Romancing the Reader. Kenneth Qin Saline High School 2011 Stanford University 2015. Why Am I Here?. Because I got into Stanford Not because I’m especially good at speaking Or particularly romantic Nothing can guarantee college acceptance Show your best and hope for the best. Education.
Romancing the Reader
Saline High School 2011
Stanford University 2015
Hint: Definitely wouldn’t have succeeded if I had lived in China.
Virtually all of Stanford's undergraduates live on campus. Write a note to your future roommate that reveals something about you or that will help your roommate - and us - know you better.
It isn’t the paper speaking; it’s you.
My toilet flushes in F-sharp. My thermos rings in C. And last summer, when a series of tornadoes threatened my city, the sirens that wailed every night were in A. In hopes of creating reliable pitch cues, I double-check the frequency of each familiar tone to make sure it hasn't changed. I hope, dear roommate, that you possess perfect pitch—the rare inborn ability to identify such notes automatically—because I do not. But if the lack of perfect pitch is a disability, then I'm the Paralympic athlete who uses all his resources—both material and motivational—to sprint to the finish.
“Real life doesn’t live up to writing about it.” – Jeffrey Eugenides
My secret lies in these pitch cues. I may recognize every interval in a song, but I won't know any note names until—ding!—some well-placed cue reveals the key. This pseudo-perfect pitch certainly does the job. I've arranged two a cappella pieces for Saline's Senior Singers, written a mini-musical for the marching band, and entertained countless audience members by taking requests on the piano—anything from Katy Perry to Super Mario Bros. On occasion, I even have the nerve to challenge a fellow percussionist with perfect pitch to a timpani-tuning race.
Relevance to you, or relevance to the college.
Musicianship is my ultimate goal, but the simplest way for me to continue my training is by identifying new cues. Countless hums, dings, and beeps await me at Stanford, just begging to be added to my database. So if disaster strikes and the sirens begin blaring, you can find me in the bathroom, cross-referencing pitches.