50 Successful Harvard Application Essays

J
OHN 
F
INNEGAN
Why I Went to the Rain
Drops hurtled from the sky, splattering the window with futile attacks as I gazed out at the dusk. I
looked up at the clouds, trying to gauge how long and how hard the rain would fall, wondering
whether the thunder and lightning would rumble on or settle in. Satisfied that they would linger, I
stepped out into the evening, my feet resting upon the cold steps of my soaked stairway. As raindrops
pelted my head and saturated my shirt, I watched a torn and trembling sky. It was a nice view.
Standing in the rain, I was separated from the rest of the world. Peering up at drops of water, I
thought only of those drops, only of how they cooled my face and quieted my mind. The storm, in all
its might and force, swept away the rest of the world. The squall left me in darkness, but not in a cold,
unfeeling, dreadful night. The shadows of a storm are inherently alive, filled with energy and
existence, molecules and matter. While destruction could follow behind, it had no place in the storm
itself, no place in the vitality that surrounded me. In my storm, I was not thinking of downed power
lines or flooded basements—those thoughts were pushed aside, overcome by the noise and rain. As
thunder boomed in the heavens, I left behind thoughts of the future and concerns for my livelihood;
all I knew was the beauty and joy of life.
That night, I found serenity in chaos. I lived. The storm forced me to be concerned solely with the
present and revel in that concern. In the storm, I discovered freedom, but the freedom I chanced upon
was that of simplicity, not irresponsibility. For once, I knew what I wanted: to stand quietly a little
longer as the storm thundered on. While I neither tap-danced nor sung in the rain that night, I stood,
walked, and enjoyed the water running from my forehead to nose, streaming down my face into a
mouth longing for cool liquid. In a world where most of my life is spent indoors, separated from
anything wild or uncontained or free, the storm presented an opening of the cage that contains my
spirit.
Yet, the tempest comes rarely, and when it comes it stays for minutes, not hours. Until the rain
returns, I wait indoors and enter a world filled with demands both complicated and exhausting. There,
I scurry about, trying to juggle the competing commands of my parents and friends, school and
society. The requests for attention mount up, piling into hills that I chisel slowly away, turning from
one to the next, struggling to keep up with the twists and turns of the maze I call life. But, locked away
in the subconscious mind of John Finnegan, a desire remains. It does not fade, no matter how long the
dry spell or how hot the summer. It remains, and it longs for storms.
REVIEW

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John ventures to provide a glimpse into the complex psyche of the exhausted student. He takes a risk
as he grapples with such a universal phenomenon, at least among the demographic of students that
apply to these institutions. He risks committing the two major sins of the college essay: perpetuating a
cliché and seeming disingenuous. The admissions officer can’t help but ask: How realistic is it that a
high school student experiences such a perfect moment of reflection, complete with overarching
symbolic parallels?
Already at a disadvantage, he dares to continue down a risky path. There is thunder, lightning, and
a “torn and trembling sky.” There is reflection on the destruction of a tempest and personification of
its parts. There is even a juxtaposition of serenity and chaos, freedom and concerns. At any moment, I
expect the heroine from the latest romance movie to dramatically run into John’s embrace, as he
twirls her in the pouring rain.
Interestingly enough, however, it is in these risks that the author finds his greatest strengths. He
ultimately avoids both issues by consciously tackling the overdone; as he says, he neither “tap-danced
nor sung in the rain that night” but rather stood. Then, he meticulously interjects with those aspects of
himself that make him most vulnerable: his fears. He brings the very personal into the personal
statement. We learn little about his accomplishments or qualifications, and he is wise to avoid the
laundry list. Yet, we walk away with a profound understanding of who he is at his core. In doing so,
John produces a work that demonstrates his command of prose while maintaining the integrity of his
message.
—Fatima Mirza

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