丫丫大学（MIT）申请的主文书 —— 个人陈述

丫丫大学（MIT）申请的主文书 — 个人陈述

心路独舞

个人陈述，英文是personal statement，是美国大学申请最重要的文书，没有之一。个人陈述在接受Common App申请的学校中尤其重要，对不接受Common App 申请的学校来说可能会换一种面目出现，譬如MIT申请文书中最后（我认为也是最重要的）一个题目就是个人陈述的变体：

个人陈述一般会要求500字，MIT这个题目要求的是250字，申请的时候丫丫只好把写好的Common App主文书也即个人陈述缩写。个人陈述的重要性在于要能突出自己与众不同之处，有自己独特的经历，能因此上升到更高层面的感悟，有感性也有理性，这个算是丫丫个人陈述的精彩之处。

还是直接看文章吧，下面是直接的翻译，原文跟在后面。

躺在后座拉平后的「床」上，缩进毯子里，我凝视着夜空，思绪游移着，我在努力试着忘掉自己正身在何处 ——停在医院急诊室门外的我妈妈SUV后备箱里。但是这种努力又实在是徒劳，我十岁的大脑实际上非常了解情况的严重性，我能做的只是尽量睁大眼睛凝视着车窗外，我最害怕的就是一旦睡着了，醒来我就没有爸爸了。

2014年到2015年间，我曾经度过很多这样睡在后车厢里的夜晚。我的爸爸妈妈不想我目睹急诊室里的各种惨状，还有第二天我还要上学，他们以为睡在后车厢里我就能休息得好一些。但他们的这种努力最终变成了徒劳，我的童年从游乐场里的嬉耍很快变成陪爸爸在病床边看书，我目睹他写好遗书，进入临终关怀，然后失去所有的身体机能，2015年3月18日，我对着他的遗体告别，回到家里后我能想到的唯一一句话就是：为什么？

那句俗语「任何事情的发生都是有原因的」变成了我的应对机制。我妈妈是一个科学家，我爸爸是一名律师，我因此成了一个理性主义者，但是怎样的逻辑又能解释我父亲的早逝呢？我渐渐旳开始相信这是上帝的旨意在准备我成为一个医学工作者，我目睹了癌症渐渐吞噬了我爸爸，我觉得这是用我经历过的痛苦来帮助我成为一个杰出的医生。现在回头去想，这个推理很不严谨，悲痛一定是扭曲了我的思维，但在那时，这看起来是唯一合理的解释。

找到了新的动力，我于是开始计划自己的未来，很快进入医学院的梦想彻底地吞噬掉了我自己，我选了大把的STEM（理科）课程，高中一年级我就开始参与大学的生物化学方面的研究工作，我继续规划着我的未来：做医院实习生，但不幸的是，很多时候「计划」的美妙之处就在于它极少能够完美地成为现实。

高中三年级，我进入了一个新的学校，注册了两门计算机课程，我开始经历了从未有过的把想法转变成现实的满足感，我享受着开始一个新课题然后在编码中克服种种困难的刺激，我突然意识到：我的激情在计算机科学上，这种感觉就像我活了16年就是为了发现这一点似的。

我相信每件事情的发生都有其内在的原因，我相信结构和最终目标，我已经为成为医生做了种种准备，但好像一眨眼，过去的努力都失去了意义。我努力试图让自己不要偏离最初的轨道，但是对计算机科学铺天盖地的激情又敦促我做出改变，我必须遵从自己的内心，于是我变成了一个艺术家，编码器成了我的画板，不论是JavaScript生成的卡通奶牛还是我最喜欢的日漫角色，我尽情拥抱着我个性中的随机一面，我开始沉迷于句法、递归算法、和持续不断的红色错误信息将我带进数小时的程序调试之中。

2015年我爸爸去世的时候，我第一次开始用带着一丝绝望的感觉来看这个世界，我想努力去让任何人不再经历我失去他那天所感受的一切，于是我让自己相信我应该成为一个医生。但是对计算机的激情教会了成为我自己个体的重要性，我一定要成为我自己，不能是因为那些发生在我身上的事情，而要源于我自己想成为的样子，我知道我的爸爸一定也会希望我追逐自己的梦想，我知道他一定为我能走出困住我的SUV而自豪。

我终于自由了。

I melted into blankets in my makeshift bed and stared into the night sky. With my mind adrift, I tried to forget where I was - the cargo space of my mom’s SUV parked outside Sentara RMH Emergency Room. I could not forget. My 10-year-old brain understood the situation’s magnitude, which was why I refused to fall asleep. For as long as I could, I stared out the window. I was paralyzed by the thought that I might wake up fatherless if I closed my eyes.

From 2014 to 2015, I spent many nights sleeping in the SUV. My parents did not want me to see the traumatic events of the ER, and they thought there I could rest for school the next day. Despite their efforts, they could not shield me. My childhood went from running around the playground to reading books by my dad’s hospital bed. I watched him write his will, enter hospice, and lose the ability to function. On March 18th, 2015, I faced his dead body and said goodbye. Then I went home, and all I could think was, “why?”.

The phrase “everything happens for a reason” was my coping mechanism. My mother is a scientist, and my father was a lawyer, so I was raised to be a rationalist. However, what logic can justify my dad’s death? I started believing this was all God’s plan to prepare me for a future in medicine. I watched cancer slowly kill my father, and I thought I was supposed to use my pain to create good as a doctor. Looking back, my conclusion was not rational. The grief must have distorted my thinking because, at the time, it seemed the only logical explanation.

With newfound motivation, I planned my future. Quickly, my path to medical school consumed my identity. I drowned myself in STEM classes. I began undergraduate biochemistry research as a freshman. I continued to plan my future as I dreamed of hospital internships. Unfortunately, part of the beauty of plans is they rarely work out perfectly.

In my junior year, I entered a new school and signed up for two computer science classes. Where I experienced the unmatched satisfaction of taking an idea and making it a reality. I relished the thrill of starting new projects and overcoming problems in my code. I realized my true passion was computer science, and it felt like I spent the past 16 years finding my way.

I thought everything had a reason. I believed in structure and end-goals. I took many steps to prepare for a doctor career, yet it was like I blinked, and my past work lost meaning. I struggled to diverge from my plan, but my overflowing passion for computer science urged me towards change. I had to follow my heart. I became an artist, and the code editor was my canvas. Whether it was a JavaScript library that generates cartoon cows or a chatbot of my favorite anime character, I embraced the randomness of my personality, and code became my mode of self-expression. I am still entranced by lines of syntax, recursive algorithms, and even the persistent red error messages that fly me into hours of debugging.

When my father passed away in 2015, I looked at the world, for the first time, with a sense of hopelessness. I wanted to prevent anyone from feeling how I felt that day I lost him, so I believed I had to be a doctor. However, my passion for computer science helped me realize the importance of being my own individual. I have to be who I am, not because of something that happened to me, but because of who I want to be. I know my father would want me to follow my passion. I know he is proud of me for stepping outside the SUV. Proud of me for chasing my true dreams. 

I am free.