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JHU公开5篇2030届录取文书范文！招生官点评+作者写作心得！

Category: 美本申请 Date: 2026年8月19日上午9:54

2025-2026申请季的文书题目陆续揭晓，你的写作思路定型了吗？

还没灵感的宝子先别慌！小林给大家挖到了一个真·宝藏——JHU约翰霍普金斯大学官网公布了5篇2030届录取新生的优秀范文，每一篇都附有招生官的逐篇点评，告诉你"为什么这篇能打动我们"。

图源：JHU官网

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JHU 2030届录取新生优秀文书&点评

The Secret Ingredient is Connection

By 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.

Admissions Committee Comments

David’s essay uses the lens of baking to highlight his commitment to excellence, community-building, and a solutions-oriented mindset. This essay is strong because it shows the admissions committee how David incorporates his passion into his extracurricular activities and connects with others.

David discusses what it looks like for him to try something new by abandoning a recipe and turning to his own sense of innovation to make the perfect dessert to share with his team. By connecting both the art and science of baking with his personal life, activities, and core values, David’s essay paints a picture of what’s important to him. This allowed us to envision him as a key member of our campus community.

译文（仅供参考）

David的文章以烘焙为切入点，凸显了他对卓越的追求、社区建设意识以及以解决问题为导向的思维方式。这篇文章之所以出色，是因为它向招生委员会展示了大卫如何将自己的热情融入课外活动，并与他人建立联系。

David讨论了尝试新事物对他来说意味着什么——他放弃现成的配方，转而依靠自己的创新意识，制作出完美的甜点与团队分享。

通过将烘焙的艺术性与科学性同他的个人生活、活动及核心价值观相结合，大卫的文章描绘出了对他而言重要的东西。这让我们能够想象他成为我们校园社区重要成员的模样。

David提到：“对于正在撰写这类文书的人，我最重要的一条建议是：要展现脆弱和真实。

如果你喜欢开玩笑，就让这一点流露出来。如果有某件非常小众的事情对你很重要，一定要谈谈它。用个人轶事和强烈的自我表达来展现个性，向招生委员会展示真实的你，而不是试图迎合你认为他们想要的样子。

这不仅会让你更加脱颖而出，也能确保你最终去的地方真正符合你的兴趣。”

The Two Sides of America

By 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.

Admissions Committee Comments

Gillian draws on her summers in Lucedale to show resilience, responsibility, and a deep appreciation for her community in all its forms. She provides details of farm life like tending cattle and learning from family, creating a vivid picture of a student who understands the value of labor, stewardship, and interdependence.

What stands out most is her ability to move beyond stereotypes and recognize the dignity in both rural and urban communities. Her experience living between Chicago and Mississippi has shaped her into someone who can connect with people from different backgrounds and value the strengths each community offers. This is the kind of student who would bring meaningful perspective to our campus because she understands how community is built through respect, empathy, and shared responsibility.

译文（仅供参考）：

Gillian借她在卢斯代尔度过的夏日，展现了坚韧、责任感以及对各种形式的社区的深切感激。她细致描述了农场生活的点滴，比如照料牲畜和向家人学习，生动刻画出一位懂得劳动、管理与相互依存价值的学生形象。

最令人瞩目的是，她能够超越刻板印象，认识到乡村与城市社区各自的尊严。往返于芝加哥和密西西比之间的生活经历，将她塑造成一个能与不同背景的人建立联系、并珍视每个社区所提供优势的人。

正是这样的学生，能为我们的校园带来有意义的视角，因为她深知社区是通过尊重、共情和共同责任构建起来的。

Gillian提到："当我最初起草个人陈述时，我就知道自己想写关于卢斯代尔的故事。我觉得它能展现出我申请材料其他部分无法体现的那一面——真正的我。

在密西西比州度过夏天，确实塑造了我看待世界和身边人的方式。它给了我一种独特的视角，而我无法通过申请的其他部分来表达这一点。"

Clean Closet

By 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.

Admissions Committee Comments

Ruoni turns an ordinary task into a meaningful reflection on identity, memory, and learning how to let go without losing what matters. Her essay includes vivid and specific details that make the story feel authentic, and it shows change through action: donating old belongings, making space for new interests, and becoming more open to people and experiences.

Her essay highlights her creativity, empathy, and growth through service. Ruoni also showcases something we value at Hopkins: a culture of discovery. Cleaning the closet shows her discovering who she is and what she values, which mirrors the kind of growth Hopkins supports through close relationships, residential life, and hands-on opportunities.

Overall, the essay presents a student who is ready to explore and keep evolving in a place like Hopkins.

