slice. Successful or not, each hour spent as a scientist provides fun and new knowledge.
From my experience, I can ascertain that there is a strong, positive correlation between the promise of a baked surprise and club meeting attendance. Thus, after removing cornbread from the oven, I note on the agenda for tomorrow's Tri-M Music Honor Society meeting: “Treats!” However, my baking is far from over. I find a clean whisk and start on a second batch, although this time, it is vegan. Butter and oil trade places. Eggs give way to their flaxy brethren. The batch is smaller—I know my dietary demographics—but rich in care. Though not fortune cookies, I intend for each sweet to contain a message: Welcome. Join us. I made these for you.
In every mixing bowl lies a ticket to faraway lands. Seizing this opportunity, a friend and I chart a voyage around the globe. We first travel two thousand miles to Mexico where he shows me how to make polvorones, a traditional cookie served during weddings and holidays. Feeling inspired, I fly us across the Atlantic Ocean to Israel. There, I teach him how to braid babka, forming beautiful, overlapping connections between lengths of dough and between my Jewish heritage and me. When ready to return home, we simply leave the kitchen.
I knock on the classroom door, my smile mirroring the one made of jam on the lemony surprise I hold in my hands. My former track coach invites me in, grabbing a couple of chairs and happily accepting his birthday gift. Even sweeter than the lemon squares is the opportunity they provide; together, we reminisce about the past and discuss future plans, catching up after all this time.
The secret ingredient in each baked good I make is connection.
招生委员会点评
David的这篇文书以烘焙为切入点，展现了他对卓越的追求、构建社区的能力，以及以解决问题为导向的思维方式。这篇文书之所以出色，是因为它让招生委员会看到，David如何将自己的热情融入课外活动，并借此与他人建立联系。
David谈到了当他尝试新事物时会是什么样子：他会放弃食谱，转而依靠自己的创新意识，制作出一份完美的甜点，与团队成员分享。他将烘焙的艺术与科学，与自己的生活、活动经历以及核心价值观联系起来，从而让招生委员会清晰地看到什么对他而言真正重要。这也让我们能够想象，他将如何成为我们校园社区中重要的一员。
以下是David对于写文书的建议：
我最重要的建议就是：要展现真实的自己，并且保持真诚。
如果你喜欢开玩笑，那就让这种幽默自然地流露出来。如果有某件非常小众、却对你而言意义重大的事情，一定要写出来。
要通过具体的个人故事展现自己，并且让文书拥有鲜明的个人声音。让招生委员会看到真正的你，而不是试图迎合你认为他们想看到的样子。这样不仅能让你更加令人印象深刻，也能确保你最终进入的大学，真正与你的兴趣和价值观相契合。
Developing Roots
我翻动着家门前那棵高大枫树下的一块块石头，寻找着两样东西：藏起来放进我的“潮虫乐园”里的潮虫，以及用来喂养后院里那些永远吃不饱、四处游荡的鸡的蚯蚓。
看着这些轻易就能被我一手托起的无脊椎动物，我几乎感觉自己也和头顶那棵高耸的枫树一样高大、强壮、无所畏惧。
但枫树并不是世界上最强壮、最高大，也不是最具韧性的树。
我想成为一棵巨杉。如果说枫树已经高得仿佛触碰云层，那么巨杉则仿佛直插中间层。它们不仅比其他任何树种都更加高大，还进化出了厚实、耐火的树皮，即使生态系统经历一场肆虐的森林大火，它们依然能够继续生长。
在数学和科学课上，我一直都是一棵巨杉，能够承受无数向我袭来的导数、积分、细胞器和各种原理。
而在人文学科课堂上，主观性则如同藤蔓，覆盖了我这棵高达三百英尺的巨树，从树干一路蔓延到枝桠。只有凭借韧性，将这些充满不确定性的藤蔓一点点剥落，我才能看见隐藏在其下的树木本身，而这也证明了我与巨杉之间的相似之处。
身处高中，我常常觉得自己更像一棵棉白杨，拥有柔韧却浅薄的根系，还没有进化出足够的力量去抵御名为“人生”的暴风雨。
支撑我站立至今的，很大程度上是我的根系与志趣相投的同学和朋友彼此交织 —— 我在管弦乐团、课堂以及学校社团中认识了他们。
无论社区的力量多么强大，进入大学后，我仍渴望培养出一套深厚的根系，既扎根于知识，也扎根于独立自主。这样，无论那些如今对我的成长至关重要的人际连接发生什么变化，我都依然能够稳稳地站立。
美洲栗树则教会了我珍视个体性。一种真菌的入侵肆虐蔓延，最终让这种曾经遍布美国的树种几乎从人们的视野中消失。
成为一棵独立的树，可以减少来自利他主义的压力：每一份努力都只需要回馈自己，而不必在整个群体中传递。因此，在课堂上独自成为一棵树其实很容易 —— 我可以不断吸收养分，一圈又一圈地积累知识。
然而，如果说巨杉那庞大、交错、彼此缠绕的根系教会了我什么，那就是：合作、反馈、支持以及思想的交融，能够让我的社区与我共同拥有坚实的根基，甚至足以抵御最猛烈的风暴。
我希望融入一个这样的环境，在那里，我能够继续生活在社区成长与个人发展之间那种微妙而珍贵的平衡之中。
虽然我渴望成为一棵巨杉，但我的自信却更像一棵白蜡树 —— 数以百万计的白蜡树曾被一种微小的昆虫杀死，那就是大名鼎鼎的翡翠灰螟。
那些让我在高中脱颖而出的优异成绩，本应在我的心中留下坚定的自信。然而，自信很容易被自我怀疑一点点侵蚀，也很容易被那些微小却始终存在的错误吸引注意力。正是这些错误，让我不断逼迫自己继续进步、不断完善自己。
只有承认自己的脆弱，并在朋友和导师组成的社区中不断努力，我才能逐渐弥补这些不足，从一株充满希望与潜力的幼苗，成长为一个能够为自己的社区带来平衡与价值的人。
这也正是那个曾经抬头凝望头顶枫叶、心怀憧憬的小女孩所渴望成为的自己。
