近年来，哈佛的本科录取率平均在4-6%，可见藤校的录取竞争一直非常的激烈。
在现在的大环境下，学霸们的标化、课外活动等履历都非常的优秀，相差不大。这时，一篇逻辑清晰明确的文书有助于帮助学霸们获得招生官的注意。
近日，哈佛大学校报公布了10篇今年录取学生的优秀文书，这些文书都有哪些亮点？为什么能够赢得招生官的连连称赞？一起来看看吧~
哈佛大学说：
进入哈佛学院不仅仅是为了获得完美的成绩或考试成绩，还在于讲述你的故事。
在此功能中，The Harvard Crimson 和 HS2 Academy 展示了通过世界上最具竞争力的录取过程之一的学生的十篇杰出个人陈述。
每篇文章都让我们得以一窥真实的声音、真实的故事以及脱颖而出的真正含义。
** 哈佛校报官网 - 2025文书网址：
https://www.business.thecrimson.com/10-successful-harvard-essays-2025
1Claire's Essay
招生官评价道：“有些文书会告诉你一个人是谁。Clara的故事则向你展示了她是如何成为现在的自己的。”
“读到最后，当她写下‘你会找到属于你的水域’，这句结尾显得如此有力。它不只是一个精巧的收尾——更像是一种温和而深刻的提醒：成长无需轰轰烈烈，其真实自有分量。”
文书内容展示：
In my vision I focus on a lone front tooth backdropped by a black abyss; thin lips dance around it in motions forming words, yet I can’t seem to hear them.
In the kitchen behind my grandfather sits his definition of luxury — a now stale and cold Filet-o-Fish from the Beijing McDonald’s. American basketball plays on the television across from where we’re sitting on the sofa; players’ shoes squeak and balls bounce louder in my ears than those words. In this moment, his Mandarin goes in one ear and out the other. I don’t listen the way I do when he’s screaming at my mother, a bitter, blind rage fueled by undercurrents of fear and “I miss you.”
My focus blurs, and the tooth disappears. Basketball fades to silence, and I’m on the airplane home to America. We’re separated once more by an ocean and three thousand unspoken miles. It’s a whirlwind; five years pass, and my few apathetic summers in China are over before I can blink twice.
The last clear memory I have is waking up on my thirteenth birthday to my dad handing me the landline kept for international phone calls: “Waigong has something he wants to read to you.”
It is a poem that he had written about me. Through the phone, I could do nothing but hear his voice, static worsening the Mandarin already slurred by missing teeth. The poem says everything he loved about his granddaughter, everything he saw in her, despite barely knowing her. It is a reflection of last dreams, visions, and hopes of his own.
He was gone not long after that, once more turned to forever.
It wasn’t until I found myself chancely entrenched in poetry because of a mandatory school competition that I began to think deeply about this disconnected relationship. Poetry Out Loud’s anthology introduced me to hundreds and hundreds of poems, and I felt like a hungry child at a buffet. When I discovered “Old Men Playing Basketball” by B.H. Fairchild, I saw tired arms and shaky hands as a pure geometry of curves, hobbling slippers as the adamant remains of that old soft shoe of desire. In words, I was safe to miss my grandfather for all the things that made him human. For the first time in my life, I began to realize that I might have a love for beautiful words that ran deep in my blood, a love that couldn’t be lost in translation.
On that makeshift podium in the school cafeteria my sophomore year, “Old Men Playing Basketball” becomes “Waigong Playing Basketball.” I’m taken back to that sofa in Beijing one more time, where he takes my small hand into his tremoring one covered by gray-brown patches of melasma, where he tells me, “You are a gift, a wonder. You are a hu die.” Butterfly: my Chinese name. Born to one day fly.
But it is no longer his voice I hear. It is my own— crisp and clear, raw and strong. The poem becomes the glass wand of autumn light breaking over the backboard, where boys rise up in old men. I see the whole scene this time, not just tooth and abyss. I hear every word.
Perhaps I will never be able to know my grandfather beyond his love of basketball and poetry, or hear his voice read me another poem. But when I am stirred by beautiful lines or liberated by my pen on paper, I know I am one of two same hearts, forever bound together by the permanence and power of language.
I am a vessel in flight, listening, writing, speaking to remember histories, to feel emotion, to carry forth dreams and visions and hopes of my own. My grandfather becomes an elegant mirage of a basketball player, carried by a quiet grace along my trail of spoken words floating upwards toward heaven.
文书详细点评：
Some essays tell you who someone is. Clara’s shows you how she became that person.
What makes Fish Out of Water stand out isn’t just the fish-to-freshman metaphor or her stories that connect immigration and biology — two themes admissions officers encounter often — but how she makes those familiar ideas feel personal. It’s how at ease she is in describing discomfort and how she captures the awkwardness and isolation of language barriers with honesty. A less thoughtful writer might have simply said, “It was hard learning English.” Clara, however, shows us how, using creative humor to poke fun at herself while revealing her unique skills, flaws, and strengths through SpongeBob reruns, word-play, and a fascination with labeled diagrams. This is exactly what admissions officers want to see: the maturity to reflect in a way that brings the story vividly to life beyond the screen.She doesn’t just talk about resilience — she shows us where it came from, and how art and science became a way to make sense of things. Her writing is vivid without being overdone, and metaphors like “language feels slippery like fish on my tongue” feel true because they come from lived experience. By the end, when she writes “You’ll find your water,” it lands. It’s not just a neat ending — it’s a reminder, quiet and generous, that growth doesn’t have to be loud to be real.
2Alexander's Essay
招生官评价道：“Alexander的文书是一篇真诚且情感深刻的自我反思之作，关乎身份认同、家庭与个人成长。”
文书内容展示：
The mouthwatering scent of beef broth brought back a flood of childhood memories as it wafted around me. After a 12-hour drive from Florida to Texas, the familiar smell meant I was in ""bep cua bà"", or ""grandma's kitchen"" in Vietnamese. Every summer when my family visited my grandparents' house, my grandma always had a steaming pot of pho ready for us when we arrived, and this time was no exception. For my family, pho was more than a Vietnamese delicacy: it symbolized bringing us together over a warm, hearty meal. This specific visit, however, came with a change of perspective; as a young adult who was now conscious of his cultural roots, I wanted to learn more about my heritage by learning how to cook pho from my grandma.
