2019高考作文题出炉!对比美国名校“满分作文”,哪个更难?

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  中国高考作文题与美本申请文书有什么异同?我们收集了今年最新的高考作文题目与美本申请中的优秀个人文书,从中或许可以一窥中美教育对于选拔人才的不同标准。

  又是一个拼搏憧憬与焦虑并存的六月,新一届的高考生跨入了他们人生中可能最为重要的考场。2019年的全国高考在今日拉开序幕,而每一年的高考作文题,都是大家关注的焦点。今年,各地区的作文题分别有什么特色?哪一个最令你眼前一亮?

  除此以外,我们也收集了今年美本申请中最令人印象深刻的个人文书以及“奇葩”文书主题,当美国的高中生面对“人生大考”时,又会交出怎样的答卷?

  最新中国高考作文题

  01

  全国I卷

  阅读下面的材料,根据要求写作。

  “民生在勤,勤则不匮”,劳动是财富的源泉,也是幸福的源泉。“夙兴夜寐,洒扫庭内”,热爱劳动是中华民族的优秀传统,绵延至今。可是现实生活中,也有一些同学不理解劳动,不愿意劳动。有的说:“我们学习这么忙,劳动太占时间了!”有的说:“科技进步这么快,劳动的事,以后可以交给人工智能啊!”也有的说:“劳动这么苦,这么累,干吗非得自己干?花点钱让别人去做好了!”此外,我们身边也还有着一些不尊重劳动的现象。

  这引起了人们的深思。

  请结合材料内容,面向本校(统称“复兴中学”)同学写一篇演讲稿,倡议大家“热爱劳动,从我做起”,体现你的认识与思考,并提出希望与建议。要求:自拟标题,自选角度,确定立意;不要套作,不得抄袭;不得泄露个人信息;不少于800字。

  02

  全国II卷

  1919年,民族危亡之际,中国青年学生掀起了一场彻底反帝反封建的伟大爱国革命运动。1949年,中国人从此站立起来了!新中国青年投身于祖国建设的新征程。1979年,“科学的春天”生机勃勃,莘莘学子胸怀报国之志,汇入改革开放的时代洪流。2019年,青春中国凯歌前行,新时代青年奋勇接棒,宣誓“强国有我”。2049年,中华民族实现伟大复兴,中国青年接续奋斗……

  请从下列任务中任选一个,以青年学生当事人的身份完成写作。

  ① 1919年5月4日,在学生集会上的演讲稿。

  ② 1949年10月1日,参加开国大典庆祝游行后写给家人的信。

  ③ 1979年9月15日,参加新生开学典礼后写给同学的信。

  ④ 2019年4月30日,收看“纪念五四运动100周年大会”后的观后感。

  ⑤ 2049年9月30日,写给某位“百年中国功勋人物”的国庆节慰问信。

  要求:结合材料,自选角度,确定立意;切合身份,贴合背景;符合文体特征;不要套作,不得抄袭;不得泄露个人信息;不少于800字。

  03

  全国III卷

  阅读下面的漫画材料,根据要求写一篇不少于800字的文章。

  

  (据“小林漫画”作品改编)

  要求:结合材料的内容和寓意,选好角度,确定立意,明确文体,自拟标题;不要套作,不得抄袭;不得泄露个人信息。

  04

  北京卷

  从下面两个题目中任选一题,按要求作答。不少于700字。将题目抄在答题卡上。

  ①“韧性”是指物体柔软坚实、不易折断的性质。中华文明历经风雨,绵延至今,体现出“韧”的精神。回顾漫长的中国历史,每逢关键时刻,这种文明的韧性体现得尤其明显。中华民族的伟大复兴,更需要激发出这种文明的韧性。

  请以“文明的韧性”为题,写一篇议论文。可以从中国的历史变迁、思想文化、语言文字、文学艺术、社会生活及中国人的品格等角度,谈谈你的思考。

  要求:观点明确,论据充分,论证合理。

  ②色彩,指颜色;不同的色彩常被赋予不同的意义。2019年,我们隆重纪念五四运动100周年,欢庆共和国70华诞。作为在这个特殊年份参加高考的学生,你会赋予2019年哪一种色彩,来形象地表达你的感受和认识?

