流萤集丨Selven 约翰霍普金斯大学录取：顺其自然，游向属于我的汪洋

Selven的经济学论文2025入围约翰·洛克（John Locke）论文竞赛Shortlist，全球入围率为18.65%。

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There are about 8.1 billion people alive today—just 6.92% of everyone who has ever lived. As the population grows, each individual occupies an ever smaller place in history.

The internet has erased the boundaries of time and space, making comparison inevitable. During university applications, one question kept returning to me:

What makes me unique?

At first glance, uniqueness seems to mean standing out from the crowd. Unfortunately, surrounded by extraordinary classmates, I always felt rather ordinary.

The first mountains I had to climb were my parents.

Both are humanities researchers, yet they never imposed rigid expectations on me. Instead of enrolling me in endless tutoring classes, they quietly filled my bookshelf with popular science books and my iPad with educational games disguised as entertainment. At home, philosophical debates were simply part of daily life.

Ironically, growing up surrounded by philosophy convinced me that I would never study it. Perhaps that subconscious resistance was what eventually drew me toward music.

My childhood was wonderfully free. I tried painting, piano, dance, robotics, tennis—almost everything. But this relaxed upbringing also meant I never became someone driven by competition.

As school became increasingly exam-oriented, I gradually lost confidence. While classmates excelled in advanced mathematics and language exams, I found myself falling behind. Eventually, I escaped into online communities, video games, writing fiction, and organizing fan events for my favorite comic artists.

Looking back, perhaps I was never meant to follow a perfectly linear academic path.

Joining ISA transformed my world.

Grades no longer depended on a single exam but on countless assignments, presentations, laboratory reports, and assessments. Yet when university applications arrived, I realized that transcripts filled only a few pages. The rest demanded something far more difficult: a story.

It felt as though everyone around me had discovered their own stage. Some were clearing hurdles, others performing concerts, while I was still searching for my lane.

My real anxiety surfaced during Grade 10 when I entered a psychology competition. Looking through potential teammates' profiles, I saw achievements that seemed impossibly impressive—HOSA Gold Medals, IELTS Band 8, debate championships, John Locke shortlist... Many of them were my age.

Unlike many people, I have never believed that passion alone can sustain years of work. Dreams describe moments; studying and practicing require persistence.

If I'm being honest, I often wanted to do as little as possible.

Perhaps that was why music attracted me. Learning psychology could be done independently, but becoming a musician required something much more immersive.

Then one night, while listening to Hamilton, everything changed.

It wasn't simply that I fell in love with music. It was a sudden realization that I no longer wanted the life I had planned for myself.

That same evening, I abandoned my previous application strategy and began researching conservatories instead.

After deciding to pursue music, I wanted to leave psychology behind.

My parents and university counsellors encouraged me not to. They advised me to keep psychology as a parallel option.

Unexpectedly, once music became my primary identity, I found myself enjoying psychology again—not because it would strengthen my application, but because I genuinely wanted to learn.

Soon, "keeping one option as a backup" evolved into pursuing both wholeheartedly.

The second half of Grade 11 and the first half of Grade 12 became the most exhausting period of my life.

I was taking Higher Level Psychology, Biology, and Economics while building an entirely separate music portfolio after school.

My teachers at ISA gave me extraordinary support. They held make-up lessons when I missed class, encouraged me through periods of anxiety, and trusted me even when I struggled to trust myself.

Still, despite completing John Locke essays, reading hundreds of research papers for my Extended Essay, and squeezing psychology competitions into music summer schools, my compositions refused to come together.

Three months before application deadlines, I completely lost the ability to compose. I changed direction entirely and had to create four brand-new film scoring pieces. At the time, I believed I would fail at everything.

On 20 November 2025, only ten days remained before several major application deadlines.

As I stared blankly at my activities list, two messages arrived almost simultaneously.

One was from my composition teacher, asking about my portfolio.

The other was from the University of Cambridge, inviting me to interview for Psychology.

Ironically, only the day before, I had told my psychology teacher that I almost wished Cambridge would reject me outright because I had spent the previous two months thinking only about music.

Yet those same two months quietly changed me.

When listening to other students' compositions, I no longer felt intimidated. Instead of comparing achievements, I found myself studying techniques and wondering how I could improve my own work.

For the first time, my attention shifted away from others and back to myself.

The following weeks were unforgettable. A broken computer screen, endless deadlines, four compositions completed in just days, university essays finished hours before submission, Cambridge interview preparation squeezed into every remaining moment.

The interview did not go well. Afterwards, I avoided everything related to Cambridge and psychology until I received my offer from the University of Hong Kong.

Cambridge rejected me. And Johns Hopkins University's Peabody Institute awarded me a scholarship worth USD 38,000 per year.

More importantly, I finally understood the different places that music and psychology occupy in my life.

