凭借这篇作文美华裔女生被八所常春藤盟校录取

【观察者网综合报道】前几天，，被斯坦福录取。最近，美国一华裔女孩，又凭借一篇作文被八所常春藤盟校录取。 美国一个19岁的穆斯林高中生在申请里写了一百遍“黑命贵”

据BBC中文网报道，最近，一个出生于马来西亚的17岁美国华裔女孩萧靖彤被全部八所常春藤盟校录取，成为热门话题。

萧靖彤的父亲是台湾人，母亲是马来西亚华人，五岁时移居美国。

这个女孩之所以被八所常青藤学校录取，主要是由于她写了一篇作文。

她在作文中回顾了她和母亲在美国学习英语的经历。刚到美国时，她们的英语发音不准。萧靖彤写道：“在我家里，英语不是英语”，但她和家人却能毫无问题地沟通。她写道："在我家里，我们说话的方式很美。在我家里，我们的话并不‘烂’，而是充满了感情。我们用词语建了一座房子……这房子有点歪，有点杂乱无章，但这是我们的家。”

就是这样一篇文章，目前已经吸引了哈佛大学、普林斯顿大学、耶鲁大学、达特茅斯大学、布朗大学、哥伦比亚大学、康奈尔大学和宾夕法尼亚大学。因为同时被8所常春藤名校录取，所以卡桑德拉需要在这8所学校中做出选择。

据悉，18岁的萧靖彤共申请14所大学的写作或新闻类学系，目前全部录取。萧靖彤有感而发说：之所以申请这么多，主要是亚裔学生能力强，竞争激烈，很怕无法被录取，担心自己没选择。

目前，萧靖彤还未决定去哪所大学。她将在几个星期内访问各大名校，看哪所最适合自己。“我接下来会去这些学校一一参观，再作决定。”不过她透露自己一直很喜欢哈佛大学，七年级时她曾去过哈佛参观。

当被问到在申请大学论文中关注重点是什么时，萧靖彤说，自己的父母都是移民，英文不是他们的第一语言，而自己在一个移民家庭里生长也十分有趣。“而当自己在家外说一些在家里使用的词汇时，外面的人会嘲笑我，但这些东西对于我来说是十分正常的，所以我把这些经历都写到申请作文里去了。”

萧靖彤表示：“身份认同感和归属感是最能让人产生共鸣的东西。我想和他人分享我家庭生活的一个侧面，我和母亲的感情和我们俩的经历。”

萧靖彤感谢母亲对自己的教育。她说：“我妈妈是一个我可以学习的榜样。她让我脚踏实地，教我不仅要敢于梦想，还要通过实干来使梦想成真。”

萧靖彤的母亲表示：“当我们打开她的大学录取信时，我和靖彤都哭了。她表现了她的成熟和智慧，不仅在学习方面，还有她待人处事的方式上。”

萧靖彤（左）和母亲

以下为萧靖彤的作文：

在我们家，英语不是英语，不是在语音意义上，而是发音。在我们家，“snake”是“snack”，我们的舌头总是卷不对。我常被语言专家纠正发音，我妈妈来自马来西亚，她说“film”的时候总是发成“flim”，但是我们完全能听得懂对方。

在我们家，“cast”和“cash”没有分别，这就是为什么在离开教堂时，人们常常取笑我“cashing out demons”（兑现恶魔，本应为丢弃恶魔）。我没有意识到两个英语单词之间的差异，知道老师纠正了我的hammock、ladle、和siphon的发音。同学们笑我，因为我将accept读成except，将success读成sussess。尽管我已参加了创意写作，但常常词不达意。

突然之间，我开始明白了，如果只是知道花朵和面粉的发音相同是不够的。我开始逐渐摆脱了那些伴随着我长大的、曾经自以为还不错的英语，既然其他人的父母，都能说一口流利的英语，为什么我的父母不能呢？