  请以“2019的色彩”为题,写一篇记叙文。

  要求:思想健康,内容充实,感情真挚,运用记叙、描写和抒情等多种表达方式。

  05

  上海卷

  倾听了不同国家的音乐,接触了不同风格的异域音调,我由此对音乐的“中国味”有了更深刻的感受,从而更有意识地去寻找“中国味”。

  这段话可以启发人们如何去认识事物。请写一篇文章,谈谈你对上述材料的思考和感悟。要求:(1)自拟题目;(2)不少于800字。

  06

  江苏卷

  根据以下材料,选取角度,自拟题目,写一篇不少于800字的文章;除诗歌外,文体自选。

  物各有性,水至淡,盐得味。水加水还是水,盐加盐还是盐。酸甜苦辣咸,五味调和,共存相生,百味纷呈。物如此,事犹是,人亦然。

  07

  浙江卷

  阅读下面的文字,根据要求作文。

  有一种观点认为:作家写作时心里要装着读者,多倾听读者的呼声。

  另一种看法是:作家写作时应该坚持自己的想法,不为读者所左右。

  假如你是创造生活的“作家”,你的生活就成了一部“作品”,那么你将如何对待你的“读者”?

  根据材料写一篇文章,谈谈你的看法。

  【注意】①立意自定,角度自选,题目自拟。②明确文体,不得写成诗歌。③不得少于800字。④不得抄袭、套作。

  08

  天津卷

  不错,目前的中国,固然是江山破碎,国弊民穷,但谁能断言,中国没有一个光明的前途呢?不,决不会的,我们相信,中国一定有个可赞美的光明前途。

  ——方志敏

  国家是大家的。爱国是个个人的本分。

  ——陶行知

  若能作一朵小小的浪花奔腾,呼啸加入献身者的滚滚洪流中推动人类历史向前发展,我觉得这才是一生中最值得骄傲和自豪的事情。

  ——黄大年

  以上材料触发了你怎样的思考和感悟?请据此写一篇文章。

  要求:① 自选角度,自拟标题; ② 文体不限(诗歌除外),文体特征明显;

  ③ 不少于800字; ④ 不得抄袭,不得套作。

  美国名校青睐的“高考作文”

  虽然文书并非一般意义上的“命题作文”,也不需要在规定时限内完成,但也是申请美国大学时十分重要的一环。从文书中,招生官能够窥见学生的性格,以及TA思考人生的方式。

  而每年申请季结束后,《纽约时报》都会向当年的数百位应届新生征集申请文书,只有最为令人印象最深刻的4-5篇会被刊登出来,它们的内容往往并不惊天动地,而是围绕着生活中的一些小事;然而正是这些真实有趣的小故事展现了生活独特的一面。

  我们分别从今年和去年刊登在《纽约时报》上的个人文书中挑选了三篇,他们的作者即将或已经就读于哈佛、哥大、芝大这些顶尖名校,从中可以一窥美国大学对于“高考作文”的要求。

  2019年《纽约时报》文书精选:

  《我家餐桌的故事》

  宾夕法尼亚州波茨维尔 维多利亚·奥斯瓦尔德(Victoria Oswald)

  即将入读哈佛大学

  “

  我爸说的第一句话是“抱抱她吧,你现在不会弄疼她了。”

  ”


  维多利亚·奥斯瓦尔德坐在她文章中描述的沙发上

  HANNAH YOON FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES

  我的厨房很大一部分被我那张老旧、邋遢的暖棕色餐桌所占据。

  它的状况已经惨不忍睹。每次坐下来,我都会被旧油漆、热溶胶和偶尔一点指甲油(这要归功于我的姐姐们)的碎屑包围。我们有两把椅子,无论坐上哪一把,我都得格外小心它们会不会散架,因为椅子腿的固定靠的是一种由木工胶、蛮力和纯粹的使坏组成的恼人混合物。