—— 2030届学生 Etina R.
Flipping over rocks under the imposing maple tree in my front yard, I was looking for two things: roly pollies to stash in my Roly-Poly Playground and earthworms to feed the forever hungry chickens roaming my backyard. Looking at these invertebrates that could easily fit in the palm of my hand, made me feel almost as large, strong, and invincible as the maple tree looming above me. But a maple tree isn't the strongest, largest, or most resilient tree that exists; I wanted to be a Giant Sequoia.
If maple trees seemed to touch the clouds, Sequoiadendron giganteum trees seemed to enter the mesosphere. Not only are they larger than any other tree species, but they have also evolved a thick, fire-resistant bark allowing growth to continue even after a ravaging fire in their ecosystem. In math and science, I am and always have been a Giant Sequoia, able to withstand countless derivatives, integrals, organelles, and principles blowing my way. In humanities classes, subjectivity covers all three hundred feet of my trunk and limbs in Pueraria, and my likeness to a sequoia is proven through the resilience needed to strip the vines of uncertainty off and see the beauty of the tree beneath.
Being in high school, I often feel like a cottonwood with a pliable, shallow root system that hasn't yet evolved to withstand the storm that is life. I am held upright largely due to the interconnection of my root systems with like-minded peers and friends I have found through orchestra, classes, and school clubs. However strong the power of community is, in college I long to develop a deep root system of both knowledge and self-sufficiency that can keep me upright, regardless of what happens to the connections that, right now, are crucial to my survival.
The Castanea dentata, the American Chestnut, taught me to value individualism through the permeation of a fungus that ran rampant and eliminated most of the formerly populous species in the United States. Being a lone tree can limit the stresses of altruism, having each effort contribute to just myself rather than spreading through a group, making it incredibly easy to exist as a lone tree in class, absorbing nutrients accumulating ring after ring of knowledge. However, if the Giant Sequoia's sprawling, intertwined root systems taught me anything, it was that collaboration, feedback, support, and the melding of ideas allow my community and I to have a strong foundation that can resist even the strongest of winds. I am seeking to integrate into an environment in which I can continue to live in that delicate balance between my community and individual development.
While I may aspire to be like a Giant Sequoia, my confidence more closely resembles a Fraxinus tree, of whom millions have been slain by tiny Agrilus planipennis, better known as Emerald ash borers. The strong scores that made me rise to the top in high school should imprint a sense of confidence, but confidence is easily eroded by self-doubt and a focus on the tiny mistakes that remain and drive me to keep improving myself. Only by acknowledging such vulnerabilities and working within a community of friends and mentors can I improve upon them and grow from a sapling filled with hope and potential to become the well balanced contributor to my communities that the seedling who stared at the maple leaves looming above longed to be.
