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  当我们讨论主文书时,有时会鼓励申请人写一些可以证明团队合作、领导才能或社区活动的经验。但是,重要的是要记住,主文书(Personal Statement)也叫作个人陈述,这肯定是关于你的。招生委员会不想听到你的团队成员有多出色或他/她的贡献对你的成功至关重要。 如果你的故事变成了一篇关于你朋友的文章,那么招生办可能希望录取他/她,但不想录取你。该规则的唯一例外是学校明确要求你写另一个人的事情(比如北卡有一篇类似的文章)。


  “在高中时,我停止练习钢琴去更多地学习。”对我来说,这是我学生说过最令人心碎的句子之一。大学赞赏那些热情,活跃于社区并为个人事业取得成功而努力的申请者。他们喜欢看到艺术、音乐、舞蹈、运动、诗歌、书法,社区服务和各种各样的爱好。 然而,部分学生尤其是那些刚接触国际学校系统或AP / IB课程的学生,经常放弃学习自己的爱好去学习。申请都是被美国大学整体评估的,除了学习以外什么都不做的决定并不明智。


  这个问题在学校之间是不同的,因为大多数学生将自己与本校的高中同学进行比较。但是,我们与来自全球最优秀的中国申请者合作,这使我们对某些活动和经历的学术竞争力有了更全面的了解。你猜我们发现了什么?你的学术竞争力可能比你想象的要低。 例如,你很高兴自己获得了美国数学竞赛(AMC)的前1%,但不要认为这会自动使你成为所有申请数学的申请者中的前1%。因为,肯定会有学生获得类似的奖项。那么,这是否意味着你应该停止参加学术比赛?绝对不!相反,当你讨论成就时,你不仅要强调奖项,还要展示你所学到的知识以及你的经历如何帮助你成长并为大学做准备。


  用英语有句谚语:“整体小于部分之和。”这个谚语的意思是每个单独的组件可能都很好,但是通过把它们组合在一起,它们的价值反而会降低。在大学申请中,文书也是如此。 例如,你的朋友可能建议写关于你足球队领导力的文书,你的母亲可能建议写关于你如何发现自己对志愿者活动热情的文书,而你的顾问可能建议写关于你面临种族主义并加深对自己的了解以及如何对抗歧视的文书。



  I am standing behind my high school when a snowball pelts my side with a thud and splatters across my jacket, covering me with a fine, icy dust. My bewildered eyes trace the snowball’s trajectory until they fall upon a pair of snickering hoodlums crouched behind a small mountain of snowballs. They must have been waiting all afternoon for an unsuspecting student to walk by, and perhaps for emphasis, one of the boys looks me in the eye and raises a grimy middle finger. Quickly, I mold a handful of snow into a sphere with cupped hands and cock my arm back.

  I haven’t thrown anything in a while, but muscle memory guides me through the requisite motions. I played softball for eight years, and my athletic strength was always my throwing arm; in fifth grade, when my coach asked me to throw the ball from third to first, I hurled the ball with such force that the catch knocked him off-balance. Upon entering high school, it seemed natural that I would play on the school’s softball team.

  However, my body had other ideas. Throughout middle school I’d developed increasingly painful body aches, and in freshman year I awoke one morning with a brutal headache penetrating the crown of my head and the bones of my face as though a vice had been clamped to my skull overnight. After consulting more doctors than I can remember, I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia.

  Fibromyalgia is characterized by chronic widespread pain and extreme sensitivity to touch. My neurologist describes fibromyalgia as “headache of the body.” Personally, I favor my father’s description; after one particularly painful and exhausting day he aptly proclaimed, “Fibromyalgia is your body’s way of giving you the finger.”

  Agonizing muscle cramps mocked me constantly, preventing me from walking longer than five minutes without growing exhausted. The pressure above my eyes sneered at me whenever I attempted to read or write. Even after I found medications to temper the headaches just enough so I could return to school with sporadic attendance, sharp pains gnawed at my body with haughty derision if I even thought about returning to the softball fields and the activities I loved.

  For months I tried to ignore the cruel obscenities fibromyalgia hurled my way, steadfastly believing the pain would soon subside and I would achieve everything I had planned for myself if I simply disregarded the taunting aches and worked doggedly to catch up at school. But when softball season arrived, it became apparent that while determination and intelligence could preserve my GPA in the face of fibromyalgia, there was no personal attribute or skill that could heal my body and allow me to join my teammates on the field.

  It was time to confront the beast.

  In doing so, I kept in mind the schoolyard aphorism that there is strength in numbers. I did not face fibromyalgia alone, but with mathematics by my side. Baseball is a game of statistics, and if fibromyalgia threatened to steal the sport I loved through physical deterioration, I would outsmart this insolent illness and reclaim ownership of baseball through intellectual pursuits. I began a mathematical research project, analyzing the effectiveness of current baseball statistics, as well as deriving my own.

  Fibromyalgia forced me to redefine my goals and personal standards for success. This baseball project was my first step toward reclaiming my life and laying the foundation for victory over my illness. As calculations replaced pitching drills, my passion for baseball was channeled into a burgeoning love of science and math. Hours I had previously devoted to softball became filled with scientific journals and books, and summers I used to spend at athletic camps were devoted to research at local universities. Baseball provided a link to my pre-fibromyalgia life at a time when I desperately needed one, and through baseball I realized that if I wanted to beat fibromyalgia, I could not simply hope it would disappear overnight. Whether I modified my medications or adapted my schedule, I needed to devise my own way to face fibromyalgia’s antagonizing aches head-on.

  So when that taunting rascal waves his middle finger in my direction, my cheeks do not flush with angry humiliation and my legs do not run away, but my hands mold a snowball and my arm pulls back. As I follow through with my throw, pain radiating up my arm, I know instantly that I will pay for this exertion in the morning. But my icy comeback hits the sniggering boy squarely in the chest, knocking him backward into the snow as his accomplice’s mouth lies agape in shock.

  Well. I guess I’ve still got it.








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