  在我生命的前半部分,这张厨房桌就是我家的中心。小时候,每天晚上7点,我们(我奶奶、我爸和两个姐姐)会准时在这老旧、邋遢的暖棕色餐桌上吃一顿奶奶做的饭菜。

  在那些家庭晚餐上,我会和我爸争吵取乐,看着他因为打扰我吃饭被奶奶吼骂,并听着我的姐姐们或是争斗或是开玩笑;那永远是一场冒险。最初,我的厨房桌有五把结实的木椅。几年后,我的大姐16岁、我8岁时,椅子的数量随着她的搬走减到四把。她与奶奶的争吵太多,也不守规矩,所以她离开了。

  三年后,奶奶被诊出患了小细胞肺癌。这给我们的晚餐桌日常又带来了一些改变。起初是我的另一个姐姐开始不来吃晚餐。倒不是因为饭菜难免不那么可口了(癌症会破坏味蕾和整体烹饪能力),而是因为她总是不在家。我觉得她不想待在被诊断癌症后的奶奶身边。

  椅子数降到了三把。过了一年左右,晚餐本身的次数也少了很多,主要不是因为奶奶,而是因为爸爸决心让奶奶多休息。她没搭理爸爸的担心,所以最后变成了我得面对的某种不上不下的灰色地带。

  奶奶得癌症一年半后去世了。这句话说起来很快,但其实拖了很久。别误会,我是爱奶奶的,但得癌症的人往往去世前很久就已经死了。

  她过世时我在场,就在我们的起居室里。我在床的一边,我爸在另一边。她沉重的喘息渐渐变缓,然后停了下来。听上去挺难过,但其实多少是个欣慰的时刻。爸爸说的第一句话是“抱抱她吧,你现在不会弄疼她了。”虽然有积痰之症的气味,我还是抱了她。我们只需要两把椅子了。

  在那之后,爸爸和我还有我们这个非传统美国家庭所剩下的部分,组建了一个格外非传统的家庭。我们过了段时间才稳定下来,因为坦白讲,奶奶得癌症前我们已经是低收入家庭,之后更是每况愈下。

  爸爸和我削减了所有开支。我们去掉了家里的有线电视、手机和互联网。少用油、少用水、少浪费食物,有段时间我们没车,因为家里的小面包车太耗油,还经常抛锚。可是,即便那是个没Wi-Fi、没手机、单调至极的一年,我们还是挺了过来。

  我依然住在同一座房子里,只不过现在有Wi-Fi了。我们的餐桌还在,不过我们把中间的木头拿了出来,现在它的大小刚好够我们俩人使用。我们不再像从前那样吃晚饭,但有时候爸爸跟我会坐在沙发上闲聊会儿。

  当然了,我们的咖啡桌聊天内容或许和从前的家庭晚餐不一样,或许我们的电视已经打不开了。或许我们的厨房里有蚂蚁,或许我们得用90年代的老掉牙收音机收听超级碗(Super Bowl)的实况,又或许,爸爸现在也病得越来越厉害了。

  我不在乎我的新生活是围着有破洞的旧沙发、一个暴脾气老头、一对肥猫和一只鬃狮蜥转。和爸爸在一起,我感到心满意足;每晚7点,昏暗的厨房里,会有两把空椅子围在脏兮兮的暖棕色旧餐桌旁,我感到心满意足。在这段日子里,起居室的灯是开着的。

  滑动查看英文原文▼

  ‘The first thing my Pap said was “Give her a hug, you can’t hurt her now.” ’

  —Victoria Oswald

  ***

  My kitchen is largely occupied by my old, dirty, warm-brown dinner table.