以下是Etina对于写文书的建议：
写文书最困难的部分，就是写关于我自己的内容；我写下的每一句话，都让我觉得不够真诚，也缺乏背景和上下文。
为了解决这个问题，我开始探索一些在我的申请材料中并不明显、却是我真正感兴趣的事物，希望找到一种让我感觉更加真实的表达方式。
最后，我选择了树木，并用不同的树种来突出我自身不同的特质。当我不再被自己认为“文书应该是什么样子”的期待所束缚时，我终于克服了迟迟无法下笔的障碍，也能够真正、真实地展现自己。
招生委员会点评
在文书中，Etina运用自己对树木的知识与热爱，象征性地表达了社区、韧性以及扎根成长等主题。树木这一隐喻有效地展现了一名能够跨越不同学科进行思考、同时具有反思能力的学生。我们也从中看到了她在社区成长与个人成长之间所保持的深思熟虑的平衡，这表明她清楚地理解自己适合怎样的学习环境。
从这篇文书中，我们看到了一名重视归属感、相互支持以及共同成长的学生，也能够想象她将如何丰富我们的社区。当文书借助自然世界去揭示她对自信、成长以及成为一名更加扎根、更具独立性的学习者这一过程的理解时，文书就尤其具有感染力。
The Two Sides of America
Lucedale的人口大约只有3,000人。这里最出名的地方，是 Rocky Creek Catfish Cottage —— 密西西比州东部最好吃的炸鲶鱼据说就在那里。
五年前安装的四向停车标志，当地居民到现在还没完全学会怎么遵守。这里几乎没有手机信号，唯一能购物的地方就是沃尔玛。
Lucedale简直就是芝加哥的反面。但即便如此，它依然是我的“第二故乡”。
那些从乡间土路上扬起的红色黏土，仿佛已经渗进我的血液里；我将永远与密西西比州的乡村农场紧紧相连。
我在农场打的第一份暑期工很简单：捡起马场旁那棵巨大松树掉落的松果。那些松果出了名地容易卡进割草机里，所以外公和我做了个交易：如果我把松果清理干净，就给我5美元。
于是，我每天都在捡松果。不管我捡走多少，地上总会继续落下更多。到了夏天结束的时候，地上依然有数不清的松果，但外公还是把那张5美元的钞票递给了我。
随着年龄增长，我的工作也一步步升级：从捡松果，到清理马厩，再到驾驶大型割草机。
14岁那年夏天，哥哥把我放到约翰迪尔拖拉机（John Deere）上，然后就离开了。
我吓坏了。驾驶拖拉机是一项重大的责任——它很容易坏，但修起来却更难。但我还是启动了它，沿着直线来回驾驶，把马场里厚厚的黑麦草一遍遍割下去。
16岁时，我终于到了可以和牛一起工作的年龄。我成为 SPH Cattle Co. 的一名员工 —— 这是我们家的养牛公司。我学会了如何把牛群赶进围栏，学会了哪一根绳子可以把闸门拉紧，哪一根可以将它松开。
小牛需要完成全部疫苗接种，成年牛只需要接种其中一部分；而所有的牛都需要喷洒驱蝇药。
这样的流程大概要重复50次，直到所有牛都被赶进围栏。
一开始，这份工作对我而言是一种负担。我甚至觉得，一个16岁的女孩根本不应该承受这样的工作。
但到了那个夏天结束的时候，我却从中找到了快乐。
即使如今我身在900英里之外，密西西比依然是我的一部分。那片红色的土地，以及它教给我的一切，都永远不会从我的血液中消失。
没错，我在那里学会了责任，也学会了勤奋。
但农场的夏天真正给予我最重要的东西是什么？
是视角。
我听过人们在一家供应75美元肋眼牛排的牛排馆里抱怨，却也亲身体验过养一头牛究竟需要付出多少辛劳。
我称自己为一个“城市孩子”——我从小住在高层公寓里，就读于私立学校。然而，我也曾把每一个暑假都花在农舍里，在泥地里干活，把高尔夫球杆换成铲子。
我看见了乡村生活的美。我的价值观，以及我所相信的一切，都源自这种独特的视角，而能够拥有这样的视角，本身就是一种幸运。
对我的芝加哥朋友来说，很容易把乡村生活一笔带过，把农民简单地归类为某种刻板印象中的人：朴实、简单，而且与世隔绝。而我在Lucedale的邻居们，则觉得芝加哥人都是些疯狂的激进分子。
但我无法做出这样的假设。我看得见城市居民身上的善良与道德感。我并不认同他们所相信的一切，但这丝毫不会减少我对他们的尊重。
与此同时，我也对乡村社区的人们怀有极大的敬意。他们是我见过的最善良的人之一，甚至愿意把自己身上的衣服脱下来送给一个陌生人。
我的世界观、我的价值观，以及我所相信的一切，都来自这个难得的视角。
我们这个国家真正的美好之处，真正让它如此伟大的地方，恰恰在于这两个看似矛盾的世界同时存在。而我亲身知道：无论它们看起来有多么不同，我们都不可能缺少其中任何一方而继续生存下去。
—— 2030届学生 Gillian H.
