优秀Essay赏析：不属于我的家，庇护了我的梦想
新一年的申请季就要来临，相信很多同学已经在准备文书的过程中了。英文写作对中国学生来说一直都是个不小的挑战。也许你有很多素材，却苦于无法输出。其实最好的方法就是多阅读范文，从别人精彩的文书中获得自己对写作的理解，并应用到自己的作品中。那么，什么才叫精彩的故事呢？
今天就为大家带来一篇《纽约时报》精选的优秀文书。快来看看别人是怎么讲故事的吧！
《纽约时报》每年征集美国学生关于金钱、职业和社会阶层方面的大学申请陈述，并发表其中最出色的文章。今天为大家介绍的范文题为《不属于我的家，庇护了我的梦想》，作者阿巴比是布莱恩高中的学生，即将前往明尼苏达大学就读。
BLAINE, MINN.
Jonathan Ababiy
‘The professors’ home was a
telescope to how the other (more
affluent) half lived’
At age 6, I remember the light filled openness of the house, how the whir of my mother’s vacuum floated from room to room. At 9, I remember how I used to lounge on the couch and watch Disney cartoons on the sideways refrigerator of a TV implanted in a small cave in the wall. At 12, I remember family photographs of the Spanish countryside hanging in every room. At 14, I remember vacuuming each foot of carpet in the massive house and folding pastel shirts fresh out of the dryer.
I loved the house. I loved the way the windows soaked the house with light, a sort of bleach against any gloom. I loved how I could always find a book or magazine on any flat surface.
But the vacuum my mother used wasn’t ours. We never paid for cable. The photographs weren’t of my family. The carpet I vacuumed I only saw once a week, and the pastel shirts I folded I never wore. The house wasn’t mine. My mother was only the cleaning lady, and I helped.
My mother and father had come as refugees almost twenty years ago from the country of Moldova. My mother worked numerous odd jobs, but once I was born she decided she needed to do something different. She put an ad in the paper advertising house cleaning, and a couple, both professors, answered. They became her first client, and their house became the bedrock of our sustenance. Economic recessions came and went, but my mother returned every Monday, Friday and occasional Sunday.
She spends her days in teal latex gloves, guiding a blue Hoover vacuum over what seems like miles of carpet. All the mirrors she’s cleaned could probably stack up to be a minor Philip Johnson skyscraper. This isn’t new for her. The vacuums and the gloves might be, but the work isn’t. In Moldova, her family grew gherkins and tomatoes. She spent countless hours kneeling in the dirt, growing her vegetables with the care that professors advise their protégés, with kindness and proactivity. Today, the fruits of her labor have been replaced with the suction of her vacuum.
The professors’ home was a telescope to how the other (more affluent) half lived. They were rarely ever home, so I saw their remnants: the lightly crinkled New York Times sprawled on the kitchen table, the overturned, half-opened books in their overflowing personal library, the TV consistently left on the National Geographic channel. I took these remnants as a celebrity-endorsed path to prosperity. I began to check out books from the school library and started reading the news religiously.
Their home was a sanctuary for my dreams. It was there I, as a glasses-wearing computer nerd, read about a mythical place called Silicon Valley in Bloomberg Businessweek magazines. It was there, as a son of immigrants, that I read about a young senator named Barack Obama, the child of an immigrant, aspiring to be the president of the United States. The life that I saw through their home showed me that an immigrant could succeed in America, too. Work could be done with one’s hands and with one’s mind. It impressed on me a sort of social capital that I knew could be used in America. The professors left me the elements to their own success, and all my life I’ve been trying to make my own reaction.
Ultimately, the suction of the vacuum is what sustains my family. The squeal of her vacuum reminds me why I have the opportunity to drive my squealing car to school. I am where I am today because my mom put an enormous amount of labor into the formula of the American Dream. It’s her blue Hoover vacuums that hold up the framework of my life. Someday, I hope my diploma can hold up the framework of hers.