As she boiled the water, my grandma stressed to me, ""Every bowl of pho needs a strong foundation: the broth."" Without a good broth, she explained, none of the other ingredients mattered. As I stood over the boiling pot, I thought about my own foundation: my family. My parents immigrated to America after the Vietnam War with nothing and had to work tirelessly to accomplish the celebrated ""American Dream"". From taking me to a 7 am student government fundraiser or a 10 pm baseball game in a city five hours away, I would not have been able to participate in these activities, which I consider an integral part of my identity, without their support. Being fortunate enough to have a strong foundation in my life has allowed me to be a strong foundation for others. For example, as an upperclassman on my varsity baseball team, I strive to be available for my teammates. Last season, when a younger teammate was struggling in a few games, I stayed back after practice to work with him on his fielding before driving him home, even though he lived almost an hour away. This small gesture was a reflection of my attempt to build a strong foundation for others.
As I watched the broth simmer in a giant pot that my grandma had continuously stirred for two days, she imparted another bit of wisdom onto me: making a great bowl of pho was also all about balance. Simply taking a great broth and indiscriminately adding to it would not suffice; each of the ingredients had to be in perfect balance with each other. Balance was never really something I considered until recently, when I experienced the struggle that can come from its absence. When I suffered a stress fracture in my lower back a few years ago that left me unable to play baseball for the foreseeable future, I felt as if suddenly a major part of my identity had been stripped away. I struggled with this new reality for a while until I realized I could fill this temporary void by acting as a mentor for my younger teammates. Additionally, with my newfound spare time, I was able to further develop my interest in Mu Alpha Theta, which gave me a new, enriching opportunity to compete in mathematics competitions. By the time I was finally cleared to play, I had developed a fresh appreciation for the importance of maintaining a balance among all the activities I did, as I had experienced firsthand the empty feeling of having this balance stripped away.
While putting the finishing scallions in the bowl, I reflected on the delectable meal I helped create and realized that what had started out as me simply wanting to learn more about my heritage became something more poignant: an introspection. Although there may not be a single perfect recipe for pho, by applying my grandma's cooking principles in my everyday life, whether it be in baseball, my volunteer lab experience, or my service trip to Guatemala, I hope to be able to make a ""bowl of pho"" that is perfect for me.
文书详细点评：
Alexander’s essay is a thoughtful and emotionally resonant reflection on identity, family, and personal growth. By using the preparation of pho as a central metaphor, he artfully connects his Vietnamese heritage with broader themes of foundation, balance, and resilience.
The imagery of bếp của bà (grandma’s kitchen) adds warmth and specificity, grounding the narrative in meaningful cultural context.What stands out most is Alexander’s ability to translate personal experiences into universal insight. His response to adversity—mentoring a teammate and rediscovering his passion for mathematics after a sports injury—demonstrates quiet leadership and adaptability. These moments are authentic and show his values in action.The structure, moving from broth to balance to introspection, is coherent and thematically rich. However, some transitions could be smoother, and a few phrases are slightly repetitive or abstract. The conclusion, while heartfelt, might leave a stronger impression if it ended with a more concrete personal image rather than a metaphor about the “perfect bowl.”Overall, this is a sincere and engaging personal statement that reflects depth and character. With minor revision for clarity and rhythm, Alexander’s essay is well-positioned to make a strong impact on admissions readers.
3Barry's Essay
招生官评价道：“无论是叙述父亲离世的消息时那克制的平静，还是在他笔触旁逸斜出、捕捉母亲埋头盘算家用时脸上那平凡却动人的微光……我们读着这些文字，就仿佛钻进了他的脑海。他的存在感贯穿始终——即使在冷冰冰的电子屏幕上，他那充满智识的“指纹”也清晰可辨，无从误认。”
文书内容展示：
I woke up one morning to the usual noise in the kitchen. “That plate of porridge is mine,” my brother yelled outrageously at my sister, “leave it or else I will beat you up.” Food scrambles and fights were order of the day in the family I was raised. The size of one’s meal would be determined by one’s age. You had to fight for food at times, or else hunger would eat you alive. Living with ten siblings in a polygamous family is not the definition of tranquility. However, I have learned more from this revolving door than I could have been taught in solitary silence. Beyond chaos, there is a whisper that teaches the benefits of unselfish concern.
My mother was a teacher, but her salary could not sustain the big family. Almost every day, she would wake up early in the morning before work and go to the fields. My parents were shadowy figures whose voices I heard vaguely in the morning when sleep was shallow, and whom I glimpsed with irresistibly heavy eye-lids as they trudged wearily into the house at night. We sat together as a whole family on special occasions. After a bumper harvest, my parents would sell their crops in the neighborhood. I vividly remember my mother counting proceeds from the crop sale, her dark face grim, and I think now, beautiful. Not with the hollow beauty of well-simulated features, but with a strong radiance of one who has suffered and never yielded. “This is for your school fees arrears,” she would murmur making a little pile. “This is for the groceries that we borrowed from Mr Kibe’s store,” and so on. The list was endless. We would survive at least for the present.
My father instilled in me the importance of education. I would see the value of education every time I shook hands with him; the scratches and calluses from the field in his hands were enough motivation. After every award I received, he would firmly shake my hands as a sign of profound pride. My tacit prayer was to ease his pain one day. Unfortunately this was never to come true, he died on 5 February 2016 in a car accident, only a week before I received my IGCSE O LEVEL results and I had attained 14 straight A grades, standing out to be one of the top performers in the country. After my father’s death, his brothers took everything that he had acquired.
Inevitably, circumstances forced me to take a break from school in January 2017 and bear my share of the eternal burden at home. I had to take care of my mother whose health was deteriorating. I would spend the day doing household chores, and the nights were times of intensive study. It was on my mother’s deathbed when I was fully convinced that she was a seasoned fighter. “Barry,” she called me, “I am not going to die till you finish school.” In order not to disillusion that extraordinary faith in her voice, I assured her that she was going to live. Unfortunately, she succumbed to death on the 15th of March 2017. I “died” with her. My belief in the God she had ardently prayed to till the time of her demise was shaken.