Lucedale's population is about 3,000. Its claim to fame is the Rocky Creek Catfish Cottage, the best place to get fried catfish in all of Eastern Mississippi. The residents have still not entirely mastered the four-way stop sign that was installed five years ago. There is little to no cell service, and the only place to shop is Walmart. Lucedale is the antithesis of Chicago. But still, it is my home away from home. The red clay from the dirt roads has seeped into my blood; I will forever be connected to the rural farmland of Mississippi.
My first summer job on the farm was simple: pick up the pinecones that fell from the giant pine by the horse pasture. They were notorious for getting stuck in the lawn mower, so PawPaw made me a deal: five dollars if I cleared them. I spent my days picking up pinecones. No matter how many I picked up, more would fall. By the end of the summer there were still countless pinecones on the ground, but PawPaw still gave me that five dollar bill.
As I got older, picking up pinecones turned to cleaning out the horse stalls turned to bush hogging. The summer that I turned 14, my brother put me on the John Deere and left. I was terrified. Driving the tractor is a major responsibility– it is easy to break and harder to fix. But, I turned it on and went back and forth in straight lines, cutting the thick, rye grass of the horse pasture.
When I was 16, I was finally old enough to work with the cows. I became an employee of SPH Cattle Co., my family's cattle company. I learned how to herd the cows into the catch pen, which rope tightens the gate and which loosens it. The calves need all of their immunizations, the older ones only need some, and they all need to be sprayed to prevent flies. It's a process that repeats about 50 times until all of the cows have been pushed through the pen. The work started off as a burden, something that I thought no 16-year-old girl should endure, but by the end of the summer, I found joy in it.
Even 900 miles away, Mississippi is still a part of me; the red dirt, and the lessons, will never leave my blood. Yes, I learned about responsibility and hard work. But the most important thing my summers on the farm gave me? Perspective.
I have listened to people complain at a steakhouse serving $75 ribeyes, but I've also experienced the hard work that goes into raising cattle. I call myself a city kid; I have grown up living in high rises, attended private schools. Yet, I have spent my summers in a farmhouse, working in the mud, trading in a golf club for a shovel. I have seen the beauty in rural life. What I value and what I believe comes from this unique perspective that I'm privileged to hold. It's easy for my Chicago friends to write off rural life, to confine farmers to a stereotype: simple and unaware. My Lucedale neighbors think of folks in Chicago as crazy radicals. I'm unable to make these assumptions. I see the kindness and morality of urban folks. I don't agree with everything they believe, but that does not make me respect them any less. And I also have so much respect for people from rural communities. They are some of the kindest people I've ever met, willing to give the shirts off their own backs to a stranger. My worldview, what I value and what I believe, comes from this rare viewpoint. The beauty of our country, what makes it so great, is these two contradicting sides. And I know first-hand that we wouldn't survive without both of them, no matter how different they might seem.
