哈佛大学，世界大学声誉排名第一的高等学府，这所享誉世界的顶尖名校，被无数学生视为求学终极梦想地。所以申请门槛也是高的出奇，下面留学群就来说说越南妹子以一篇换内衣心得被哈佛录取。
哈佛大学每年申请的人数超过4万个，然而录取人数却只有2000出头…可以说是万里挑一、精中求精了。
肯定有人会吐槽了，这么高冷的院校，不是全才怎么敢申请啊…
你还别说，哈佛的录取标准还真是不走寻常路!
有时候，一个日常生活中的小物件就可能送你进哈佛，比如麻将、甚至不穿的内衣…
这个昵称Ngoc的越南裔妹子，就凭借一篇描写自己内衣的文章，误打误撞进了哈佛!
事情是这样的…Ngoc本来不打算申请哈佛的，她觉得自己不够优秀，准备也不充分，所以在申请大学时，哈佛是她最后一刻才加到申请名单里的，
用她的话来说就是：
哈佛的申请流程太简单了，不试一下简直浪费!
申请哈佛除了一些推荐信等硬性条件，还需要写一篇能表达自己的文章。
实际上在这个申请文书上，妹子也偷了懒，她直接拿申请芝加哥大学时写的一篇谈论内衣的作品交了上去…
然而，就是这一篇选题有些“非主流”的文章，却获得了哈佛招生官的青睐，将Ngoc一路送到哈佛!
朕先带你们膜拜一下这篇征服哈佛招生官的文书~
文章的一开始，Ngoc描述了自己第一次穿胸罩的场景，表达了自己对内衣深深的厌恶。
我第一次戴胸罩，是小学五年级。
一天我回家之后，妈妈送给我一件小小的白布，她告诉我：“你现在是一个大女孩了，你需要穿这个。”
从那一刻开始，我的生活永远被改变了。
自从胸前多了这个不太舒服的玩意儿，Ngoc就没安生的时候。
它们紧贴于衬衫之下，勒着自己的胸，总有一股隐隐的压力，似乎无时无刻不在提醒着她：无忧无虑的童年已经过去了。
就这样，内衣挺进了Ngoc的生活。 第一件内衣用了没多久换了，随之而来的是第二件、第三件，到了第四件的时候，Ngoc已经穿上了成人内衣。
因为不断的更换内衣，Ngoc积累了许多再也不会穿的内衣，这让她十分伤感。
在我衣柜的最深处，有一堆被遗弃的胸罩，那些内衣上细小的、破旧的丝线，在我曾经穿的日子里曾经被照耀得非常明亮，
然而这种明亮，在被我遗弃后已经消失了。
它们安静地待在宇宙的另一角，聚集起来的灰尘如同死星，没有生命、没有光泽、没有活力。
Ngoc想起了自己穿内衣的那一天，一样是没有选择的余地，没有拒绝的权利，这和那些被丢弃的内衣有什么两样?
于是，每换一件新的内衣，这种失落感就加重一分，她觉得自己似乎被强行推着，走到越来越遥远的地方，没有回头的余地。
她开始厌恶起了新内衣上的那些装饰：
时髦的褶皱，夸张的图案，繁复的花边，一切都是那么的闪亮亮，似乎是为了抵消人生进程中越加越重的担子而做出的补偿。
但是，后来她想通了。
后来我知道，生活并不是线性的，而是周期性的。
新星可以从死星的灰烬里重生，死亡也会被生命的光照亮。
因此，现在只是对过去的重新诠释，在穿着新的胸罩的时候，我并没有抛弃过去的自我，我只是在重新定位自己以适应不断变化的时代。
所以Ngoc释然了，她觉得变化虽然对每个人来说都有压力，但却是人世间的自然规律。
柜子里的内衣没有办法减少，但是她也坦然承认，随着年龄的增加，胸部会不断地下垂，所以她需要新的内衣，毕竟这个世界上没有什么能比一件内衣带来更坚挺的依靠了。
Ngoc文书全文：
I remember the first time I wore a bra. I came home from school in the fifth grade, and my mom handed me a white cloth to put on beneath my shirt. “You’re a big girl now,” she said, “You need to wear this.” From that moment on, my life was forever changed.
That same year, I was taught that the sun would someday die, and I, feeling the pressure of the contraption beneath my shirt, realized that my childhood, too, would eventually dissipate just like the sun.
The first bra paved way for a second, and then a third, and then, by the fourth bra I had advanced to the Lady Type, the ones that my mom wore.
With every new bra, I cast away the former. Somewhere in the dark abyss of my closet, there is a heap of abandoned bras, tiny, worn-out filaments that had once shone so brightly in their days of use, but had faded away into old, neglected remnants of days long gone. They sit against a corner of the universe and gather dust like dead stars— without life, without luster, without vigor.
With every new bra, I felt the unmerciful hand of change push me further down a path with which I had no return. The bras no longer had the simplicity of the first; they came equipped with more folds and stitches and frills and patterns that were designed to counteract the growing complexity of my responsibilities.
Sometimes, when I found myself too big for the current one, I was either unable to or unwilling to get another because of the implications behind the transition—if every new bra meant the death of another star, then the adult world was nothing to me but a lifetime of darkness. I tried so hard not to kill any more stars, but my resistance was not enough, and I found myself adding layer after layer to the ever-increasing pile of bras. With this mindset, I prepared myself for the end, for the moment in which my entire universe would be engulfed by the black hole forming in my closet.
But I was saved.
I learned that life does not occur linearly, but in cycles: New stars can arise from the ashes of former ones, and the darkness of death is replenished by the light of birth. Thus, what is created is only a reinterpretation of the past in a form that is fitted for the present. In wearing a new bra, I was not casting away my old self but reorienting myself to accommodate to changing times.
Change, as overwhelming as it feels, is only natural—the pile of bras will only get bigger. Though it is hard to accept the existence of the bra in my life, I realize that I cannot live without it, for, as we grow older, things tend to droop more easily, and there is nothing more reliable than a bra to give us the inner support necessary to have a firm hold on life.
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