Already laid waste by poverty and pain, I went back to school through the generosity of strangers. School became a battleground for victory. I came back to life determined than ever before. I out-performed the country boys who mocked my struggle. I went on to win accolades in the National and Regional Mathematics Olympiads and was awarded the Higher Life Foundation Scholarship that was going to pay my fees throughout high school.
Today, I am an epitome of a black, double-orphaned, African boy who lost everything he ever valued, but refused to give up on his dream.
文书详细点评：
A casual reader of Barry’s essay about growing up in a chaotic dozen-or-so-person African household might mistakenly think it is poorly written. It does, after all, bear several hallmarks of an undercooked draft: non-idiomatic constructions like “my brother yelled outrageously,” rather than “yelled in outrage;” or the seemingly un-overlookable blue squiggle that Google Docs inserts beneath “I came back to life determined than ever before,” prodding its author to insert an elided moreBut such accusations fail to note the piece’s tremendous strengths: its eagle-eyed specificity, its emotional nuance, its poet’s facility with a resonant turn of phrase. Most writers would conclude their opening paragraph a sentence earlier than Barry does, content to have neatly stated that “I have learned more from this [busy household] than I could have been taught in solitary silence” — a tidy summation of the essay’s topic — but Barry knows that the best persuasive writing employs this sort of clarity as a foundation on which to erect constructions that affect the reader in ways simple statements of fact cannot. Reading the grace note sentence with which Barry follows the thesis above (“Beyond chaos, there is a whisper that teaches the benefits of unselfish concern.”), I was immediately sold. The wise whisper that emerges from the scrum of Barry’s domestic life may well be, we’re left suspecting, Barry’s own.Happily, the rest of Barry’s essay is at least as effective as its opening. Whether he’s delivering the news of his father’s passing with a measured understatement that communicates sadness more loudly than the most piercing funeral wail or pausing in an aside to note the beauty of his mother’s face as she mundanely tallies household expenses, we inhabit Barry’s mind as we read, feeling his presence throughout — his intellectual fingerprints unmistakeable, even on the digital page.
4Claire's Essay
招生官评价道：“这篇文书堪称叙事真实性与表达深意的范本——这两点正是顶尖大学申请文书最引人入胜的特征。”
“我们始终强调：学生无需惊天动地的壮举，也能写出令人难忘的文书，关键在于思路清晰、深度思考，以及一个引人入胜的独特视角。这篇文书恰恰兼顾了这三点。它真切但不煽情，雄心勃勃却不刻意表演。最重要的是，它捕捉到了一个敢于在众人面前展现真我的学生形象——无论是否穿着那双亮色洞洞鞋——而这份自信的独特性，正是指向哈佛这类顶级学府最能在招生审核时被打动的核心特质。”
文书内容展示：
Of the memorable moments in my life when I have discovered one of my passions, almost all of them involve my bright yellow Crocs. Buying rubber shoes in such a conspicuous color was not a spontaneous decision; it took me two months to choose. I had been stalking crocs.com, clicking between the color options, and asking for the unsatisfying opinions of friends before what felt like my rom-com “meet cute” moment: a girl wearing a black tracksuit walked past me in Crocs the brightest shade of yellow I had ever seen. That very week, I opened my laptop and decisively purchased a size 8 pair of “Lemon” Crocs. Ten business days (and two months to build up the courage to wear my eye-catching kicks out in public) later, my self-discovery began.
I was wearing my Crocs when I recognized the importance of activism in young communities. This revelation came on a Saturday in March 2018. I took a 25-minute train ride down to Washington D.C. to participate in the March for Our Lives rally—my first protest. For all 25 anxiety-inducing minutes, my heart raced and my muscles tightened as I tried to ignore the probing stares from strangers wondering why I decided to pair yellow shoes with a green coat.
But my fears (both Croc and non-Croc related) quickly dissolved as I stood alongside activists that were my age; in front of a stage dominated by leaders that were my age; making me realize that the only thing stopping me from being a student activist, at my age, was effort. The young voices calling for change inspired me to step into my responsibility to use my voice to help those whose voices are being suppressed. I stood there for one hour, but what I saw was enough to encourage me to actualize my vision for a world where students are driven to engender social change through service. So, five months later, I co-founded The Virago Project (TVP), a student-led organization focused on building a community of activists like the ones I stood alongside in March. A “virago” is a woman displaying exemplary qualities, but the term has been twisted to demean assertive women. From its name to its activities, TVP is about redefining leadership.
After my day in D.C., I wore my Crocs to every student meeting TVP held. I wore them as we sold 150 handmade bracelets to raise funds for a local children’s home and again when we posted colorful cards with encouraging messages all over my high school. Walking into rooms full of ambitious student leaders using TVP as a jumping-off point for their own service projects, I beamed as their gaze met my sunny shoes and then shot up to my equally cheery smile.
“Dunni, why do you wear such noticeable shoes when you lead these meetings?” asked one of our activists.
Pleasantly dumbfounded, I could only respond with a curious smile—it’s not often that frivolous items lead to unintentionally philosophical inquiries. So, I held my tongue until the answer struck on a late-night in November 2019.
I wear such noticeable shoes when I stand in front of other student leaders because I want to model the kind of leadership that is as smile-inducing, deliberate, and visible as my Crocs. TVP has trained me to be, above all, altruistic, and I love that I get to learn and model this with a generation of world changers. It took me two months to decide I wanted a pair of sun-colored shoes but only two seconds and a model to realize that I desired the option I’d once overlooked. Now, I realize that, to curious strangers, I am the girl walking past in Crocs the brightest shade of yellow they have ever seen. And I am delighted with the thought that I could be the one to break someone’s cycle of indecision and social apathy.