招生委员会点评
Gillian以自己在Lucedale度过的一个个夏天为切入点，展现了她的韧性、责任感，以及对不同形式的社区所怀有的深厚欣赏。她通过照料牛群、向家人学习等农场生活细节，描绘出一个生动的学生形象 —— 她理解劳动、守护以及人与人彼此依存的价值。
最令人印象深刻的是，她能够超越刻板印象，看见乡村与城市社区各自所拥有的尊严。生活在芝加哥与密西西比之间的经历，让她成长为一个能够与不同背景的人建立联系，并欣赏每个社区所拥有的独特优势的人。这样的学生能够为我们的校园带来真正有意义的视角，因为她明白，社区是通过尊重、同理心以及共同承担责任建立起来的。
以下是Gillian对于写文书的建议：
刚开始构思文书时，我就知道自己想写Lucedale。我觉得，它展现了我的另一面，也展现了一个在申请材料其他部分并不容易被看到的我。
每年夏天在密西西比度过的时光，真正塑造了我看待世界以及周围人的方式。它赋予了我一种独特的视角，而这种视角是我无法通过申请材料中的其他部分表达出来的。
Clean Closet
我的待办事项列表上，总有一项任务始终无法完成。无论时间过去多久，我都没能在“整理衣柜”这一项后面打上勾。
我的衣柜是一座持续了近18年的“时间胶囊”。里面塞满了我童年时期最喜欢的玩具、毛绒动物、已经退役的体操服，以及奶奶亲手缝制、曾经装点过我童年的裙子。
架子上摆着那些曾经让我无比自豪、迫不及待想要展示出来的美术作品，还有写满老师和朋友留言的毕业纪念册。剩下的东西里，有我曾经为了寻找个人风格而做出的各种尝试、啦啦队制服，以及好几个塞得满满当当的回忆盒。
这个衣柜装着曾经的我，也装着那个我一直努力成为的自己。
每一次整理衣柜，最后都会变成一次考古。捡起一只“小小宠物店”玩偶，我会想起那些熬夜编故事、为它们设计剧情的时光。看到跟着绘画教程完成的一幅幅画布，我会想起自己曾经努力学习像鲍勃·罗斯一样无忧无虑地画画。奖杯和奖牌则让我想起自己学习翻腾动作时的经历 —— 那时的我既害怕，又兴奋。
衣柜的每一个角落，都回荡着一个曾经塑造我的瞬间。
进入高中后，我收藏的“回忆盒”也越来越多。那些设计精美的盒子里，装着我获得的每一份奖项、每一封信、每一件小纪念品，以及一张张照片亭拍下的照片条。另一个盒子专门用来收藏朋友和家人送我的花——我把它们一一晒干保存下来。我的啦啦队包里装着用过很多次的彩球和啦啦队鞋。它们全都让我想起那些我曾向他们学习、与他们一起欢笑的人。
扔掉它们，一定会让我百感交集。而这正是我过去一直无法真正下定决心整理衣柜的原因。
可是，为了给未来腾出空间，我必须这么做。
今年春天的一个周六早晨，我盘腿坐在地上，周围堆满了一摞摞东西，下定决心一定要完成这项任务。
过去这么多年，我总是把所有东西放回原来的位置，因为太过珍惜，所以舍不得放下任何一样。
但这一次，我把那些已经不再需要的东西单独放进了捐赠区。我想着，与其让衣服、书和玩具一直沉睡在我的衣柜里，不如把它们送给真正需要的人，让它们继续发挥价值。
我清空了摆满童年书籍和旧作品的架子，为美甲用品和更多的回忆盒腾出了空间。
感觉很奇怪。但我坐得越久，就越能意识到：向未来走去，本身就是值得珍惜的事情。
我可以捐掉那些书，同时依然记得当初是什么让我爱上它们。我可以回收那些奖杯，同时不会忘记自己曾经为它们付出的努力。
我不需要依靠物品，来证明自己被爱过。我依然珍爱那些承载情感的物品，也依然感谢它们陪伴我的意义。
但现在，我开始把它们看作一种提醒 —— 提醒自己珍惜成长，而不是一直停留在过去。
这些回忆盒就是我的提醒。而那些我放下的东西，也随着我一起发生了变化：绘画变成了美甲艺术，体操变成了啦啦队，编写故事变成了探索人与人之间的关系。
从那以后，我也开始把这种心态带到了衣柜之外的生活中。我不再不停地担忧过去，也不再反复思考曾经的每一次互动和每一个选择。
相反，我开始对那些过去总让我犹豫的事情说“好”。我曾经只把这种珍惜和怀旧留给物品，后来，这种情感也延伸到了人与人之间。
我开始喜欢与那些过去只是远远观察的人交谈。我开始更加投入自己的美甲爱好，也开始在医院做志愿者。
在这些经历中，我得以认识客户、患者和孩子们。我用自己对艺术和设计的热爱，把每个人的个性描绘在指尖。在康复病房里，当患者即将回家时，我会和他们一起庆祝。我教孩子们保持创造力，也教他们保持善意。
虽然他们不会往我的回忆盒里留下任何实体物品，但我珍藏着他们脸上的笑容。这些时刻让我想起：那个喜欢故事、喜欢色彩的童年里的我，一直都还在。
我的衣柜并不一尘不染。它会不断装进新的东西，也会不断清理掉旧的东西，就像人生一样。
当我走进人生新的篇章时，我会开始为大学、为新认识的人、为新的里程碑建立新的回忆盒。而随着未来不断展开，我也必须留下一些东西。不同的是，现在的我已经明白：放下，本身就是成长的一部分。
所以下一次，当有人让我去“整理衣柜”时，应该不会再花18年了。
—— 2030届学生 Ruoni T.
