50 Successful Harvard Application Essays

A
LEX
F
OOTE
Look Through Closed Doors
I entered the surprisingly cool car. Since when is Beijing Line 13 air-conditioned? I’ll take it. At four
o’clock in the afternoon only about twenty people were in the subway car. “At least it’s not crowded,”
one might have thought. Wrong. The pressure of their eyes on me filled the car and smothered me.
(Look, look! She’s a foreigner!) An old man very loudly whispered to a child
curled up in his lap. “Foreigner,” he called me. I hate that word, “foreigner.” It only explains my
exterior. If only they could look inside.…
They would know that I actually speak Chinese—not just speak, but love. They would know that
this love was born from my first love of Latin—the language that fostered my admiration of all
languages. Latin lives in the words we speak around the world today. And translating this ancient
language is like watching a play and performing in it at the same time. Each word is an adventure, and
on the journey through Virgil’s Aeneid I found that I am more like Aeneas than any living, dead, or
fictional hero I know. We share the intrinsic value of loyalty to friends, family, and society. We stand
true to our own word, and we uphold others to theirs. Like Aeneas’s trek to find a new settlement for
his collapsed Troy, with similar perseverance I, too, wander the seas for my own place in the world.
Language has helped me do that.
If these subway passengers understood me, they would know that the very reason I sat beside them
was because of Latin. Even before Aeneas and his tale, I met Caecilius and Grumio, characters in my
first Latin textbook. In translations I learned grammar alongside Rome’s rich history. I realized how
learning another language could expose me to other worlds and other people—something that has
always excited me. I also realized that if I wanted to know more about the world and the people in it, I
would have to learn a spoken language. Spanish, despite the seven years of study prior to Latin, did
not stick with me. And the throatiness of French was not appealing. But Chinese, more than these other
traditional languages, intrigued me. The doors to new worlds it could open seemed endless. Thus I
chose Chinese.
If these subway passengers looked inside me, they would find that my knowledge of both Latin and
Chinese makes me feel whole. It feels like the world of the past is flowing through me alongside the
world of the future. Thanks to Latin, Chinese sticks in my mind like the Velcro on the little boy’s
shoes in front of me. If this little boy and his family and friends could look inside, they would
understand that Latin laid the foundation for my lifelong commitment to languages. Without words,
thoughts and actions would be lost in the space between our ears. To them, I am a foreigner,
literally translated as “out-of-country person.” I feel, however, more like an advena, the Latin word
for “foreigner,” translated as “(one who) comes to (this place).” I came to this place, and I came to

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this country to stay. Unfortunately, they will not know this until I speak. Then once I speak, the doors
will open.
REVIEW
Alex has taken a freeze-frame of a moment on a train in China, and harnessed it as an opportunity to
talk about her love of languages. It’s a clever approach that pays off big time. While it’s usually not a
wise course of action to name-drop Roman poets and compare yourself to their epic heroes, Alex
somehow manages to do it without appearing conceited. Perhaps she’s successful because the
comparison is followed by a rant that firmly establishes credibility as a first-class language geek.
That’s not intended as an insult: Alex effectively conveys her passion to the reader who is left with the
impression that she reads the Aeneid the way other kids read Harry Potter. Her comparison isn’t a
pompous boast so much as a heartfelt identification with a beloved character.
Her first paragraph is the strongest. Alex not only quickly and effectively sets the scene, but also
manages to draw the reader in to her state of mind, effectively leading into what’s to come. The essay
also has great flow. While the refrain, “If only…” smacks of high school angst, it keeps the reader
moving along and ties together all of the thoughts presented.
It would have been nice if the introductory scene had played a larger role in the essay. The line in
the penultimate paragraph about Velcro was a nice little connecting thread between the story she’s
telling and the point she’s making. Sprinkling similar details throughout the piece would have
polished up an already great essay.
The most effective part of this essay, though, would have to be the way Alex infused her voice into
it. Her inner monologue is charming and her enthusiasm contagious. She is really herself in this
essay.
—Zach T. Osborn

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