六岁的时候，你问我来自哪里，我会毫不犹豫的对你说出两个字“印度”。我在美国生活。这就是答案。再无其他可说的。
一年级半途转学到伊斯坦布尔的时候，一身棕色的皮肤和带着浓重印度口音的我班里其他学生形成了鲜明的对比。奇怪的是，我在当地一个“美国学校”学习，带我们的是一位英国籍老师Mrs. Aldemir，土耳其语的意思是红铁。真够雷人的。这所学校并不是地地道道的美国学校，因为它远离了自己的文化和语言。四年里，我在三个国家之间游离：美国式课堂、印度式家庭和土耳其生活。
后来我回到美国继续完成小学阶段的学习。高中前2年我去了香港读书，遇到了相同的问题，“你来自哪里”这个曾经看似轻易的问题却变得异常复杂。随着青春期种种不安全因素的影响，这个问题对我而言，无法回答或太深刻而不知道如何回答。我急切地请求周围的导师给我答案，不幸的是，他们也没法帮我回答。这个答案对我而言有更深层的意义：它可以让我不同于旁人。
《全球之魂》（The Global Soul），作者Pico问一位越南裔美国妇女她来自哪里？妇女回答说，“美国”。随后，Pico就开始挖掘更多相关的故事。妇女坦言说自己曾经在越南住过一阵子，旅店的女服务员问道，“你是越南人吗？”她斩钉截铁的说“是。我是越南人。”同一问题，前后两种不同答案，着实让人困惑。
高中前两年间，我去过十个国家，期间并没有稍释我所处的复杂的“困境”。即使不像书中作者所经历的，没有去游览一个国家，没有免税购物也没有在五星级宾馆看有线电视的经历，仅仅是对于一个国家文化的熏陶，也不能让一个人对这个国家有些许的归属感吗？
在逝去的夏天，我参加了一个在康奈尔大学举办的TASP（the Telluride Association Summer Program at Cornell）暑期课程，为期六周。我们的演讲题目是“论电影里的国际政治关系”换个更容易理解的题目“国际政治背后的血泪史”。尽管我们常常冥思苦想一个问题“我们来自哪里”但是苦苦没有结论。这个纠结在我们每个人心中的问题就像毒瘤一样无法根除，搞得我们苦不堪言。
为此，我花了3周的时间开始研究西藏被放逐在印度以北地区的达赖喇叭。尽管他们保留着自己的教育水平、宗教文化，但是，他们却能很好的与当地人和睦相处。我遇到的一部分人甚至在看到西藏新闻后还问我曾红极一时的宝莱坞演员Sanjay Dutt是否出狱了。还有一些人是生在印度的。西藏难民，尤其是流放到国外的，相比较很多在外国设立大使馆的国家更具有亲善大使的意思。这些丧失民族身份和国籍的西藏人又来自哪里呢？
和很多寻求归属感与认同感，姑且在这里说global soul一样，Pico对“跨国身份”也没有下一个定论。无所谓结果本身来说也是不错的。
“国籍”属于一个身份的认同。同属于一个身份的人们聚集在一起。但是，通过我的个人经历，我发现同身份的人更容易相处；而与其他不同身份的人一起，大多数是不愿意与他人亲近的。我的中国朋友父母的朋友圈子大部分都是中国人，其中大部分对外国人都有一定的偏见；我印度朋友父母的朋友圈子几乎也都是印度人，他们希望孩子将来的另一半也是印度人，好像这个民族即将濒临灭绝而要保护似的。
因此，我放弃找寻“我来自哪里”这个问题的答案。不希望无形中建立一座人与人之间的障碍。我希望人与人之间能像榕树一样，虽然扎根在一个地方，但是，却丝毫不影响其根枝的生长。这也是我喜欢TASP的盟友们，并且可以体会出那些西藏人的心境。他们在一起相处生活，没有种族歧视之说。这就是我的故事。我渴望那种人与人最自然的连系而不是那种因为“国籍”而连系在一起的狭隘的概念。
释义
1.The Global Soul,给我们讲述的是作者遍游世界的过程中的所见所闻。
2.Telluride Association,是美国一个非营利性组织，创建于1910年，创始人是 Lucien Lucius Nunn，最初的目的是服务与其家乡Telluride（科罗拉多）的人民。主要是提供免费的教育课程，拓宽人们的知识面，学会自我管理，具备一定的社会责任感。
3.Sanjay Dutt,宝莱坞演员，电影演员与电影制作人。1993年4月因恐怖活动（TADA）被捕。
ESSAY赏析
写作时记住一点：如果没有十足的把握技压群雄，那么，一定要从“现实”着手。写别人所不曾有的经历或故事。招生官想要看到的是有多个方面发展空间和可能的学生。这样，每一个大一新生都可以从别人身上学到很多优势和闪光点，这是在之前的班级里很难做到的。到自己，也可以理解成一种个人营销的手段。如何在别人眼里将自己全方位的展示出来以及自己能为对方创造什么价值。你的展示可以是多角度的：小中见大或层次感鲜明的手法。唯一重要的就是成为哈佛1600名大一新生中的一个。你如何影响周围的人？别人在你这里能学到什么？
在这篇ESSAY里，作者告诉我们他高中前2年就去过10个国家，并且有至少3个国家可以说是非常熟悉的。可以说，这一点就很不一般：因为很少有申请者有如此不凡的经历。
接下来要说的就是作者的跨国家的经历如何让自己脱颖而出？首先，作者不仅有真实的经历，并且通过这些经历给作者奠定了一个台阶：可以让他有足够的阅历去思考一些复杂的问题。关于国籍与身份这类话题可以说是达到了一个博士生的领域，但是作者并没有因此害怕胆怯而选择避而不谈。还有一点就是这篇ESSAY很好的见证了作者的不一般的经历所带给他的更加开放的人物性格。这是许多学校需要的态度。
—Christian Flow
原文参考：
(15)ADITYA BALASUBRAMANIAN—“TRANSNATIONALISM MADE FLESH”
At age six, the question of “Where are you from?” drew the automatic, effortless answer of “India.” A no-brainer if ever there was one. I lived in America; that was all. No further connection.