My to-do list always had one unfinished task. No matter how much time passed, I could never check off “clean closet.”
My closet is a time capsule going on eighteen years. It's packed with favorite toys, plush animals, retired gymnastics leotards, and grandma-sewn dresses that once decorated my childhood. Shelves are adorned with art projects I once was so proud to showcase and yearbooks scribbled with notes from teachers and friends. The rest includes attempts to discover personal style, cheerleading uniforms, and several memory boxes filled to the brim. The closet holds who I was and who I've tried to be.
Every attempt to clean became an excavation. Picking up Littlest Pet Shop figures brought back late nights spent creating storylines. Canvases following painting tutorials showed attempts at being worry-free like Bob Ross. Trophies and medals reminded me of how I learned to flip, terrified and exhilarated at once. Every corner echoed a moment that shaped me.
As I started high school, my collection of memory boxes did too. Boxes with charming designs hold every award, letter, trinket, and photo booth strip. Another box is dedicated to flowers from friends and family that I dried. My cheer bag holds well-used pom poms and cheer shoes. All of them remind me of people I learned from and laughed with. Getting rid of them would feel bittersweet. These feelings were exactly why I could never bring myself to clean my closet before. To accommodate the future, I had to do it. One Saturday morning this spring, I sat cross-legged surrounded by piles and committed to completing the task. For years, I always put everything back in the usual place, too sentimental to let anything go. This time, I set aside what I no longer needed in a donation pile, figuring the clothes, books, and toys could benefit others rather than remain stagnant in my closet. I cleared the shelf of childhood books and old art to make space for nail supplies and more memory boxes. It felt weird. But the longer I sat, the more I valued moving toward the future. I can donate books while remembering what made me love them. I can recycle trophies without forgetting my hard work. I don't need objects to know I'm loved. I still adore and appreciate the sentimental, but I've come to see it as a reminder to cherish growth rather than dwell on the past. The memory boxes are my reminders. The things I've let go of have grown with me: painting became nail art, gymnastics became cheer, creating storylines became exploring people.
Since then, I've acted on that mindset beyond my closet. I stopped constantly worrying about the past and overthinking interactions and choices. Instead, I began saying yes to things that were previously met with hesitation. The same sentimentality I reserved for objects spread to people, and I developed a love for talking to those I once just observed. I started pouring into my nail hobby and volunteering at the hospital. Through these, I get to know clients, patients, and children. I use my love for art and design to reflect personalities on fingers. I celebrate in the rehab ward when patients are going home. I teach kids to be creative and kind. Though they don't contribute physical objects to my memory boxes, I treasure their smiles. These moments remind me that my childhood self, who loved stories and color, is still within me.
My closet is not spotless. It grows and cycles out, just like life. As I step into new chapters, new memory boxes will start for college, new people, and new milestones. And with the upcoming growth, I'll have to leave some things behind; the difference is I now recognize that letting go is part of growing.
The next time I'm tasked to “clean closet,” it won't take eighteen years.
