哈佛大學(xué)，世界大學(xué)聲譽(yù)排名第一的高等學(xué)府，這所享譽(yù)世界的頂尖名校，被無(wú)數(shù)學(xué)生視為求學(xué)終極夢(mèng)想地。所以申請(qǐng)門檻也是高的出奇，下面出國(guó)留學(xué)網(wǎng)就來(lái)說(shuō)說(shuō)越南妹子以一篇換內(nèi)衣心得被哈佛錄取。
哈佛大學(xué)每年申請(qǐng)的人數(shù)超過(guò)4萬(wàn)個(gè)，然而錄取人數(shù)卻只有2000出頭…可以說(shuō)是萬(wàn)里挑一、精中求精了。
肯定有人會(huì)吐槽了，這么高冷的院校，不是全才怎么敢申請(qǐng)啊…
你還別說(shuō)，哈佛的錄取標(biāo)準(zhǔn)還真是不走尋常路!
有時(shí)候，一個(gè)日常生活中的小物件就可能送你進(jìn)哈佛，比如麻將、甚至不穿的內(nèi)衣…
這個(gè)昵稱Ngoc的越南裔妹子，就憑借一篇描寫自己內(nèi)衣的文章，誤打誤撞進(jìn)了哈佛!
事情是這樣的…Ngoc本來(lái)不打算申請(qǐng)哈佛的，她覺得自己不夠優(yōu)秀，準(zhǔn)備也不充分，所以在申請(qǐng)大學(xué)時(shí)，哈佛是她最后一刻才加到申請(qǐng)名單里的，
用她的話來(lái)說(shuō)就是：
哈佛的申請(qǐng)流程太簡(jiǎn)單了，不試一下簡(jiǎn)直浪費(fèi)!
申請(qǐng)哈佛除了一些推薦信等硬性條件，還需要寫一篇能表達(dá)自己的文章。
實(shí)際上在這個(gè)申請(qǐng)文書上，妹子也偷了懶，她直接拿申請(qǐng)芝加哥大學(xué)時(shí)寫的一篇談?wù)搩?nèi)衣的作品交了上去…
然而，就是這一篇選題有些“非主流”的文章，卻獲得了哈佛招生官的青睞，將Ngoc一路送到哈佛!
朕先帶你們膜拜一下這篇征服哈佛招生官的文書~
文章的一開始，Ngoc描述了自己第一次穿胸罩的場(chǎng)景，表達(dá)了自己對(duì)內(nèi)衣深深的厭惡。
我第一次戴胸罩，是小學(xué)五年級(jí)。
一天我回家之后，媽媽送給我一件小小的白布，她告訴我：“你現(xiàn)在是一個(gè)大女孩了，你需要穿這個(gè)。”
從那一刻開始，我的生活永遠(yuǎn)被改變了。
自從胸前多了這個(gè)不太舒服的玩意兒，Ngoc就沒安生的時(shí)候。
它們緊貼于襯衫之下，勒著自己的胸，總有一股隱隱的壓力，似乎無(wú)時(shí)無(wú)刻不在提醒著她：無(wú)憂無(wú)慮的童年已經(jīng)過(guò)去了。
就這樣，內(nèi)衣挺進(jìn)了Ngoc的生活。 第一件內(nèi)衣用了沒多久換了，隨之而來(lái)的是第二件、第三件，到了第四件的時(shí)候，Ngoc已經(jīng)穿上了成人內(nèi)衣。
因?yàn)椴粩嗟母鼡Q內(nèi)衣，Ngoc積累了許多再也不會(huì)穿的內(nèi)衣，這讓她十分傷感。
在我衣柜的最深處，有一堆被遺棄的胸罩，那些內(nèi)衣上細(xì)小的、破舊的絲線，在我曾經(jīng)穿的日子里曾經(jīng)被照耀得非常明亮，
然而這種明亮，在被我遺棄后已經(jīng)消失了。
它們安靜地待在宇宙的另一角，聚集起來(lái)的灰塵如同死星，沒有生命、沒有光澤、沒有活力。
Ngoc想起了自己穿內(nèi)衣的那一天，一樣是沒有選擇的余地，沒有拒絕的權(quán)利，這和那些被丟棄的內(nèi)衣有什么兩樣?