文书详细点评：
This essay is a masterclass in narrative authenticity and intentional storytelling—two traits that are hallmarks of the most compelling college applications. With a confident yet conversational tone, the writer uses a symbol as unexpected as bright yellow Crocs to introduce deeper themes of identity, leadership, and social impact. What begins as a seemingly light anecdote becomes a powerful meditation on visibility, voice, and purpose.What distinguishes this piece is its ability to connect the personal to the political without sounding forced or formulaic. The author doesn't just recount her activism—she illustrates how that moment catalyzed a philosophy of leadership that is joyful, inclusive, and self-aware. The Virago Project isn’t presented as a resume entry; it’s the natural outgrowth of her lived experience, brought to life through vibrant imagery and self-reflection.It’s important to remember that admissions officers may have read 50 essays before yours on any given day. They are reading for something that feels fresh, specific, and emotionally alive. This essay succeeds because it hooks the reader early, sustains interest through engaging pacing and humor, and subtly weaves in elite attributes: initiative, social awareness, and emotional intelligence.At Momentum College Counseling, we emphasize that students don’t need grand, world-changing moments to write memorable essays—they need clarity, introspection, and a compelling lens. This essay delivers on all three. It’s vulnerable without being sentimental, ambitious without being performative. Most importantly, it captures a student with the courage to be visible, in yellow Crocs or otherwise—and that kind of confident originality is exactly what resonates in admissions rooms at schools like Harvard.
5Isabelle's Essay
招生官评价道：“身为一名入学申请文书顾问，我常告诉学生们：最棒的个人陈述，往往能将出人意料的创意选择与深刻的自我认知完美结合。”
文书内容展示：
Breakfast after church is a Sunday staple in my family. We’re not allowed to eat beforehand, so right after Mass ends, my sister and I race to the bagel shop only to inevitably wait in a long line. Often when we reached the cashier, we’d find they were out of plain bagels. It was a perennially difficult decision: pick from an assortment of non-plain bagels, or wait another 20 minutes for new plain bagels.
People’s bagel choices tell you everything about them, and I was a plain bagel girl through and through. Even when faced with 20 extra minutes of hunger, I decided to leave the sweet bagels for the adventurous, the savory for the straightforward, and the “everything” for the indecisive. I came for plain bagels, and I would get them, no matter the wait.
After a long wait, the warmth of the freshly-baked plain bagels radiating through the paper bag assured me my patience was worth it. Being a plain bagel girl means knowing exactly what you want—no more, no less. It means that I’m in control of my decision-making and always end up satisfied.
In senior year, my teacher graciously brought bagels to our class. Upon approaching the bag, however, I found there were no plain bagels left. Instinctively, I retreated. But my teacher stopped me and advised that I break from my comfort zone. Reluctantly, I chose an egg bagel, preferring its odd yellow shade to the surrounding sweeter variety (who wants a french toast bagel anyway?). My first bite introduced me to a new world: this sweet and savory egg bagel flawlessly balanced the worlds of the adventurous and the straightforward.
My willingness to try an egg bagel didn’t lead to a phase of food experimentation, but it did make me see that I could be more spontaneous than my plain bagel self might allow.
Before high school, you could never spot me on a dance floor; I much preferred to watch from the audience. But in my freshman year, I joined the dance department of my school’s annual production of S!NG on a whim.
As soon as I tried the first move, I knew the decision was worth it. I enjoyed diligently practicing routines and adding my own flair, satisfying my tendency to prepare thoroughly while also fulfilling my desire to explore the realm of dance. Eventually, I excelled so much that the directors chose me as their successor—a position that has strengthened me as a dancer, leader, and person. Though I relished my newfound sense of spontaneity, my plain bagel girl roots helped me to effectively manage others’ dancing. I tirelessly choreographed and re-choreographed each step and count of a routine, no matter how long the detailed revisions took. During practices, I analyzed the dancers' movements and refined them to what could only be described as plain bagel perfection.
Sometimes the moments when I thought I needed to be in control to be successful were when I needed to be more spontaneous. In my first year being director, I was unfamiliar with managing a multitude of variously skilled dancers. Shedding my fear of being an inexperienced leader was difficult, but I soon learned to open myself to others’ advice about describing moves and maintaining the beat. Together, through sometimes spontaneous practice sessions and spurts of inspiration, we worked to adapt the choreography to accomodate all dancers.
I revel in the contradiction that is my simultaneous meticulousness and spontaneity: my egg bagel epiphany. I can count on myself to prepare thoroughly to optimize my potential, no matter how long it takes. But I can also trust myself to make the most of the unknown and stay true to myself while doing so. It’s what makes me multidimensional; it makes me a young woman no longer defined by her bagel choices but rather by her versatility and what she can do with it.
文书详细点评：
As an admission essay counselor, I regularly advise candidates that the best personal statements combine unexpected creative choices with an uncommon self-awareness. Isabelle’s essay perfectly encapsulates this approach in a single line: “People’s bagel choices tell you everything about them, and I was a plain bagel girl through and through.”The playfulness of distilling character into bagel preference invites readers to better understand Isabelle’s attraction to consistency and control. Only when a flawless egg bagel challenges her “plain bagel” nature does Isabelle re-evaluate the costs of eschewing spontaneity. Joining her school’s dance production on a whim, she uncovers invigorating new ways to work with, and against, routine. When she is eventually named program director, she draws upon her plain bagel epiphany to balance perfectionist tendencies with the adaptability true leadership demands. Isabelle’s story demonstrates an evolving self-knowledge that will serve her ambitions well. She writes with verve, unearthing hidden meaning within the mundane. “I decided to leave the sweet bagels for the adventurous, the savory for the straightforward, and the “everything” for the indecisive.” How she unpacks this meaning feels truly personal, bringing a multidimensionality to her candidacy that could never be captured by grades, test scores, and extracurriculars alone.
6Olivia's Essay
招生官评价道：“所有成功录取常春藤级别的申请文书，至少需具备三大核心要素（Impact影响力、Insight思想深度、Identity身份特质）中的两项。Olivia的文书完美呈现了前两项：影响力与思想深度。”
文书内容展示：
When I was little my grandfather taught me the German word Waldeinsamkeit, the feeling of being truly alone in a deep forest. “Forests are special in Germany,” he explained. “In Florida...it’s swamps,” pointing to the brackish pond behind his house.
Back then, I knew only that he was a scientist, and that my mom’s forehead furrowed when he was mentioned. It was years before I saw him again, and many more years before I learned that, despite the silence of forests and families, no one is truly alone.
I always felt that science was in my blood. In 8th grade, I attended the Summer Science and Engineering Program at Smith College. I left hoping to study Chemistry--that was what my grandfather had taught.