招生委员会点评
Ruoni将一件普通的小事转化为了一次关于身份、记忆，以及如何在不失去重要事物的情况下学会放手的深刻思考。她的文书包含大量生动而具体的细节，让整个故事显得真实可信；与此同时，她通过实际行动展现了自己的改变：捐出不再需要的物品、为新的兴趣腾出空间，以及变得更加愿意接纳他人与新的经历。
她的文书展现了创造力、同理心，以及通过服务他人实现的成长。Ruoni同时展现了JHU所重视的一点：探索的文化。整理衣柜的过程，其实就是她不断发现自己是谁、珍视什么的过程，这与JHU通过紧密的人际关系、住宿生活以及实践机会所支持的成长非常契合。
总体而言，这篇文书展现了一名已经准备好在JHU这样的环境中不断探索、不断成长、不断成为更好的自己的学生。
以下是Ruoni对于写文书的建议：
我的申请材料记录了我的日常：参加管弦乐团、带领啦啦队、在医院做志愿者，以及与孩子们一起工作。
在这篇关于“解剖我的衣柜”的文书中，我希望通过简短而精炼的小故事，展现我的性格，以及我珍藏回忆的热爱。这些微小的细节，填补了我的申请材料中那份仅仅列出十项活动的列表所留下的空白。
我希望自己的文书能够让招生官更加了解活动列表背后的那个我 —— 我珍视什么、我如何思考，以及我看待生活的方式。
In the Belly of the Ship
我躺在竹席上，浑身被自己的汗水浸透，随着船身摇晃。床铺周围罩着一张蚊帐，试图挡住蚊虫；房间单薄的墙壁却挡不住每一位船员的咳嗽声。然而，当我望向舷窗外时，最让我难受的，并不是这些，而是心中的羞愧。
我在一座海滨城市长大，大海仿佛一直在召唤我去行动。父亲曾是一名货船船员，如今从事航运管理。他常常向我讲述自由自在的航行经历和见闻，但最吸引我的，却是他口中那种船员之间紧密相连的关系。
我一直是一个在微小社交场合里容易犹豫的人：在走廊里低下头，不确定别人挥手是不是在向我打招呼，从来不敢主动迈出第一步。那艘船似乎恰好提供了日常生活所缺少的东西 —— 一个让人与人之间自然而然产生联结的空间。
然而，2024年夏天，当我登上一艘类似的船实习后，我很快发现，父亲当年没有告诉我的那些细节。100华氏度的烈日之下，我原本的兴奋很快消失殆尽。船上没有安排好的任务让我转移注意力，我带来的日记本和《白鲸》最终也只剩下压东西的用途。
更糟糕的是，我并没有感受到父亲描述过的那种船员情谊。大家各自按照班次工作，大多数时间都待在自己的房间里，唯一关心的似乎只是“让船继续航行”。船员们说着一种我几乎听不懂的地方方言，而父亲还叮嘱我隐瞒自己的背景 —— 我是国际学校的学生，也是管理人员的女儿,他担心这些会让我与船员之间产生隔阂。
我试着加入他们的谈话，却因为没有共同的经历，又只能听懂零碎的内容，说出来的话总是无法真正融入其中。我感觉自己唯一能做的，就是平躺在床铺上，等待天亮。
一周后，当我下船时，那种如释重负的感觉几乎和烈日带来的煎熬一样强烈。然而，随着时间过去，最常重新浮现在我脑海中的，却是那些船员的脸庞 —— 他们身上承载着一个个我从未真正了解的故事。
也正因为如此，第二年夏天，我又一次固执地登上了那艘船。
这一次，我依然带着不安，因为我知道上一次航行在身体和情绪上都让我筋疲力尽；但与此同时，我也下定决心，要抵抗那种躲回船舱的冲动。
登船后，船上的轮机员，也是船上少有的女性，惊讶地看着我，没有再用方言，而是用普通话对我说：“大多数人都不会再回来。他们受不了这样的日常。”
日常。
我开始下定决心，要找到一种属于自己的日常，而不是“躲避炎热”。
我主动提出帮忙：清理甲板上的锈迹、再次核对货物清单、清洗蔬菜。越是投入这些日复一日的工作，我就越能从中找到自己的位置。那些曾经被我忽视的小事，也逐渐变得闪闪发光：夜空下展开的吊床，围坐在面碗旁交换的轻笑。
借助那些短暂出现的交流窗口 —— 一个表示认可的点头，一个简单的微笑，我开始一点点探寻他们的人生经历。我不再让方言成为阻碍，也不再让那份关于“哪些事情应该隐瞒”的“黑名单”限制自己。
当我选择以真实的自己与人相处时，过去那些障碍便逐渐失去了意义。而作为回报，我听到了一个又一个令人难忘的故事。
这些并不是什么光鲜亮丽的海上冒险，而是来自各行各业普通人的真实人生。我把它们全部记录进了自己的航海日志：有一对中年夫妻，几十年前曾深陷债务，为了偿还欠款，在海上漂泊了30年；也有一位年轻船长，在孤独中驾驶着船只远航。
很快，我的观察逐渐转化为一种责任感。经过数月的政策研究、访谈和样本采集，我关注到船员缺乏经过处理的饮用水这一问题。于是，我组织开展了饮水安全培训，并成功向交通部门提交申请，推动其出台关于小型船舶船员获得清洁饮用水权利的新规定。
我的这些改变，源于那段海上经历 —— 那是一场在汗水、沉默与日复一日的生活中淬炼出来的经历：我学会了小小一步的价值，理解了人与人之间联结的力量，也体会到了在失败之后坚持下去所带来的意义。
我很骄傲，自己曾被这头钢铁巨兽“吞噬”得遍体鳞伤，却最终还是再次走进了它的巨口。
—— 2030届学生 Ruoyu X.