  It’s seen better days. Every time I sit down, I’m surrounded by splatters of old paint, hot glue and the occasional dab of nail polish (that’s thanks to my older sisters). Whenever I sit at either of our two chairs, I have to be extra careful they don’t fall apart because the legs are held together by a tedious mixture of wood glue, brute force and pure spite.

  The kitchen table itself has been the hub of my family for the entire first half of my life. When I was younger, we (my Gram, Pap and two older sisters) would eat a home-cooked meal, courtesy of my Gram, at that old, dirty, warm-brown dinner table at exactly 7 p.m. every single night.

  At these family dinners, I would argue with my Pap for fun, watch him get yelled at by my Gram for interrupting me eating my dinner and listen to my sisters either fight or joke; it was always a gamble. Originally, my kitchen table had five sturdy wooden seats. A couple years later when my oldest sister was 16 years old and I was 8, the chair count lowered to four, as my oldest sister moved out. She fought too much with my Gram and wouldn’t follow the rules, so she left.

  Three years later my grandmother was diagnosed with small-cell lung cancer. That triggered a few more changes to our dinner table routine. First, my other older sister started to skip dinners. Not because of the inevitable food quality decline (cancer messes with your taste buds and overall cooking abilities), but because she was never home. I don’t think that she wanted to be around post-cancer-diagnosis Gram.

  The chair count dropped to three. The dinners themselves after a year or so were much less frequent, not so much because of my Gram, but because my Pap was determined to make Gram rest. She ignored my Pap’s concerns, so it sort of ended up in a middle gray area that I had to live in.

  A year and a half after my grandmother got cancer, she died. It may sound quick in words, but it was pretty dragged out. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandmother, but people with cancer are usually dead long before they die.

  I was there when she died, right smack dab in the middle of our living room. I was on one side of the bed, and my Pap was on the other. Her labored breaths slowed and then stopped. It sounds depressing, but it was sort of a happy moment. The first thing my Pap said was “Give her a hug, you can’t hurt her now.” And, despite the phlegmy cancer smell, I did. We only needed two chairs.

  After that, Pap and I, with the remnants of our nontraditional American family, built an extra nontraditional family. It took a while before we stabilized ourselves, because, to be honest, we were low-income before grandma got cancer, but post-cancer was much worse.

  Pap and I cut down on everything. We got rid of our cable, phone and internet. We used less oil, we used less water, we wasted less food, and at times we didn’t have a car because our minivan took up a bunch of gas and liked to break down frequently. But, despite a dreadfully boring WiFi-less and phoneless year, we made it through.

  I still live in the same house, except now it has Wi-Fi. Our kitchen table is still standing, though we took the center piece of wood out so now it’s the perfect size for just the two of us. We don’t have nightly dinners anymore, but sometimes Pap and I sit on the couch and hang out.

  Sure, maybe our coffee table chats aren’t the same as our nightly family dinners, and maybe our television doesn’t turn on anymore. Maybe our kitchen has ants, and maybe we have to listen to the Super Bowl on our outdated radio from the ’90s, and maybe, possibly, he is getting sicker now, too.

  I don’t care that my new life revolves around a holey old couch, a grumpy old man, a couple of fat cats and a bearded dragon. I’m content with my Pap, and I’m content with the fact that every night at 7 p.m., two empty chairs surround my old, dirty, warm-brown dinner table in the darkness of my kitchen. These days, the lights are on in the living room.