So in high school, I emailed dozens of labs…and received one positive response, from a plant lab. Plants? They didn’t move or talk; they’re boring, I thought. And I had accidentally killed every plant I’d touched--including a fake one I’d dropped. But Dr. Yanofsky encouraged me. He also taught me that most of what I’d assumed about plants was wrong.
New research suggests injured Douglas firs send distress signals to nearby pines through a series of mycorrhizae, a fungi which acts like a plant internet. In other words, trees “talk” to each other and are “friends” during hard times--they help injured trees by sharing resources. If we listen at the right frequency, we can literally hear forests communicating.
In Dr. Yanofsky’s labs, I began using CRISPR-Cas9 to explore two genes in Arabidopsis thaliana. It took years, but my engineered plants produced nearly three times the fruit of the wildtype average, with clear applications toward world hunger. I entered my project in the Greater San Diego Science and Engineering Fair (GSDSEF), where I won First Place and Sweepstakes, sending me to the International Science and Engineering Fair (ISEF), where I became a Finalist.
The next year, I took these principles to the Garcia Scholars program at Stony Brook University to study nanotoxicity. I’ve learned that people across the globe speak a universal language of science, including bad puns. I’ve also learned that everyone had a mentor.
That’s why I helped launch the Student Leadership Board of GSDSEF. Traveling to dozens of schools, leading monthly Saturday workshops, I saw classrooms without science equipment. I met kids whose parents couldn’t afford even modest science fair entry fees.
So I created Science Fair Buddies, a mentoring program at a middle school where most students receive free lunch. I persuaded a local company to provide financial support, and recruited science fair alumni as mentors. We hold workshops when late buses are available. I’ve learned to look and listen in ways I hadn’t before. “Will there be snacks?” often means “I haven’t had a meal today.” Kids make formal presentations in t-shirts because that’s their only shirt. Seats for parents at award ceremonies are often empty. Taylor, a 5th grader with orange hair, comes with her grandfather; he’s her primary caretaker. Many kids seem to be their own caretakers.
In the last year, in an awkward conversation, I learned my own mother was one of these kids. I learned my grandfather was an alcoholic. That she spent afternoons stranded at bus stops. That he once ran over her dog. That he broke down a neighbor’s door to drag her back home. That the swampy pond behind her house was her designated meeting spot for friends to comfort her.
Last year, we traveled across the country to bring him home to live with us. He was alone, and suffering from progressive dementia. Some days he speaks nonsense, asking for “blue noses” for lunch. But yesterday he said his hobby was “finding truth where it may not always be obvious.”
Forests may be peaceful, but they’re not lonely, or even silent. Trees—and people—are always sharing resources in ways that remind us we’re never truly alone.
文书详细点评：
Over the years we’ve had hundreds of acceptances to Harvard, Stanford, MIT, etc. In our experience, all successful Ivy-level essays demonstrate at least two of three vital things–Impact, Insight, and Identity. Olivia’s essay powerfully explores the first two: Impact and Insight.After athletic recruits and donors, identity-driven elements play a key role in Ivy-level admissions. If your identity is likely to contribute to the diversity of an Ivy-level campus, embrace and explore it. But what if–at least in the eyes of admissions readers–your identity isn’t helpful? What if you are a “basic white girl?”That’s how Olivia described herself when I first met her as an 8th-grader, back when teenagers aspired to be “extra” rather than “basic.” Her brother had found a pathway to MIT and Princeton through math competitions. But Olivia wasn’t a MOSP-level contender, so she would need to find another way to show Impact.Too young to work in animal labs, in the 9th grade she wrangled her way into a plant lab. Her work there led to meaningful discoveries–and eventually to the International Science and Engineering Fair (ISEF). She also created significant outreach programs to share her love of science. That’s Impact.But without Insight–an ef ort to explain the larger social and personal significance–a student’s Impact is merely a resume. As an editor, my job–and that of the many talented Editing Partners at Hamilton Education–is to help students find that Insight. In Olivia’s case, I sent her a book called The Hidden Life of Trees, and had Olivia free-write extensively about her life and family. But it was actually her mother who contributed the final piece–a hidden aspect of her family that endowed the technical things Olivia had done with greater meaning and purpose.Years ago I taught Literature and Narrative Theory at UCLA, and after that I served as Editorial Director of a food-and-wine magazine. As a professional editor, my job wasn’t to give writers bigger or better words, but rather to help sell the story. At Hamilton Education, we like to start early–as early as 8th grade–so that we can help students build the right kind of resume. But we are not merely advisors–we are professional editors: we help students identify what their real story is, and how they can best tell it–so that universities like Harvard simply must say “Yes.”By the time Olivia graduated high school, I was hearing the word“basic” less frequently. But since Olivia gained admission to Harvard, Princeton, Stanford and other top universities, she apparently showed Ivy-level schools something “extra” about her.
7Jinna's Essay
招生官评价道：“Jinna的文书堪称展现求知欲、自省精神与真实表达的精彩范本。从巧妙动人的开篇到发人深省的结尾，Jinna娴熟地引领读者踏上了一场探索、理想受挫与重燃信念的旅程。”
文书内容展示：
It’s terrifying how much we can get from Amazon nowadays: groceries, clothes, books, and crises of faith are all just a click away.
After Audible thanked me for listening to The Most Dangerous Branch: Inside the Supreme Court's Assault on the Constitution by David Kaplan and The Brethren by Bob Woodward and Scott Armstrong, I wanted to cry, scream, and march to Washington to shake answers from Chief Justice John Roberts.
My emotional whirlwind burst from the dichotomy between reality and my expectation of it. Growing up, I knew the judicial branch as the apolitical arbiter of constitutional law and the bias-blind defender of civil rights. With fear across the nation rising as fast as the global temperature, I was sure the best way to change the failing status quo was through the courts. I dreamed of becoming a lawyer to advocate for justice and to help my country prosper. My ambitions sprouted from the ideals of public service ingrained into me at school and at home, and my goal hinged only upon the judiciary’s mandate to protect our freedoms. My dream was purposeful and straightforward.
But 37 hours of audiobook rewrote all my beliefs in the judicial branch.