Moving to Istanbul midway through first grade, I became attuned to my brown skin and the Indian accent of my parents, distinct from that of my peers. The strangeness of attending an American school with a British first-grade teacher named Mrs. Aldemir (“red iron” in Turkish) struck me. I attended a school separated culturally and linguistically from its surroundings. For four years, three countries punctuated my life: America at school, India at home and during the summer, and Turkey on weekends.
Returning to America to complete elementary school restored the first-grade status quo. Yet, moving to Hong Kong for the first two years of high school posed the question of where I was from in a new context. The confidence with which I answered the once obvious “Where are you from?” question disappeared as its answer grew elusive. As the classic insecurity of adolescence hit, the need to grasp my true nationality heightened. I demanded responses from my guides and mentors, who would help me with all other questions but this one. This one challenged me far beyond any other.
In The Global Soul, the travel writer Pico Iyer asks a Vietnamese-American woman where she is from. “America,” she says. Iyer presses on, later unearthing a related anecdote. The lady confesses that once when staying in Vietnam, a hotel chambermaid asked her, “Are you one of us?” in Vietnamese. She replied with a definitive “Yes! I am one of you.” The two contrasting responses capture her “state of statelessness.”
Traveling to ten countries in the first two years of high school added unique complexity to my dilemma. Doesn’t visiting a country, when it’s not a duty-free shopping spree or an experience of cable television at a five-star hotel, but rather a cultural immersion, make someone belong to that country a little?
This past summer I spent six weeks with several global souls at the Telluride Association Summer Program at Cornell (TASP). Our seminar, International Politics on Film, could have as easily been renamed “International Politics Made Flesh.” Although we often mused on the topic of where we came from, we reached no conclusions; the complexity of the question flummoxed us.
I then spent three weeks studying the Tibetan exiles living with the Dalai Lama in northern India. Although they preserve culture and religion through institutes and schools, they staunchly refuse to alienate themselves from the locals, instead coexisting fraternally. Some I met were as interested in whether or not the famous Bollywood actor Sanjay Dutt would get bailed out of jail as they were in news from Tibet. Several were born in India. The Tibetan refugees have more diplomatic missions in foreign lands than some countries have embassies! Where are the Tibetans, with no nation or citizenship, from?
Iyer makes no conclusions on the transnational identity, choosing, like most global souls, to celebrate it rather than define it. That’s a good policy.
Nationality allows easy identification, providing a way to connect with similar people. But through my life I’ve seen that as enthusiastic as people are to bond with others of the same nationality, they are reluctant to share this relationship with people of different nations. My Chinese friends’ parents have mainly Chinese friends, and many view foreigners with scorn. My Indian friends’ families have mainly Indian friends, and they want their kids to marry Indian, as if to protect a dying breed.
So I’ve abandoned the question of where I come from as a mark of insecurity of those who feel the need to erect human barriers. Having roots like a banyan tree and no nation to concretely come from has forced interaction with everyone I meet. That’s why I loved the kids at TASP and could understand the Tibetans’ desire to integrate with the locals; they connect indiscriminately, establishing the human condition itself as a common denominator. And that’s been the story of my life. My yearning for constant human connection defines me better than any myopic notion of nationality ever will.
COMMENTARY
The writing in this essay is not artful or elegant. Rather it succeeds on the strength of its content. One thing to keep in mind as you write your admissions piece—particularly if you don’t feel like the strength of your writing alone will carry you over the bar—is to focus on an experience you can claim that nobody else can. Bear in mind that the admissions team prides itself on piecing together an entering class with as many dimensions as possible, and that it often boasts that its incoming freshmen will learn more from each other than they ever will in the classroom. It’s up to you, then, to sell what fresh dimension you bring, and how that dimension will contribute to the class at large. Your fresh dimension could be something extremely narrow: like that one time in high school you tried to yo-yo while unicycling, or it could be a more general fact of your upbringing or life. What matters most of all is that you justify its consequence to the 1,600 others that will count themselves your classmates for the four years that you are on campus. How will the people around you be affected by the piece of the diversity puzzle you bring? How will they learn and benefit from the experience that you bring to the picture?
In this particular essay, we are informed that the writer has visited “ten countries in the first two years of high school,” and has been a resident of at least three of them—something that adds complexity to issues of nationality. And indeed, this is unique: Very few of the thousands of applicants will be able to claim such extensive international experience.
Now, for the coup de grace: How will the applicant marshal the wealth of international experience in a way that will make him an asset to his class? Well, in the first place, he has not only had experience of these countries, but has evidently used his experiences as a platform upon which to consider some rather complex questions. The problem of nationality and identification would be enough to keep a fleet of doctoral students going for a good while, and this writer hasn’t shied away from it in his life or this essay. Beyond that, there is also a nice little attestation of how his ruminations on nationality have made him a more open person, somebody who yearns for “constant human connection” of all kinds and colors and creeds. That is the sort of open attitude that many colleges are looking for.
—Christian Flow
参考资料：50 Successful Harvard Application Essays third Edition
（原文题目已改）