我记得6岁那年，宽敞的房间充满亮光，我母亲手中吸尘器的嗡嗡声从一个房间飘到另一个房间。我记得9岁那年，我懒洋洋地躺在长沙发上，看迪士尼卡通片，电视机有冰柜那么大，放在墙上的一个的内嵌里。我记得12岁那年，每个房间都挂着在西班牙乡间拍的家庭合照。我记得14年那年，我在偌大的房子里仔细地给地毯除尘，折叠刚刚烘干的淡色衬衫。
我喜欢那栋房子。我喜欢阳光透过窗户倾洒进来的样子，仿佛可以消散所有愁云。我喜欢自己总是可以在目光所及之处找到书或杂志。
但我母亲使用的吸尘器并不属于我们。我们从未掏过电视费。照片上也不是我的家人。我一周见一次自己清理的地毯，我从未穿过自己叠的淡色衬衫。那栋房子不是我们的。我母亲只是清洁工，而我是她的帮手。
20年前，我父母以难民的身份从摩尔多瓦来到美国。我母亲做过各类兼职工作，但我一出生，她就决定自己需要做些改变。她在报纸上登提供房屋保洁服务的广告，一对教授夫妇回应了她。他们成了她第一家客户，他们的房子成了我们维持生计的基石。经济衰退时来时往，但我母亲每周一和周五都要去那里，有时周日也过去。
她整日戴着天青色的乳胶手套，操着蓝色的胡佛(Hoover)吸尘器，给几英里长的地毯除尘。她擦过的所有镜子几乎可以堆叠成由菲利普·约翰逊(Philip Johnson)打造的亮闪闪的摩天大楼。这对她来说并不陌生。吸尘器和手套或许有些，但这份工作并非如此。在摩尔多瓦，她在家里种小黄瓜和西红柿。她曾花无数个小时跪在泥土里，以教授指导学生的用心程度、以仁慈和积极的态度侍弄她的蔬菜。现在，她劳作的蔬果被换成了吸尘器。
透过教授一家，我可以一窥（更富裕的）另一半人的生活。他们很少待在家，于是我仔细观察他们留下的痕迹：摊在厨房桌子上稍稍发皱的《纽约时报》，丰富的私人图书馆中翻到一半倒扣过去的书，总是停留在国家地理频道的电视。我把这些痕迹当成由名人代言的通往繁荣之路。我开始从学校的图书馆往外借书，并开始认真细心阅读新闻。
他们的家是我的梦想的庇护所。在那里，我这个戴着眼镜的电脑迷从《彭博商业周刊》(Bloomberg Businessweek)上知道了一个名叫硅谷的神秘地方。在那里，我这个移民的儿子读到了一个名叫贝拉克·奥巴马(Barack Obama)的移民之子——年轻参议员立志做美国总统的消息。在他们家感受过的生活告诉我，在美国，移民也可以成功。工作可以用双手来完成，也可以用头脑来完成。我对社会资本有了深刻的概念，我知道在美国可以使用这种资本。两位教授让我看到了他们取得成功的要素，我在生活中一直都在试图做出自己的成果。
最终，吸尘器维持了我们一家的生活。她手中吸尘器的嗡嗡声总在提醒我，我为什么有机会开着哐哐当当的小汽车去上学。我能成为今天的我，是因为我的母亲往美国梦的公式中倾注了无法估计的劳动。她用蓝色胡佛吸尘器撑起了我的生活。有朝一日，我希望能用自己的毕业证书撑起她的生活。
这篇文章篇幅不长，文笔简洁而优美。作者从房子的细节处着墨，如教授家里订阅的杂志、常看的电视频道、妈妈的吸尘器和橡胶手套。从这些打开了自己对知识的渴求和对另一种生活的向往。见微知著，也引出自己虽然出身寒微却有着改善家庭生活的勇气和决心。
相信不论谁感受到这些真切的文字都会被感动。作者并没有说什么轰轰烈烈的大故事，波澜不惊处反而更得人心。
今天的文书赏析就到这里，感谢大家的关注与阅读。之后还会为大家带来精彩的文书，希望为同学们在文书的撰写上提供助力！
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