我的母亲摊开她那双晒黑的手说：“这是我来的地方”，她用自己以前学过的英语讲了一个故事。

当我母亲从她居住的马来西亚村庄搬到一个城镇时，她不得不在初中开始学习一门全新的语言：英语。当时很多人以羞辱别人为乐，当她的老师当着全班的面，用尖酸的语言嘲笑她的作文时，她无力反抗。当她开始哭泣时，班长站起来说“够了”。

“要像那个班长一样”，妈妈含着泪说，要为弱者说话。要知道那个班长不仅保护了她，还耐心地帮她提高语言。

母亲要我教她正确的英语，这样Target 商场的白人老太太就不会嘲笑她的发音了。当我把她的话拼缀在一起时，会有一种歉疚感。长元音、双辅音，其实这些我自己也仍在学习。有时候我避免让一些只言片语伤害她的自尊心，但我可能已经在不经意时，伤害了她很多。

随着妈妈英语词汇不断增加，我的英语也在不断进步。我可以在学校3000多人面前朗诵诗歌，还采访了各界人士、写舞台剧，站出来为无家可归者、难民和弱势群体发声。在纽约地铁，有些人会嘲笑街头艺人，我也用站出来和他们对抗。我还会教那些贫穷的、英语非母语的孩子学英语，看到他们有很多故事要讲、但又不知道如何表达的样子时，我仿佛看到了我妈妈的过去。

在我们家里，家人之间说话的方式也很温馨。在我们家里，我们的语言不烂，所有的语言里都是带着情感的。我们用文字建造了一栋房子，房子里虽然有点乱，但这就是我们自己打造的家。

英文原文：

In our house, English is not English. Not in the phonetic sense, like short a is for apple, but rather in the pronunciation – in our house, snake is snack. Words do not roll off our tongues correctly – yet I, who was pulled out of class to meet with language specialists, and my mother from Malaysia, who pronounces film as flim, understand each other perfectly.

In our house, there is no difference between cast and cash, which was why at a church retreat, people made fun of me for “cashing out demons.” I did not realize the glaring difference between the two Englishes until my teacher corrected my pronunciations of hammock, ladle, and siphon. Classmates laughed because I pronounce accept as except, success as sussess. I was in the Creative Writing conservatory, and yet words failed me when I needed them most.

Suddenly, understanding flower is flour wasn’t enough. I rejected the English that had never seemed broken before, a language that had raised me and taught me everything I knew. Everybody else’s parents spoke with accents smarting of Ph.D.s and university teaching positions. So why couldn’t mine?

My mother spread her sunbaked hands and said, “This is where I came from,” spinning a tale with the English she had taught herself.

When my mother moved from her village to a town in Malaysia, she had to learn a brand new language in middle school: English. In a time when humiliation was encouraged, my mother was defenseless against the cruel words spewing from the teacher, who criticized her paper in front of the class. When she began to cry, the class president stood up and said, “That’s enough.”

“Be like that class president,” my mother said with tears in her eyes. The class president took her under her wing and patiently mended my mother’s strands of language. “She stood up for the weak and used her words to fight back.”

We were both crying now. My mother asked me to teach her proper English so old white ladies at Target wouldn’t laugh at her pronunciation. It has not been easy. There is a measure of guilt when I sew her letters together. Long vowels, double consonants — I am still learning myself. Sometimes I let the brokenness slide to spare her pride but perhaps I have hurt her more to spare mine.

As my mother’s vocabulary began to grow, I mended my own English. Through performing poetry in front of 3000 at my school’s Season Finale event, interviewing people from all walks of life, and writing stories for the stage, I stand against ignorance and become a voice for the homeless, the refugees, the ignored. With my words I fight against jeers pelted at an old Asian street performer on a New York subway. My mother’s eyes are reflected in underprivileged ESL children who have so many stories to tell but do not know how. I fill them with words as they take needle and thread to make a tapestry.

In our house, there is beauty in the way we speak to each other. In our house, language is not broken but rather bursting with emotion. We have built a house out of words. There are friendly snakes in the cupboard and snacks in the tank. It is a crooked house. It is a little messy. But this is where we have made our home.