斯坦福、8所藤校、UCB、USC……14封offer,这位华裔妹子当真是收offer收到手软呐!

斯坦福、8所藤校、UCB、USC……14封offer,这位华裔妹子当真是收offer收到手软呐!

话说我们今天要说的这位妹子名叫Cassandra Hsiao,是位来自马来西亚的华裔美国人。

斯坦福、8所藤校、UCB、USC……14封offer,这位华裔妹子当真是收offer收到手软呐!

今年申请季,妹子当之无愧地成为了今年最大的offer斩获机!14封offer啊各位同学,光看这数字就已经羡煞一堆人了!再来仔细看看发来offer的学校名字:哈佛、耶鲁、哥大、达特茅斯、普林斯顿、康奈尔、宾大、布朗……八所藤校一网打尽啊,再加上斯坦福、NYU、JHU、西北、USC、艾姆赫斯特学院等学校,妹子直接包办了美国大半一流名校啊!

要说妹子到底是有多优秀才能让这么多名校都争着要她啊?让我们来仔细扒一下妹子的背景和条件好了。

斯坦福、8所藤校、UCB、USC……14封offer,这位华裔妹子当真是收offer收到手软呐!

首先,妹子丰富而优秀的课外活动经历是最大的亮点。

Cassandra Hsiao曾在脸书中自我介绍︰17岁的电影评论家、明星记者、洛杉矶时报高中特约记者、百老汇世界学生博客、诗人和剧作家。

正如她的脸书介绍一样,虽然年纪尚小,但是妹子已经在记者采访、影评和新闻写作方面有了多年的经验。

11岁时,萧靖彤有幸成为Scholastic的儿童记者。

在进入奥兰治县艺术高中后,萧靖彤开始在多家青少年网站或报刊兼职做影视类记者,经常出现在好莱坞红毯和记者会上。

目前虽只有18岁,但Cassandra已有六年好莱坞记者的资历,还曾获得专门表彰影视媒体业杰出女性的格雷斯(Gracie Awards)最佳学生记者奖。

斯坦福、8所藤校、UCB、USC……14封offer,这位华裔妹子当真是收offer收到手软呐!

之后,Cassandra先后担任Crixit.com和Fanlala.com等网站的青年记者,因常常采访好莱坞红毯而渐渐成为青少年网络红人。

她目前还是洛杉矶时报高中特约记者、BYOU杂志特约记者和BroadwayWorld.com上的知名博主,从年轻人的角度撰写影评。

其次,突出的学术成绩也是妹子被一种名校看重的硬性条件。

虽然Cassandra课外活动经历丰富,她也花费了大量时间在各种采访活动上,但是妹子的成绩却丝毫不逊色任何优秀的学生,GPA4.67、SAT1540的成绩简直令人叹为观止。

最后,妹子的文书同样出彩。

因为妹子的父母是移民,母亲出生在马来西亚,父亲出生在台湾。五岁时时候妹子一家才移民美国,所以英语不是父母的强项。在妹子的文书中,她描述了移民家庭学英语的真实故事,既写出了移民家庭共同经历过的语言煎熬和嘲笑,又通过故事展现了自己勤奋苦练自己语言和写作能力的过程,成功打动了14所大学的招生官。

就这样,一位课外活动丰富且独特、成绩优异、文书真实出彩的妹子完全斩获了全美录取率最低的大学的offer!

最后,附上妹子的文书全文:

In our house, English is not English. Not in the phonetic sense, like short a is for apple, but rather in the pronunciation – in our house, snake is snack. Words do not roll off our tongues correctly – yet I, who was pulled out of class to meet with language specialists, and my mother from Malaysia, who pronounces film as flim, understand each other perfectly.

In our house, there is no difference between cast and cash, which was why at a church retreat, people made fun of me for “cashing out demons.” I did not realize the glaring difference between the two Englishes until my teacher corrected my pronunciations of hammock, ladle, and siphon. Classmates laughed because I pronounce accept as except, success as sussess. I was in the Creative Writing conservatory, and yet words failed me when I needed them most.

Suddenly, understanding flower is flour wasn’t enough. I rejected the English that had never seemed broken before, a language that had raised me and taught me everything I knew. Everybody else’s parents spoke with accents smarting of Ph.D.s and university teaching positions. So why couldn’t mine?

My mother spread her sunbaked hands and said, “This is where I came from,” spinning a tale with the English she had taught herself.

When my mother moved from her village to a town in Malaysia, she had to learn a brand new language in middle school: English. In a time when humiliation was encouraged, my mother was defenseless against the cruel words spewing from the teacher, who criticized her paper in front of the class. When she began to cry, the class president stood up and said, “That’s enough.”

“Be like that class president,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. The class president took her under her wing and patiently mended my mother’s strands of language. “She stood up for the weak and used her words to fight back.”

We were both crying now. My mother asked me to teach her proper English so old white ladies at Target wouldn’t laugh at her pronunciation. It has not been easy. There is a measure of guilt when I sew her letters together. Long vowels, double consonants — I am still learning myself. Sometimes I let the brokenness slide to spare her pride but perhaps I have hurt her more to spare mine.

As my mother’s vocabulary began to grow, I mended my own English. Through performing poetry in front of 3000 at my school’s Season Finale event, interviewing people from all walks of life, and writing stories for the stage, I stand against ignorance and become a voice for the homeless, the refugees, the ignored. With my words I fight against jeers pelted at an old Asian street performer on a New York subway. My mother’s eyes are reflected in underprivileged ESL children who have so many stories to tell but do not know how. I fill them with words as they take needle and thread to make a tapestry.

In our house, there is beauty in the way we speak to each other. In our house, language is not broken but rather bursting with emotion. We have built a house out of words. There are friendly snakes in the cupboard and snacks in the tank. It is a crooked house. It is a little messy. But this is where we have made our home.

END

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