  《图书馆给了我通向世界的钥匙》

  密尔沃基 凯莉·施利斯(Kelley Schlise)

  即将入读哥伦比亚大学

  “

  当我们没地方住的时候,我们会在图书馆消磨时间,使用我心目中通往世界的钥匙:图书馆的电脑。

  ”

  

  阿斯特丽德·利登在明尼苏达霍普金斯的霍普金斯图书馆

  JENN ACKERMAN FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES

  正如我最爱的土豚亚瑟·里德所说,“当你有一张图书馆借书证时,找点乐子并不难。”好吧,其实挺难的。因为我,再一次,没带借书证。

  我可能已经进了图书馆员近期“历史记录”,因为这种事经常发生,所以她直接开始在电脑上查我的名字。我,这个戴着眼镜的9岁小顾客,只是想借出本书,但现在有两个问题:我没带借书证,而且我的罚款太多,已经没法借出。

  我咬着牙从用胶带做的钱包里掏出一张钞票,付了能让我把书借走的20%罚款。如果能借一本叫做《为孩子理财》(Handling Money for Kids)的书,我会借的,因为我大部分的“财富”都直接回到了图书馆。

  多亏了我妈妈,我几乎从出生起就有了一张借书证。我去我的图书馆不仅仅是为了读书,而是要沉浸在书里。我会找到我的凳子,坐在儿童区,然后看书。妈妈去上班时,她会半路把我放在图书馆,然后我就像往常一样:坐下来,读书,还书,重复这些动作,如果幸运的话,我还会把书借回家。

  我的访问目的通常都一样:读书或者玩电脑。但当我长大一些,我意识到事情已经开始发生变化。我妈妈开始经常和我们一起去图书馆。当我在读书或完成作业时,她也会在那,在我旁边打字。我们的世界并存了,但这是有原因的。

  有三年时间,母亲失业。作为单身母亲,没有工作、没有家也没有车的困境苦不堪言。我停止了往日的例行程序,也没怎么介意。我开着两个页面,继续着手中的工作。

  我每天都会登陆Zillow、求职网站,以及跟外公的中风康复有关的网站,然后问我找的信息有没有用。“谢谢我闺女,”妈妈总这么说,但我意识到了随之而来的压力。我们处在不同的世界,但它们撞到了一起。

  没地方住时,我们会在图书馆消磨时间,使用我心目中通往世界的钥匙:图书馆电脑。无论是在我们童年时的图书馆,还是我们所住的农场40英里开外的图书馆,图书馆就是一种稳定。

  如今我坐在服务台后面,看到也听到了一切:央求着要借走“朱尼·琼斯系列”(Junie B. Jones)的小女孩,在电脑上玩《机器砖块》(Roblox)的男孩,忙着报税的女人,来电询问最新结果的“体育迷”,还有询问天气的女人。

  我会听到西班牙语、英语、索马里语。我会遇到那些常见的不守规矩的家伙:孩子们上气不接下气地跑来柜台问,“能给我个访客通行证吗?”

  起初,缓缓打出来的收据只是一串数字,但我很快意识到远不止如此。曾经我说的是,“我妈忘带借书证了”或“图书馆什么时候关门?”或“我能用一下电话吗?”当年我是使用电脑的顾客,是阅读区的孩子。而今我是那个在柜台的专业人员,帮忙寻找遗失的借书证。坐在柜台前不会让我忘记自己的过去,反而会让我接纳它。

  图书馆向人们提供的资源,会给不同的人开启不同的门。即便在妈妈找到工作后,图书馆仍是安全感与舒适感的来源。在曾给予我如此之多的地方工作,我学会了回馈他人。现在我拥有了将图书馆开放给他人的机会,正如它曾开放给我一样。

  滑动查看英文原文▼

  ‘When we had nowhere to live, we would spend hours at the library, using what I thought to be the key to the world: library computers.’

  —Astrid Liden

  ***

  As Arthur Read, my favorite aardvark, would say, “Having fun isn’t hard when you’ve got a library card.” Well, it was hard. I didn’t have my library card. Again.

  The librarian probably had me on “recent history” since this happened so often, so she just looked me up on the computer. I, the little glasses-wearing 9-year-old patron, simply wanted to check out a book, but now I had two problems: I did not have my library card and my fines were too high to check out.