The Supreme Court: apolitical arbiter and bias-blind defender? No. Rather: potentially politicized, petty, proud, and irrational. Partisan politics dance about the Justices’ Conferences. The Constitution and personal biases govern rulings. Most rights supposedly afforded by the Constitution are interpretations, not explicit clauses, of it. For example, Chief Justice Warren Burger manipulated case assignments, so Justice Potter Stewart tattled on him to Woodward and Armstrong in retaliation. The right of the judiciary to strike down laws deemed unconstitutional is derived more from Marbury v. Madison than from Article Three. Justice Harry Blackmun based his majority opinion in Roe v. Wade on the rights of the doctor to practice. Stare decisis is optional, as is judicial restraint.
I felt sick. I had worshipped the courts as the perfect forum for change, always upholding truth, equality, and scholarship; I saw them as the eventual birthplace of solutions to gun regulation, climate crises, gerrymandering, immigration, and social inequality. I did not want to acknowledge courts could be anything but perfect.
Desperation drove me to keep listening, but with every new case I covered, the clearer it became that I had worshipped an impossibility. After finishing Jeffrey Toobin’s The Nine, I finally admitted that, prior to these books, I had known nothing. Perhaps that epiphany should have terrified me, but it did quite the opposite.
It was liberating.
Socrates once wrote that true knowledge was in knowing that you know nothing. I couldn’t agree more: once you know you’ve hit wisdom rock bottom, you can be reckless with your curiosity because you only have everything to gain.
Since that epiphany, I have been gleefully chasing infinity. Even if my capacity to learn is finite, my curiosity is not. The history of the courts, the ethics of judicial restraint, the politics of judging, the rhetoric of opinions, the intersectionality of all of the above and more… there is so much to explore.
For the record: I purchased those audiobooks on a whim. I was not looking for anything more than a fascinating nonfiction read. But they have plunged me into an exhilarating, all-consuming, fully unpredictable adventure, one that stretches back to our nation’s founding and far into our future. While these books initially upset me by revealing the imperfections of the judicial branch, they showed me a whole undiscovered history and future at my fingertips. Rather than smothering my dreams of public service, they fanned the flames; now, my dream of public service is fueled by my passion to serve and to learn.
And I’m ready to chase it.
文书详细点评：
Jinna’s essay is a standout example of intellectual curiosity, personal reflection, and authentic voice. From the clever and engaging opening line to the thoughtful conclusion, Jinna skillfully takes the reader on a journey of discovery, disillusionment, and renewed purpose. The narrative is driven by a deep dive into the workings of the U.S. Supreme Court, showcasing not only their passion for justice but also their willingness to question long-held beliefs and grow from that discomfort.What makes Jinna’s piece particularly compelling is their ability to balance sophisticated ideas with accessible, heartfelt storytelling. The references to books like The Most Dangerous Branch and The Nine are used not to impress, but to demonstrate sincere engagement with complex issues. Their voice is confident, occasionally humorous, and consistently reflective.Jinna’s essay also captures a meaningful transformation. Rather than clinging to idealism, they embrace complexity, demonstrating resilience, adaptability, and a hunger for learning—qualities that admissions committees value deeply. The final message, that disillusionment gave way to a deeper and more grounded passion for public service, is powerful and uplifting.Altogether, this essay is a memorable, intellectually rich, and emotionally resonant piece that clearly reflects the maturity and promise of the writer.
8Carrie's Essay
招生官评价道：“这篇文书展现了出色的叙事技巧与深刻的情感洞察力。以“筑起心墙、身陷迷宫”为核心隐喻的构思，巧妙地贯穿全文，构建出一种深邃易懂、引人共鸣的象征体系，生动展现了她内心的挣扎与逐步疗愈的过程。”
文书内容展示：
I am a builder. No. I am a seasoned architect. My tools are foreign to the realities of others but mundane by my standards. I don’t compose the perplexing and unique structures that most think of when the word architect is mentioned. Matter of fact, I don’t make structures at all; my mastery is in the assembly of walls. Mental ones, to be exact. I am a skillful artist of intricately woven walls to create a complex maze for the others that try to get to know me; they are left confused, with no choice but to surrender their arbitrary efforts to “save” me.
I was unmatched in my array of skills. That was until I met Mark. Mark was a worker from my first mental hospital visits who had attached himself to my conscience before I could push him away as I had done with so many others. With an equally impressive skill set, he was able to navigate his way through my long-standing labyrinth to its center. That’s where he found me. Still crouched next to my fledgling wall, dirt on my knees with dust on my face, I had finally been figured out for the first time in years. How did he get here? When did I let my guard down? The answers to these questions sat obnoxiously in front of me. The game that we always played. Horse. Such a benign game, that the thought of it having any significant part in my life is utterly incomprehensible. But it did, nonetheless.
Little did I know that Mark was studying to become a therapist in his studies of psychology, and I, his first patient. This is not a story of teenage love and life-changing heartbreak, but of one where an abandoned kid whose father raped her and whose mother gave up custody to have the father’s perverted approval, finally gets the parental figure that she was never offered before. I was an emotional wreck at this time, not wanting to live, much less fight a court battle to get the “justice” everyone so badly wanted for me. So Mark, the father I never got to have, taught me how to swim in the never-ending circumstances I was drowning in. With every swish of the net of our game, a new way he would teach my fumbling feet to move in the water. And with every finished game, he was one wall closer to the reality behind my facade. He taught me that being angry at my circumstances would not fix them or get me any closer to overcoming them.
Nothing is going to change my mom’s decision. Nothing is going to turn back time and change what my dad did. I can be the ruler of the lonely maze I created, or I can be surrounded by people who love and care for me. It wasn’t easy destroying all the walls I had taken years to build and perfect, but it wasn’t impossible either. This isn’t a fairytale where Mark waved a magic wand and all was better and my walls disappeared from my mind. This is reality, and it took time, patience, and effort to unassemble my walls. Brick by painstaking brick. But in the actual world, people don’t get happily ever after. Some of my walls are still there. And that’s okay. I have learned to recognize my progress instead of singling out my flaws.
