Harvard PS范文
如果总结这篇 PS 给我们的写作启发，那就是：
不要急着证明你有多强，先诚实地讲清楚你是怎么走到今天的。
真正打动人的，从来不是完美履历，
而是一个清楚知道自己是谁、并且找到了表达方式的人。
哪怕起点是“我也不行”，也完全可以写成“我也能起舞”。
梦想起源与现实冲突
I, Too, Can Dance
我也能跳舞
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.
我深深迷恋着那只娇小的粉红小鼠在舞台上轻盈滑行的姿态——当她旋转时芭蕾裙翩然飞舞，每次大跳跃时，她伸展的双臂带着玫瑰色蝴蝶结随之舞动。
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.
我一直梦想着能跳舞，而安吉丽娜芭蕾舞者让这一切看起来如此简单。每当她以阿拉伯式舞姿翩然起舞时，身体仿佛融入糖梅仙子歌声的纤细丝线，那般自由自在的姿态令我心驰神往。我渴望全身心融进音乐的魔幻旋律；渴望用自己的故事点亮世界；更渴望拥有舞者脸上那抹闪闪发光的微笑。
多元尝试到路径确认
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?
课间休息时，我和朋友们总会即兴跳舞。可当她们的舞姿渐入佳境，宛若芭蕾舞者时，我的八字步却更像零字步，每次旋转尝试都让我头晕目眩。有时甚至撞到朋友们的脚趾。若连故事还没开始，我就用轮椅撞伤了他们，又怎能向他人讲述这些故事呢？
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.
我又尝试弹钢琴，手指却在琴键上笨拙地跳着断续的踢踏舞。我试着画画，笨拙的画笔却让画布变成五颜六色的混乱。我尝试竖笛，若安吉丽娜·朱莉真实存在，我演奏的《玛丽有只小羊羔》定会令她悬空凝固——笛音如尖啸坠落，最终在踉跄劈叉时粉碎糖梅仙子精心编织的梦幻世界。
能力展开与身份升华
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.
从记事起，我也一直痴迷于文字，但直到四年级某天，学校图书管理员宣布举办诗歌比赛，我才真正开始尝试写作。那晚入睡时，灵感如《胡桃夹子》里的老鼠般在我脑海中窜动，将沉睡的克拉拉唤醒，带入一个神秘的新世界。待到天明，我已编排好这些老鼠，用诗歌讲述了一个获奖故事——关于我所知的一切神奇外太空趣闻。
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.
此刻，我的铅笔在纸上旋转出完美的圆圈，书写着慈母的传奇与昙花一现的恋人。笔尖在笔记本上点出父亲悲恸的线条，宛若芭蕾舞者踮起足尖轻盈起舞；当男子在自然中寻得慰藉，墨水便优雅流淌，刹那间跃出纸页，仿佛伸向苍穹拥抱女儿的灵魂。深夜里，我的手指在笔记本键盘上轻快舞动，噔噔噔敲出三篇文字：一篇关于癌症研究最新突破的报道——或许低剂量CT扫描或非整倍体靶向疗法本可挽救女儿的生命；一首西班牙诗歌，吟咏无言时刻的美好；还有轮椅女孩学会舞蹈的故事。
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.
当世界沉睡时，我沉醉于新墨的宣泄韵律，那些故事在纸上喷薄而出，融进干涸的纸张。我拼凑词句直至它们跃出唇齿，仿佛糖梅仙子亲手将我脑中断续的低语，化作连贯甜美的旋律。我将心血、灵魂乃至整个存在都编织进字句，当它们被朗读时，几乎化作某种咒语。每一次排练，我都在寻觅完美的终章来完成创作。当终于觅得那句点睛之笔，午夜的狂喜令我眼眶发干，我忆起多年前那个发现写作魔力的夜晚，嘴角不禁扬起微笑。
I may not dance across the stage like Angelina Ballerina, but I can dance across the page.
我或许无法像芭蕾舞者安吉丽娜那样在舞台上翩然起舞，
但我能在这纸页间翩然起舞。
I, too, can dance.
我，同样能起舞。
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