  Pulling out the dollar bill I had found in my duct tape wallet, I paid the 20 percent of my fine that let me check out a book and left, gritting my teeth. If I could have checked out a book called “Handling Money for Kids,” I would have, because most of my “wealth” went right back to the library.

  Thanks to my mom, I practically had a library card from birth. I would go to my library not just to read books but to be immersed in them. I would find my stool, sit in the children’s area and read. I would get dropped off at the library while my mom worked, and I would follow my usual routine: sit, read, return, repeat, and if I was lucky, check out.

  The purpose of my visit was usually the same: read books or play on the computer. But as I grew up, I realized that things had begun to change. My mom began coming to the library with us more often. While I would be reading or finishing homework, she would be right there, typing beside me. Our worlds coexisted, but for a reason.

  For three years, my mother was unemployed. As a single mother, the struggle of not having a job, home or car was immense. I stopped my usual routine and was fine with it. With two tabs open, I continued on with my work.

  I would log on daily to Zillow, job search websites and websites about stroke rehabilitation for my grandfather, asking if any of my findings would work. “Gracias, mija,” my mom always said, but I realized the stress ensued. We were in different worlds, but they collided.

  When we had nowhere to live, we would spend hours at the library, using what I thought to be the key to the world: library computers. Whether it was at our childhood library or the library 40 miles away by the farm where we were staying, the library was this stability.

  Sitting behind the service desk today, I see and hear it all: the little girl begging to check out Junie B. Jones, the boys playing Roblox on the computer, the woman filing her taxes, the call from “Sports Guy” asking for the latest results, the woman asking about the weather.

  I hear Spanish, English, Somali. I get the usual rule-breakers: kids running, out of breath, to the desk asking, “Can I have a Guest Pass?”

  At first, the slowly printed receipt is just a number, but I soon realize it is much more. I was once saying, “My mom forgot her card” or “When does the library close?” or “Can I use the phone?” Back then, I was the patron on the computer, the kid in the reading area. Now, I am the specialist at the desk looking up the forgotten library cards. Sitting at the desk does not make me forget my past, it helps me embrace it.

  The library gives people access to a resource that opens doors in one way for one person, and in others for the next. Even after my mom got a job, the library remained a source of security and comfort. By working at a place that gave me so much, I have learned to give back. I now have the opportunity to open the library to others, just as it was opened up to me.

  2018年《纽约时报》文书精选:

  《母牛米西告诉我的事》

  伊利诺伊州布什内尔

  艾莉森·赫斯(Alison Hess)

  就读于芝加哥大学

  “

  尽管当时我把自己的胜利和“当一个更优秀的男孩”联系在一起,但现在我意识到,那时我努力的方向其实是成为一个更优秀的农民。

  ”

  

  艾莉森·赫斯在芝加哥大学

  我一直以为父亲希望我生下来是个男孩。

  这个,请不要把我父亲当成疯狂的乡巴佬性别歧视者。事实是,在他所处的地区和行业,成功与否主要看你能不能提供和保持近乎不可超越的体力劳动壮举,人们往往更喜欢大块头的人。

  小时候,我更喜欢绿色而不是红色的拖拉机,因为父亲开的就是绿色的。我喜欢黑白相间的母牛,而不是棕色的,因为父亲养的就是那种黑白的。我冬天穿连体工作服,一连几周穿着带窟窿沾泥巴的靴子。和新来的人说话时,我会表现出尚且稚嫩的男子气,双臂交叉抱在胸前。我的玩具箱里只有农具模型。三年级的时候,我把头发剪得非常短。父亲露出微笑,摸了摸我的头。

  我从未试图把馅饼皮擀得更加光滑,或是熨出笔挺的衣领。相反,我崇拜父亲那双有耐心的手。它们努力在母牛的脖颈上找到正确的血管扎针;用力制住受伤的小母牛;在他驾驶牲畜拖车时习惯地、巧妙地快速打方向盘。