I am finally okay with not being perfect. My walls have chips and cracks, but I am content with their creation and their destruction. The destruction of familiarity is a beautiful thing. And so I climb out of the water, let the flowers bloom in the cracks of my walls, and walk off the court arm in arm with someone who sees me for who I am, not whom I pretend to be.
文书详细点评：
This essay demonstrates both narrative skill and emotional insight. The extended metaphor of building mental walls and creating a maze is skillfully woven into the essay and creates a complex yet accessible symbolism that captures the student’s emotional struggles and her healing process.
In choosing to write about this deeply traumatic experience, the student reveals courage, vulnerability, and resilience and gives the reader a glimpse into how it has impacted her life. At the same time, the student makes it clear that this experience doesn’t define who she is. Remarkable honesty and maturity emerge through the student’s reflection of how she has actively worked to confront this trauma and move beyond it; the student doesn’t present herself as a victim in spite of the fact that she was.
There is a sense of humility and strength that emerges at the end of the essay when the student recognizes that perfection isn’t the goal, but that growth is. As a reader, you can’t help but be drawn into the essay from the get-go; this compelling and nuanced writing speaks to the student’s high level of self-awareness.
9Janna's Essay
招生官评价道：“这篇文书以其鲜活灵动、充满自省的个性化表达瞬间抓住读者。”
“文章结构严谨，从充满想象力的个人形象重塑，逐步深入到对志向与平衡之道的探索。”
文书内容展示：
I wake up in monochrome. Just past the tips of my toes, the Flatiron Building rises above the bustling black and white streets of New York. Cars hurtle by in blurred gray tones. I am a hawk or helicopter or hot air balloon, and I have somehow worked myself into the sky of an Old Hollywood movie. Of course, this only lasts as long as I keep my eyes locked on the IKEA photograph I hung up across from my bed a few years back.
Just before I turned fourteen, I burst out of IKEA—my all-time favorite store—dead set on crafting on a "new and improved" Helen. I rushed home, stripped my room, and launched my transformation. Out with the beaded golden comforter! Out with the floral rug! Out with the pastel prints of savanna animals!
Well, perhaps this is too dramatic. Items are rarely thrown out in the Krieger household, just put to another use. Gazelles and cheetahs now peer down at me from the hallway wall, and the floral carpet rests beneath the brass coffee table in the living room. As for the comforter, I still use the exact same one, just concealed by a stark white cover. Still, the meaning holds: I was ready to refocus. Life seemed to be accelerating and I was not going to sit by the roadside, watching the wheels kick up dust.
Back then, I did not know what I wanted to be, and I still do not know now. However, never has there been any doubt in my mind about what I want to be doing. I want to whiz from idea to idea, question to question, and all the while, learn as much as possible. In all its action of rushing cars, the IKEA photograph epitomizes this ambition. No billion-dollar skyscraper or jewelry store in New York could ever win me over. I am not after Gatsby's gilded highlife, but New York's dynamic—the city's perpetual drive.
When I open my eyes, however, I am just as likely to wake up in a vibrant forest of green as I am to rise in the midst of charcoal city streets. Plants flourish on either side of my headboard. Vines of English ivy cascade down my bookcase, and a sentry palm fans out in front of my closet doors. New York reigns over one wall, but the other three are governed by nature.
This contrast did not always exist. Apart from the occasional bouquet, the Krieger household was void of vegetation until my sophomore year. One Saturday, my copper phytoremediation experiment made the breakfast table home to four groups of greenery. Over the next few months, I watched parts of my garden flourish, and then wilt, and then (remarkably) recover. Although all my plants were eventually reduced to a green juice of sorts for absorbance testing, they had started a revolution.
Soon after my experiment ended, I realized I missed my garden, and the plant invasion began. Today, my room harbors seventeen species, meshed into a diverse jungle. A few have even spilled out, taking up residence in the living room and kitchen. Just as I am captivated by the movement of the city, I admire the delicate hardiness of plants. Left untouched by humans, forests would cover most of the United States, and even in the midst of man-made destruction, many species still find a way to break through the cement.
In my room, plants and city streets share the stage. They do not battle, but exist in equilibrium, the gray with the green, urban acceleration in balance with the stability of nature. These worlds are not opposites. For all their differences, they share the energy of growth as well as the promise of regeneration and renewal. To thrive, I need not tear myself between manmade landscape and the natural environment; I need not pick between rapid action and natural growth.
I choose both.
文书详细点评：
This essay immediately captivates with its vibrant, self-aware personal voice. The opening anecdote about "crafting a new and improved Helen" from IKEA purchases is unique and humorous, effectively drawing the reader in. The essay's structure is strong, building from a whimsical personal transformation to a deeper exploration of ambition and balance. The emotional impact comes from the clear passion for both urban dynamism and natural tranquility. The author's journey from shedding old decor to embracing a room divided by cityscapes and plants is a clever and tangible representation of internal growth.To enhance this already compelling piece, Janna might consider refining the opening to maintain that strong narrative momentum. While the self-correction "Well, perhaps this is too dramatic" adds charm, it slightly deflates the initial burst of energy. She could integrate this self-awareness more seamlessly. For instance, she might say, "My teenage self, dead set on crafting a 'new and improved' Helen, burst out of IKEA, ready to strip my room of its outdated self. The golden comforter? Gone. The floral rug? History. Or so I thought. In the Krieger household, items are rarely thrown out, just repurposed." This maintains the dramatic flair while immediately introducing the idea of repurposing, which beautifully mirrors Janna’s later theme of synthesis rather than opposition. The essay's strength lies in its exploration of equilibrium; it could perhaps lean even more into how this balance between city and nature informs her specific academic or personal aspirations.
10Claire's Essay
招生官评价道：“这篇感人至深的文书，其生动的个人轶事、流畅的个人叙事笔触、清晰的线性结构，以及“化逆境为机遇” 与 “身份认同与自我反思” 这两大关键主题，无一不是制胜要素。”
文书内容展示：
The first bridge I ever built was made of paper and glue.
My 8th grade physics teacher tasked my class with building a bridge out of two pieces of paper. Instead of focusing on the paper, I applied layers and layers of glue, strengthening the paper each time. The following week, the bridge successfully held 22 pounds, setting the highest school record in 12 years.