I lay on the bamboo mat in a pool of my own sweat, swaying with the ship. A net around my cot attempted to keep out the mosquitos, and the room's thin walls leaked every crewman's cough. Yet as I looked outside the porthole, the greatest discomfort was my own shame.
Growing up in a coastal city, the sea carried a call to action. My father, once a cargo crewman and now a shipping administrator, shared tales of free-spirited voyages and world experience; yet I was most drawn to his depictions of close-knit crews. I was someone who hesitated in small social moments: lowering my eyes in the hallway, uncertain if a wave was meant for me, never taking that initial step. The ship seemed to provide what everyday life lacked: a space where closeness was facilitated.
But when I interned aboard a similar vessel in summer 2024, I quickly discovered the details my dad had left out. My excitement melted under the 100°F sun. There weren't assigned tasks to distract myself with, and both my journal and copy of Moby-Dick I had brought aboard became nothing more than paper weights.
Worse, I didn't perceive the camaraderie my father had described. The crew kept to their shifts, mostly isolated in the rooms, caring only that “the ship keeps moving.” The sailors spoke in a provincial dialect I could barely follow, and my father had advised me to conceal my background (as an international school student and administrator's daughter) for fear it would alienate me from the crew. I tried to join conversations, but with no relatable experience and only fragments of understanding, my words fell short. All I felt I could do was lie flat in my cot and wait for morning.
When I disembarked a week later, my relief was as overwhelming as the heat had been. Yet with time, what returned to me most was the sailors' faces, carrying stories I had never uncovered.
Which is why, the next summer, I stubbornly boarded again. I carried unease, knowing how physically and emotionally draining the prior voyage had been; but I also carried determination to resist that urge to retreat into my cabin. When I boarded, the engineer (the rare woman aboard) looked at me with surprise and spoke in Mandarin instead of dialect: “most never come back. They don't appreciate the routine.”
Routine. I became determined to find a routine that wasn't “hide from the heat.” I volunteered to help: rust-chipping the deck, double-checking the cargo tallies, and washing vegetables. The more I leaned into the routine, the more it carried me. Small things I had ignored before became luminous: hammocks stretched beneath the night sky, chuckles exchanged over bowls of noodles.
With little windows of opening, nods of appreciation or smiles of hello, I took small steps to unearth their experience, not allowing dialect (or a 'blacklist' of what truths I should withhold) inhibit me. When I led with authenticity, previous obstacles fell to the wayside. In return, I received incredible stories. Not glamorous sea adventures, but honest experiences from people of all walks of life, all of which were documented in my seafarer's journal. Everything from a middle-aged couple who decades ago had gone deep into debt (and spent 30 years at sea repaying it), to a young captain sailing from loneliness. Soon, my observations transformed into responsibility; after months of policy research, interviews, and sample collection regarding the crew's lack of treated water, I led water safety sessions and successfully petitioned the department of transportation for new regulations regarding small vessels' right to clean water.
My contributions were made possible by that crucible at sea, forged in sweat, silence, and routine: the value of small steps, the power of camaraderie, and the fulfillment of persevering through failure. I'm proud to have been eaten alive by a metal beast, and then entered its jaws once more.
招生委员会点评
Ruoyu的这篇文书展现了她在海上实习期间所表现出的坚韧与毅力。通过这段经历，她意识到自己希望留下属于自己的影响，而不是简单地沿着前人的脚步前进，或是与船上的其他人融为一体。
她第一次尝试某件新事物时，现实并没有达到她的预期，但她依然鼓起勇气再次回到船上。这向招生委员会展现了她坚定的决心和持之以恒的精神，也体现了她通过研究追求卓越的投入，以及她在一个意想不到的地方找到了归属感，这些都是优秀的JHU学生所具备的品质。
以下是Ruoyu对于写文书的建议：
我选择这个主题，是因为它跳出了我通常的学生生活，而正是这个选择，让文书的结尾成为最难写的部分。几个月来，我反复修改最后一段，因为我很难确定，究竟应该用什么样的意义 —— 如果它确实存在的话，来定义这段经历。那时候的我还没有足够的距离去理解自己的故事究竟意味着什么，却已经开始写作。
最终，我意识到，一段真诚的经历与一篇真诚的文字之间，其实只隔着一件事：安静地交给时间去完成的工作。