  长大后,我自己也要做这些事情。十岁生日那天,我收到了自己的第一头表演母牛。在赫斯家族,这是一种成人礼。我给她起名叫米西(Missy)。当我用极低的声音和她说话时,我没有意识到一件事:米西不在乎我是女孩。她不认为我特意表现出男孩子气,也不会注意到我坚决抗拒粉色衣服(反正她是色盲)。她对照顾她的新人块头略小无动于衷。她只在乎自己每天的均衡棉籽玉米面饲料,以及有人能多拍一下她的头。我坐在她旁边擦她的白色皮革笼头时,她感谢的是我一丝不苟的勤勉,而不是我的性别。

  几个月后,当我和米西赢得最佳表演奖时,父亲的心脏差点爆炸。我学会了无论何时只要感到自豪,就要表现出来。尽管当时我把自己的胜利和“当一个更优秀的男孩”联系在一起,但现在我意识到,那时我努力的方向其实是成为一个更优秀的农民。

  大学一年级,我离开农场,去了寄宿学校。在学校里,我身边都是更富裕、受教育程度更高的人。他们中绝大部分人以前都听说过“女权主义”这个词。在我介绍自己的家乡时,我开始从讨厌的英语老师和敏锐的朋友们皱起的眉头中领会这个词的意思。四年的教育和每周的议论文教会了我这个学术术语。我知道了“女权主义”这个词的拉丁语词根、同源词和它的历史影响。

  但我通过书本了解到的相关知识越多,在文章中用这个词的次数越多,我越是明白自己早已知道它的意思。我身上正体现出女权主义在农场的现状。我已经付诸实践了。这都是我的母牛教我的。

  滑动查看英文原文▼

  “While I then associated my conquests with ‘being a better boy,’ I now realize what I was really working toward was becoming a better farmer.”

  Alison Hess

  I always assumed my father wished I had been born a boy.

  Now, please don’t assume that my father is some rampant rural sexist. The fact is, when you live in an area and have a career where success is largely determined by your ability to provide and maintain nearly insurmountable feats of physical labor, you typically prefer a person with a bigger frame.

  When I was younger, I liked green tractors better than red tractors because that was what my father drove, and I preferred black and white cows over brown ones because those were the kind he raised. I wore coveralls in the winter and wore holes in my mud boots in weeks. With my still fragile masculinity, I crossed my arms over my chest when I talked to new people, and I filled my toy box exclusively with miniature farm implements. In third grade, I cut my hair very short, and my father smiled and rubbed my head.

  I never strove to roll smoother pie crusts or iron exquisitely stiff collars. Instead, I idolized my father’s patient hands. On a cow’s neck, trying to find the right vein to stick a needle in. In the strength of the grip it took to hold down an injured heifer. In the finesse with which they habitually spun the steering wheel as he backed up to the livestock trailer.

  And I grew to do those things myself. When on my 10th birthday I received my first show cow, a rite of passage in the Hess family, I named her Missy. As I spoke to her in an unnaturally low voice, I failed to realize one thing: Missy did not care that I was a girl. She did not think I was acting especially boyish or notice when I adamantly refused to wear pink clothing (she was colorblind anyway). And she did not blink an eyelash at her new caretaker’s slightly smaller frame. All she cared about was her balanced daily feed of cottonseed and ground corn and that she got an extra pat on the head. As I sat next to her polishing her white leather show halter, she appreciated my meticulous diligence and not my sex.

  When Missy and I won Best of Show a few months later, my father’s heart nearly exploded. I learned to stick my chest out whenever I felt proud. While I then associated my conquests with “being a better boy,” I now realize what I was really working toward was becoming a better farmer. I learned I could do everything my father could do, and in some tasks, such as the taxing chore of feeding newborn calves or the herculean task of halter-breaking a heifer, I surpassed him. It has taken me four years to realize this: I proved a better farmer than he in those moments, not despite my sex, but despite my invalid and ignorant assumption that the best farmer was the one with the most testosterone.