While writing this reflection, I read many stories from previous graduates.Most were inspirational. I wanted to write something different.

I wanted to write about confusion, hesitation, wrong turns, and uncertainty. Back in middle school, my teacher once asked us to write our study plan. I wrote only four Chinese characters: "Go with the flow."

Years later, I realized those four words had quietly defined my entire journey. Looking backward, our lives appear to follow a clear path. Living through them, however, nothing feels predetermined. Life is less like running on a track than drifting across an open ocean.

I never had a perfect plan. I abandoned the SAT, missed opportunities, changed directions repeatedly, and often stumbled into unexpected experiences—such as composing the soundtrack for a friend's documentary, which eventually became one of the most meaningful items on my application.

Together with my competitions, essays, grades, recommendations, and countless imperfect moments, these experiences formed an honest portrait of my four years of high school. Perhaps that is what people mean by vulnerability.

Stories have always followed familiar patterns. Applications do, too. Maybe uniqueness itself is an illusion.

Yet we still cry over books, films, and music because every familiar story is lived by a different person.

As I write these final paragraphs, Youngso Kim's Like A Star is playing through my headphones. Sound becomes electrical signals, then thoughts, then emotions—what philosophers call qualia.

Suddenly, I remember telling my parents in Grade 9 that applying to both British and American universities was already difficult, and applying for both academic and music programmes would be nearly impossible.

Yet somehow, I did both.

My winding high school journey has finally reached its conclusion. So I will end with the opening sentence of one of the greatest novels ever written—a novel I still have not managed to finish:

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."

First and foremost, my deepest gratitude goes to my parents and family. They have spared no effort in supporting every decision I made, providing a nurturing environment in which I could truly flourish. Although I have often yearned to forge a completely unique path, every step of my journey bears their gentle imprint. I hope to carry this legacy forward as I chart a new course towards the future.

My heartfelt thanks also go to my teachers, whose dedicated guidance has shaped the person I am today:

My Psychology teacher, EE and CAS Supervisor, Tammy. She is both a mentor and a friend to me. She has been an invaluable guide on my psychological journey and throughout my senior school years, constantly bearing witness to my growth.

My Economics teacher and Mentor, Jason. He has always held unwavering belief in me, constantly encouraging me in my Economics studies. He celebrated my every success, no matter how small—even when I managed to mentally calculate two-digit addition and subtraction correctly.

My Biology teachers: Wendy, a highly efficient and resolute teacher whose classes always gave me a profound sense of reassurance; and Lindsay, immensely professional and dedicated, who, along with Judy, stayed with me in the laboratory until past 6:00 pm on the Lantern Festival, and patiently helped me polish my IA, draft after draft, during the spring holiday.

My Mathematics teacher, Nancy. She possesses an inspiring sense of conviction, and her passionate, highly engaging teaching style never failed to captivate us.

My English teachers: Veronica, who has guided me the longest and exceptionally prepared me for both TOEFL and English B; and Sam Cen, who feels more like a dear friend than a teacher, inspiring me daily with her vibrant and positive presence on my WeChat Moments.

My Chinese teachers: Ada, whose witty and engaging classes rekindled my passion for literature, and who could always pinpoint the flaws in my analysis with remarkable precision; and Irene, though I never took her classes, patiently guided me through my IO topic selection and helped refine my presentation script, offering invaluable support for my IO.

My TOK teachers, Peter and Michael, who provided me with entirely new perspectives through which to view and understand the world.

My University Counsellors, Jessie and Sam Zeng; our DP Coordinator, Jessica; and my Year Heads, Grace and June. Thank you all for your unwavering understanding, trust, and patience throughout the university application season.

To my dear friends who have walked alongside me on this journey:

A certain 'anonymous carrot', who added a vibrant splash of colour to my otherwise monotonous senior school life. Countless 'headless turkey' emojis on Teams and endless chat logs bear witness to every major decision I made over the past four years, accompanying me through those gruelling 4:30 am mornings. May every puppy find their unique potted plant; may she live happily on the island, and remain a carefree, wonderfully free carrot.

Ruixuan Hu, my junior high classmate and an exceptional partner during my senior high years, who carried my name all the way to the Cannes Film Festival. May we meet again at the very peak of our journeys.

Shuchen Li, who provided immense support while I was preparing for my Cambridge interview. It is a pity we did not manage to meet in the UK, but I am certain our paths will cross again.

To Helena, Iris, Alice, Gordon, Angel, Zeng Yufei, Li Yu... and everyone who has shared in my joy and extended a helping hand along the way. I wish I could list every single one of your names, but that would turn this acknowledgement into an endless roll call. If you have patiently read this far, please know this is for you. Thank you for being a part of my life and for making my world so much brighter.

Finally, my thanks go to my prefrontal cortex, for making those crucial and decisive choices at every crossroads of my life.