译文（仅供参考）：

Ruoni将一件平凡的小事，转化为对身份、记忆以及学会放手却不失去重要事物的深刻反思。她的文章包含了生动而具体的细节，让故事显得真实可信，并通过行动展现了改变：捐出旧物、为新兴趣腾出空间、以及变得更加乐于接纳人和新体验。

她的文章突出了她的创造力、同理心以及在服务中的成长。Ruoni还展示了我们在霍普金斯所珍视的一点：发现文化。整理衣橱的过程，展现了她探索自我、认清自己价值观的历程，这与霍普金斯通过紧密的人际关系、住宿生活和实践机会所支持的成长模式相呼应。

总体而言，这篇文章呈现了一位准备好在一个像霍普金斯这样的地方不断探索和持续成长的学生。

Ruoni提到：“我的申请材料列举了我的时间分配：在管弦乐团演奏、带领啦啦队、在医院做志愿者，以及与孩子们一起工作。而在那篇关于剖析衣橱的文章中，我想通过简短而温馨的轶事来展现我的性格和对保存记忆的热爱。

这些微小的细节填补了申请材料中仅列十项活动的空白。我希望我的文章能让招生顾问更好地了解活动列表背后那个真实的我——我所珍视的东西、我的思维方式以及我对待生活的态度。”

Developing Roots

By 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.

Admissions Committee Comments

In her essay, Etina uses her knowledge and passion for trees to signify community, resilience, and putting down roots. The tree metaphor effectively communicates a student who thinks across disciplines in a reflective way. We also see a thoughtful balance between community and individual growth, which suggests an understanding of the kind of learning environment where she would thrive.

From her essay, we see a student who values belonging, mutual support, and shared growth, and we can picture how she would enrich our Blue Jay community. The essay is especially effective when it uses the natural world to reveal something personal about confidence, development, and the process of becoming a more grounded, independent learner.

译文（仅供参考）：

在她的文章中，Etina运用她对树木的知识与热情，来象征社区、韧性和扎根。这个树木隐喻有效地展现了一位能够以反思方式进行跨学科思考的学生。我们还看到了社区成长与个人成长之间深思熟虑的平衡，这表明她了解什么样的学习环境能让她茁壮成长。

从她的文章中，我们看到了一位重视归属感、相互支持和共同成长的学生，我们可以想象她会如何丰富我们的蓝鸟社区。这篇文章尤其出色之处在于，它借助自然界来揭示关于自信、发展以及成为一个更稳健、更独立的学习者的个人历程。

Etina提到："撰写个人陈述最难的部分就是要写我自己；我打出来的每一个字都感觉不够真诚，而且缺乏上下文。为了解决这个问题，我探索了自己申请材料中没有明显体现的兴趣爱好，希望能带来一种更真实的感觉。

我最终选择了树木这个主题，并用每一种树来突出我自身的某一特点。通过消除我对个人陈述应该是什么样子的预期，我克服了无从下笔的障碍，并真实地展现了自己。"

In the Belly of the Ship

By 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.

Admissions Committee Comments

Ruoyu’s essay demonstrates great strength and perseverance through time spent interning at sea. Through this experience, Ruoyu notes that she wants to make her own impact instead of following in the footsteps of the people before her or blending in with the rest of the crew. She tries something new that didn’t live up to expectations on the first try but still has the courage to return. This shows the admissions committee her determination and persistence, dedication to excellence through research, and how she found community in unexpected places—all qualities that make a strong Hopkins student.

译文（仅供参考）：

Ruoyu的文章通过海上实习的经历展现了巨大的力量和毅力。在这次经历中，Ruoyu提到她想要创造属于自己的影响力，而不是追随前人的脚步或与船员们融为一体。

她尝试了新事物，第一次尝试并未达到预期，但她仍有勇气再次归来。这向招生委员会展示了她的决心和坚持、通过研究追求卓越的奉献精神，以及她如何在意想不到的地方找到归属感——所有这些品质都造就了一名优秀的霍普金斯学生。

Ruoyu提到：“我选择这个主题，是因为它跳脱了我学生生活的常规边界，而这一选择使得结尾成了最难写的部分。几个月里，我写了多个版本的结尾段落，因为我很难确定该用什么意义（如果有的话）来定义我的经历。

我是在尚未拉开足够距离、还不清楚自己的故事意味着什么的时候就开始动笔了。最终，真诚的经历与真诚的文字之间的鸿沟，不过是时间的静默之功。”

看到这，2027Fall的同学们心里有数了嘛？

关于招生官喜欢的文书，小林再给大家捋一捋

招生官偏爱的文书有何特点？

真实性与脆弱感

招生官看重学生敢于展现真实的自己，包括不完美、失败或困惑的一面。

例如David建议“be vulnerable and authentic”，Gillian和Ruoni也都强调写出申请材料之外的真实侧面。

以小见大的叙事能力