50 Successful Harvard Application Essays

V. FOREIGN LIFE

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The most commonly clichéd essay topic—traveling to another culture—is such a common story line
that it is almost worth avoiding. Particularly cliché are the essays about traveling to do good for the
less fortunate. The story line is so played out that in order to impress an admissions officer with your
accomplishments, you would probably have to cure poverty or a life-threatening disease. But since
digging a well or framing a house—noble as it is—appeared in so many of the essays that were
submitted to us for selection, we felt the need to pick apart what worked and what didn’t so you can
plan your course of action most effectively. While it will be difficult to wow admissions officers with
this course, you can impress them by describing the effect of the experience on you.
Being a foreigner can also make for an interesting and original essay. In this section, some
applicants will explore what it means to be different, some will explain how good-hearted others can
be, and one delivers a refreshingly light account of her time in France.
If you can avoid the overdone and find something new to say, writing about experiences abroad or
as an outsider allows you to present yourself as a strong, brave person who is not afraid to try
something new.

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SF
Three Bundles of Affection
Humans share a universal craving for proteins wrapped in carbohydrates. Each culture creates its
unique form, from samosa to sushi to ravioli, to satisfy this yen. My story involves three types:
dumpling, 
bistek kalabaw
burger, and 
cuajada empanada
.
I cherish memories of my childhood in Beijing involving my extended family making the
ubiquitous dumpling together. Eating was secondary to the simply magical process of dumpling
manufacturing. Water, flour, and stuffing would be minced, kneaded, flattened, and folded, morsel by
morsel, into perfectly flavored bites. Each person was roped into the assembly line. Amid the chatter
of Mandarin gossip, the grumbling of the rolling pin over dough, and the melodious simmering of
water, I, the mere six-year-old, proudly stood on my stool as the indispensable doughball-maker,
beaming at my relatives while my little hands frantically rolled the pieces of dough into perfect
spheres.
After immigrating to the United States, my small family of three struggled to multitask all these
steps, while nostalgically reminiscing about our life in China. But the new dumpling-making unit
soon absorbed friends of all races as adopted aunts and uncles, sisters, and brothers. After a period of
laughing over clumsy mistakes and misshapen products, the assembly line works as flawlessly as the
original. I know that I will always carry with me the dumpling tradition wherever I go as an
everlasting tribute to my heritage.
Life in America has allowed me ample chance to enjoy hamburgers. Yet my favorite burger-eating
experience occurred thousands of miles away in the Philippines. Its ingredients included an eclectic
mix of pandesal bread, carabao meat (
bistek kalabaw
in Tagalog), and cucumber slices, an
unintentional culinary tour de force made from the only ingredients available in the village of Dugui
Too. There, enclaved deep in the mountains of Catanduanes, people make a bare subsistence, living
with no semblance of a modern infrastructure. On the trek in, we waded through rivers where women
were immersed waist-deep washing clothes. Throngs of noisy kids followed us, admiring our lighter
skin and hair. Our distribution of solar lights there met with a primitive fascination. In a few hours,
we were able to mingle with the timid but warmhearted locals despite the language barrier. Seeing
their faces alight in excitement for the solar lights filled my heart with wondrous joy. The 
bistek
kalabaw
burger represents the delirious happiness at the rare privilege to be able to touch people’s
lives so palpably.
It was halftime into my six-week immersion program in Nicaragua when I came down with a
severe fever. I was temporarily forced to abandon my humanitarian duties and rest uselessly in the
isolated village, where literacy, technology, and medical care were nonexistent. I closed my eyes to

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tolerate the pangs of my headache amid a torrential downpour. On a sudden whisper, I reopened them
wearily. With surreal clarity, I saw a plate of dumpling-like morsels, dreamlike after twenty days of
monotonous tortillas and beans. My host mom pointed with her lips in the typical Nicaraguan manner
with such sweet words: 
“Son empanadas, pruebelas.”
I ventured a bite, relishing the unfamiliar corn
shell filled with Nicaraguan sweetened 
cuajada
cheese. Only by thinking back did I realize the
generosity of these indigent people. My host brother had trekked three hours on the sinuous mountain
trail amid the thunderstorm, just to bring back the ingredients, which cost more than the daily wages
of the entire family. They must have carefully planned the surprise, putting together all the money to
take care of a complete stranger. The selfless love infused into these empanadas cemented my
connection to the Nicaraguan family that adopted me as its own.
The dumpling, the 
bistek kalabaw
burger, and the 
cuajada empanada,
ordinary food as they are,
matter so much to me. Each symbolizes a bundle of care and affection from a culture I consider my
home.
REVIEW
In SF’s essay, we’re guided through three stories, each neatly corresponding to a carbohydrate-
wrapped protein. SF’s words are beautifully evocative, transporting us into the kitchens of Beijing,
through the mountains of the Philippines, and to the villages of Nicaragua. Each story exposes part of
SF’s personality: The dumplings show she cherishes her heritage and cultural roots. The burgers
showcase her selflessness and compassion for those less fortunate. The empanadas reveal she
recognizes and appreciates the generosity of others.
SF is a gifted writer, but her descriptions are occasionally guilty of excessive romanticizing.
Phrases like “wondrous joy,” “delirious happiness,” and “selfless love,” even when accurate, can
seem like they’re trying a bit too hard.
This is also a long essay, weighing in at 655 words. Her decision to exceed the word count limit is
understandable, considering she chose to synthesize three detailed stories, but risky. She teeters
dangerously close to a topic that is too ambitious. Her stories feel truncated, each leaving
fundamental questions unanswered. Why is she distributing solar lights in the Philippine village of
Dugui Too? What is her immersion program in Nicaragua? The transitions are quite abrupt because
of the limited space, and her theme of carbohydrate-wrapped proteins isn’t referenced in her
conclusion. A hundred more words could have tied up these loose ends, but would blatantly violate
the word count rule. Be careful when scoping your topic; it works in this case, but barely.
Her conclusion, though terse and rushed, recognizes the power of her stories, and resists the
common urge to draw unnecessary connections. She doesn’t need to list off her desirable
characteristics and accomplishments for her admissions officers. SF gives her stories space to speak
for themselves. We’re left with a very real, very positive sense of who this person is.
—Nikhil L. Benesch

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