于是，每換一件新的內(nèi)衣，這種失落感就加重一分，她覺得自己似乎被強(qiáng)行推著，走到越來(lái)越遙遠(yuǎn)的地方，沒有回頭的余地。
她開始厭惡起了新內(nèi)衣上的那些裝飾：
時(shí)髦的褶皺，夸張的圖案，繁復(fù)的花邊，一切都是那么的閃亮亮，似乎是為了抵消人生進(jìn)程中越加越重的擔(dān)子而做出的補(bǔ)償。
但是，后來(lái)她想通了。
后來(lái)我知道，生活并不是線性的，而是周期性的。
新星可以從死星的灰燼里重生，死亡也會(huì)被生命的光照亮。
因此，現(xiàn)在只是對(duì)過(guò)去的重新詮釋，在穿著新的胸罩的時(shí)候，我并沒有拋棄過(guò)去的自我，我只是在重新定位自己以適應(yīng)不斷變化的時(shí)代。
所以Ngoc釋然了，她覺得變化雖然對(duì)每個(gè)人來(lái)說(shuō)都有壓力，但卻是人世間的自然規(guī)律。
柜子里的內(nèi)衣沒有辦法減少，但是她也坦然承認(rèn)，隨著年齡的增加，胸部會(huì)不斷地下垂，所以她需要新的內(nèi)衣，畢竟這個(gè)世界上沒有什么能比一件內(nèi)衣帶來(lái)更堅(jiān)挺的依靠了。
Ngoc文書全文：
I remember the first time I wore a bra. I came home from school in the fifth grade, and my mom handed me a white cloth to put on beneath my shirt. “You’re a big girl now,” she said, “You need to wear this.” From that moment on, my life was forever changed.
That same year, I was taught that the sun would someday die, and I, feeling the pressure of the contraption beneath my shirt, realized that my childhood, too, would eventually dissipate just like the sun.
The first bra paved way for a second, and then a third, and then, by the fourth bra I had advanced to the Lady Type, the ones that my mom wore.
With every new bra, I cast away the former. Somewhere in the dark abyss of my closet, there is a heap of abandoned bras, tiny, worn-out filaments that had once shone so brightly in their days of use, but had faded away into old, neglected remnants of days long gone. They sit against a corner of the universe and gather dust like dead stars— without life, without luster, without vigor.
With every new bra, I felt the unmerciful hand of change push me further down a path with which I had no return. The bras no longer had the simplicity of the first; they came equipped with more folds and stitches and frills and patterns that were designed to counteract the growing complexity of my responsibilities.
Sometimes, when I found myself too big for the current one, I was either unable to or unwilling to get another because of the implications behind the transition—if every new bra meant the death of another star, then the adult world was nothing to me but a lifetime of darkness. I tried so hard not to kill any more stars, but my resistance was not enough, and I found myself adding layer after layer to the ever-increasing pile of bras. With this mindset, I prepared myself for the end, for the moment in which my entire universe would be engulfed by the black hole forming in my closet.
But I was saved.
I learned that life does not occur linearly, but in cycles: New stars can arise from the ashes of former ones, and the darkness of death is replenished by the light of birth. Thus, what is created is only a reinterpretation of the past in a form that is fitted for the present. In wearing a new bra, I was not casting away my old self but reorienting myself to accommodate to changing times.
Change, as overwhelming as it feels, is only natural—the pile of bras will only get bigger. Though it is hard to accept the existence of the bra in my life, I realize that I cannot live without it, for, as we grow older, things tend to droop more easily, and there is nothing more reliable than a bra to give us the inner support necessary to have a firm hold on life.