Communication Through Music - Harvard - Successful college personal statement
Hometown: Glen Mills, Pennsylvania, USA
High School: Private school, 120 students in graduating class
Ethnicity: Asian
Gender: Female
GPA: 3.91 out of 4.0
SAT: Reading 800, Math 780, Writing 800
ACT: n/a
SAT Subject Tests Taken: Mathematics Level 2, Biology M, Chemistry, Spanish
Extracurriculars: Varsity tennis captain, varsity swimming captain, Mock Trial captain, Student Council Officer, A.I. duPont Hospital Volunteer
Awards: Diamond Challenge Grand Prize Winner, Lincoln Scholarship Essay, National Merit finalist, National Honor Society scholarship finalist, Pennsylvania Governors School for the Sciences Scholarship
Major: Human Developmental and Regenerative Biology
Successful college personal statement
Clear, hopeful melodies break the silence of the night.
Playing a crudely fashioned bamboo pipe, in the midst of sullen inmates—this is how I envision my grandfather. Never giving up hope, he played every evening to replace images of bloodshed with memories of loved ones at home. While my grandfather described the horrors of his experience in a forced labor camp during the Cultural Revolution, I could only grasp at fragments to comprehend the story of his struggle.
I floundered in this gulf of cultural disparity.
As a child, visiting China each summer was a time of happiness, but it was also a time of frustration and alienation. Running up to my grandpa, I racked my brain to recall phrases supposedly ingrained from Saturday morning Chinese classes. Other than my initial greeting of “Ni hao, ye ye!” (“Hello, grandpa”), however, I struggled to form coherent sentences. Unsatisfied, I would scamper away to find his battered bamboo flute, and this time, with my eyes, silently beg him to play.
Although I struggled to communicate clearly through Chinese, in these moments, no words were necessary. I cherished this connection— a relationship built upon flowing melodies rather than broken phrases. After each impromptu concert, he carefully guided my fingers along the smooth, worn body of the flute, clapping after I successfully played my first tentative note. At the time, however, I was unaware that through sharing music, we created a language of emotion, a language that spanned the gulf of cultural differences. Through these lessons, I discovered an inherent inclination toward music and a drive to understand this universal language of expression.
Years later, staring at sheets of music in front of me at the end of a long rehearsal, I saw a jumbled mess of black dots. After playing through “An American Elegy” several times, unable to infuse emo- tion into its reverent melodies that celebrated the lives lost at Columbine, we—the All-State Band—were stopped yet again by our conductor Dr. Nicholson. He directed us to focus solely on the climax of the piece, the Columbine Alma Mater. He urged us to think of home, to think of hope, to think of what it meant to be American, and to fill the measures with these memories. When we played the song again, this time imbued with recollections of times when hope was necessary, “An American Elegy” became more than notes on a page; it evolved into a tapestry woven from the threads of our life stories.
The night of the concert, in the lyrical harmonies of the climax, I envisioned my grandfather, exhausted after a long day of labor, instilling hope in the hearts of others through his bamboo flute. He played his own “elegy” to celebrate the lives of those who had passed. At home that night, no words were necessary when I played the alma mater for my grandfather through video call. As I saw him wiping tears, I smiled in relief as I realized through music I could finally express the previously inexpressible. Reminded of warm summer nights, the roles now reversed, I understood the lingual barrier as a blessing in disguise, allowing us to discover our own language.
Music became a bridge, spanning the gulf between my grandfather and me, and it taught me that communication could extend beyond spoken language. Through our relationship, I learned that to understand someone is not only to hear the words that they say, but also to empathize and feel as they do. With this realization, I search for methods of communication not only through spoken interaction, but also through shared experiences, whether they might involve the creation of music, the heat of competition, or simply laughter and joy, to cultivate stronger, more fulfilling relationships. Through this approach, I strive to become a more empathetic friend, student, and granddaughter as finding a common language has become, for me, a challenge—an invitation—to discover deeper connections.
REVIEW
In her essay, Raylin chooses the mundane over the grandiose— musical interactions with a family member over moments in an international chamber orchestra, for instance—to prove her point that the “cultural disparities” and “gulf” of comprehension that previously prevented her from reaching a harmony of understanding with her grandfather eventually dissolved once she realized that there are other, more personal ways to connect with people than language.
There’s something intriguing about how Raylin orients the reader with as bright of an image as “clear, hopeful melodies,” and then pairs it with something as somber as the image of a grandfather detained in a forced labor camp. That’s a very poignant pairing, and it hooks the reader. For an admissions officer who sifts through countless essays about the all-important “I,” a story that places the onus of the introduction on an entirely different individual is a welcome change from the usual.
This author showcases a very distinct claim over language. In some places, the poetic language serves to reinforce the topic of the essay: that language is not necessarily the sole way to connect with people. In some parts, though, the florid language encumbers the sentences and makes them somewhat awkward. In an essay that purports to recognize how incomplete language can be in conveying ideas, using clunky language seems like a betrayal of sorts to the reader. It’s important to straddle eloquence and efficiency.
The epiphany conveyed in her final paragraphs is a truly mature one, and perhaps is what adds the final “oomph” to this essay. To see a high school student wring understanding from their everyday exploits proves they are capable of deep introspection—a trait that colleges crave in their student bodies.
From 50 Successful Harvard Application Essays, 5th Edition edited by the Staff of the Harvard Crimson. Copyright (c) 2017 by the authors and reprinted by permission of St. Martin's Publishing Group.