  My freshman year, I left the farm for boarding school, where I was surrounded by the better-off and the better-educated — the vast majority of whom had heard the word ‘feminism’ before. I began to pick up just what the word meant from my antagonizing English teacher and my incisive friends’ furrowed brows when I described my hometown. Four years of education and weekly argumentative essays taught me the academic jargon. I learned the Latin roots of the word “feminism,” its cognates and its historical consequences.

  But the more I read about it in books, and the more I used it in my essays, the more I realized I already knew what it meant. I had already embodied the reality of feminism on the farm. I had lived it. My cow had taught it to me.

  美本申请中的“古怪”作文题

  美国大学申请中,除了自定主题的Common Essay,也会有一些根据学校给的题目进行创作的文书;而有些大学的文书主题十分特别,比如芝加哥大学,每年的本科申请附加文书就以“奇葩”著称。

  比起哈佛“你想让未来的大学室友了解你什么?”,耶鲁“什么能引发你对于知识的兴趣?”,普林斯顿“你如何度过近两次暑假”这类中规中矩的题目,芝加哥大学就要不走寻常路许多,比如今年芝大文书申请题目分别是:

  在十三世纪的大航海时代,如果你在航行中突然掉出世界边缘后会怎么样?

  2015年,澳大利亚的墨尔本市给每棵树都创立了电子邮箱,以便人们上报城市绿化相关的问题。不料有许多人给他们最喜欢的树木写了甜蜜且有时相当幽默的邮件。想象这种“树邮服务”已经推广到了全世界的所有事物,与我们分享你写给最爱物件的邮件。

  floccinaucinihilipilification描述没有价值的事物,由拉丁词floccu、naucum、nihilum和pilus组成。这四个词也都是没用处的意思。用任何语言生造你自己的词,告诉我们它的含义,也描述其(即便只对你个人而言)可能的最恰当使用的场景。

  钥匙丢了?Alohomora. 制造噪音的室友?Quietus. 因为某种原因想打破窗户?Finestra. (以上三个为哈利波特中的咒语) 创造你自己的魔法符咒。如何施法?需要念咒语么?是否要用到魔药或其他魔法物品,它们会是什么?魔法符咒的作用是什么?

  想象你与招生办主任Nondorf达成了协议,你被保送进入芝加哥大学,条件是你需要在一张A4纸上写、画、素描、纸模涂鸦……就任何主题以你能想到的方式进行表达。你唯一的界限是A4纸的正反两面。当然,你提交的创作在之后的人生中会是所有你新认识的人第一眼看到的东西。不论是工作面试、相亲、还是上第一堂人文课程,在你说“嗨”之前,别人已经见过了那一张纸并形成了对你的第一印象。给我们展示这一页。纸上有什么内容,为什么?如果你提交的内容大部分或全部属于视觉艺术,请确保额外附上一个不少于300词的创作者说明。说明可以另占一页。(附注:这是个创新思维实验,选择这道题目并不确保你会被我校录取或你的糟糕成绩、违法乱纪或者其他“情况”能被忽略。)

  以探寻未知的冒险精神,提属于你自己的问题或者选择一个往年的文书题目。在这个过程中请带上原创性、创造力并写出发人深省的文字。好好利用你作为一位作家、思想家、梦想家、社会评论员、哲人、世界公民或芝加哥的未来社区成员的一些最好的优点,冒一冒险并享受这个过程。

  如果是你的话,会选择哪个题目?虽然美本申请文书不像高考作文那样需要在规定的时限内完成,不过也更需要学生在文书中体现出自己独特的视角,创意和人生观,才能令招生官眼前一亮。

  你觉得中国高考作文题与美国的申请文书哪个更简单?如果是你又会如何选择?欢迎在文章下方留言交流~

特别声明:本文为网易自媒体平台“网易号”作者上传并发布,仅代表该作者观点。网易仅提供信息发布平台。

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