Two years later, I began building bridges of a different kind.
The car that brought me from the airport drove away, and I stepped through the doorway into the tiny apartment in the small city of Troyan, Bulgaria. The walls were covered with my stick- figure paintings and childhood pictures.
I laid my eyes on the wise woman in front of me and leaned down to pull her into a hug – not so tightly that it would break her, but enough to show my love. Raising her wrinkly hands to wipe my tears of joy away, my grandmother mumbled a row of Bulgarian words of affection and smiled. I didn’t understand, but I smiled back.
Since she lives 1247.092 miles away from me, my grandmother is not always there to give me a hug when I need it most. Nevertheless, her heart of gold transcends physical distance and has taught me more than anyone about kindness, empathy, and compassion for others. Although she can’t walk me through the intricacies of Bayesian statistics or neuroscience for my upcoming test, she tries her best to understand my ambitions and goals, and contributes in other ways – whenever I have an important test coming up, she prays, lights up candles, and keeps them lit until I’m done.
I could purchase plane tickets to trek the distance that separated our homes, but two other gaps were harder to traverse: my aging grandmother’s health was deteriorating and I didn’t speak Bulgarian.
I sought to create bridges to close these gaps.
My grandmother suffers from rheumatoid arthritis, a disease that presses her body from every side, deforming her joints, and arching her back. She is the smallest person I know, but yet for me, the greatest.
I wished that I could show her the world and take all her pain away, but the only thing that I could do for her was building a bridge that would connect her to the knowledge she wouldn’t be able to access otherwise. I spent countless hours researching healthy meals to create a detoxifying and anti-inflammatory nutrition plan for her that would be easy to cook. The research paid off – the pain in her joints subsided.
When my grandmother and I “talked,” emotions flowed between our souls like stars fly through space. Words would only describe what we feel – but not show. It was like listening to a song, but not paying attention to the lyrics, only to the pain and passion in the singer’s voice and the flow of the melody.
In 2017, I decided that I finally wanted to learn Bulgarian. With a flashlight under my blanket, I started learning the Cyrillic alphabet and Audio CD’s with Bulgarian day-to-day conversations talked me to sleep. I surprised my grandmother by writing her a letter – written without Google Translate for the first time. Phone calls became much more frequent, and we grew closer together, but I wanted to go one step further. I moved to Bulgaria for a semester the year after in order to see her happy face when we could finally sing the song of our conversations – with the lyrics.
Seeing the influence my bridges had on my grandmother inspired me to build more. After I came back to Germany, I learned that bridges could be built between anyone.
In March 2020, my best friend’s mother confided in me that she was overwhelmed with the task of coordinating her children’s schoolwork at home during quarantine. It occurred to me that a platform for building bridges from younger students to older ones could take the load off of parents during this time. I quickly found that bridging these two groups of students leads to a higher learning efficiency since younger students often feel more comfortable studying with students that they can identify with. Soon, my startup was connecting a high-quality and often entirely subsidized learning resource to a socioeconomically diverse population of students from all over Germany.
I hope that by building bridges, we learn to better appreciate each other’s differences in order to create a more empathetic and connected world – together.
My bridge made of paper and glue eventually collapsed after holding 22 pounds. But my next bridge is always stronger than the one before. Above all, I will continue connecting others, and I am excited to see what bridge I will build next.
文书详细点评：
What did the essay do well?This powerful essay’s anecdotes and personal narrative writing, linear structure, and shining themes of ‘turning adversity into opportunity’ and ‘identity and self-reflection’ are all winning attributes. Emma begins with a nice hook by clearly articulating the main essay topic —building bridges — and her first success and ingenuity at it. She is motivated to continue building bridges. Emma then moves into a deeply personal anecdote on the story anchor, her grandmother, who suffers from a painful disease, lives afar, and speaks a different dialect. Through her vivid imagery and detailed, creative prose, Emma draws the reader closer to her grandmother by evoking genuine emotions in us. I feel both sympathy and empathy for her grandmother’s struggles and genuine happiness when I learn of Emma’s second successful bridge connecting them closer.
Emma’s personal brand is superbly revealed— compassion, kindness, knowledge-seeking, problem-seeking, and connecting— all traits highly valued on college campuses. Emma shows the positive reinforcements and emotions of her grandmother serve as her ‘epiphany’ and catalyst for building more bridges- her startup. Finally, Emma’s introspection and personal growth illuminate. She realizes the power of connecting people and knowledge together to build a better, more empathetic world- bridge building is part of her identity.What could be improved about the essay?Emma’s beautiful storytelling voice and imagery used in her grandmother’s anecdote could have been used elsewhere in the essay (best friend’s mother) to emphasize the overall symmetry of her creative writing abilities. Emma could have provided examples of future bridges she might build (at college, career, other) instead of leaving it open-ended.What makes this essay memorable?This essay is memorable for two reasons. First, Emma’s anecdote on the story anchor, her grandmother, is unique and profoundly touches us. Emma shares her authentic voice and vivid details that showcase their deep bond and love for each other; I love grandmother’s lighting of candles and praying during Emma’s test-taking. That Emma’s character is revealed to us in its entirety through ‘helping’ grandmother is delightful- “show don’t tell”. Second, Emma captures her growth journey and self-reflection from overcoming adversity to impacting the world, both of which are inspirational and virtuous leaving us hopeful. I know this is not the final bridge Emma and other like-minded students will build.“It’s not an ‘S’. On my world it means ‘hope’!” – Kal El, Man of Steel, a Zach Snyder film.
以上就是本次哈佛大学更新的10篇优秀文书，可以看到，在标化和背景都很优秀的情况下，更能够吸引招生官的是真实、真诚、立体的人的故事。
准备2025-2026申请留学的同学们，现在要准备起来啦！
除了上面的优秀文书，小林还为大家准备了一本由前藤校招生官Harry Bauld撰写的经典申请文书写作书，是美本申请必读“写作圣经”，助你解锁打动招生官的文书秘籍！
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* 以上赛事主办方为海外机构，不与任何中国的大学、中学或小学升学加分活动挂钩，其成绩不会作为任何中国中小学升学或评优的依据，仅定位为针对中学生的课外兴趣活动和国际教学交流活动。
