- I reviewed Yale’s admissions file to see what the Ivy League school thought of my application.
- Most of my scores weren’t that impressive, but they really liked my sincerity and excitement.
- Looking back at my application, I was reminded of how far I had come as a student.
“Brian spoke so fast it was shocking.”
These were the first words from my interviewer at Yale University. She wrote those words in my admissions file. She is a document that I finally obtained three years after I was accepted to Yale University.
I remember that interview like it was yesterday. It was a Zoom call. My application cycle occurred in the midst of pandemic remote learning. I was wearing my father’s old, oversized dress and his shirt. The interviewer was a nice person. Some of my answers to her questions probably didn’t make sense, but she was right. She definitely forgot to breathe between sentences.
But years later, when I looked at my admissions file, I got a glimpse of what my interviewer was really thinking that day, and I learned what had gotten me into Yale.
I reviewed the application with the Registrar as a junior
All students in the United States may review their college admissions files under the Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act. I emailed the university’s registrar and a member of her support staff contacted me again within 45 days to schedule a virtual meeting. Photography and recording were not allowed, so I took notes by hand.
There was very little verbal interaction between me and the staff. She screen-shared my admissions documents and let me read them silently. She seemed to understand the emotional weight of this moment for the students, and I appreciated that. It’s scary for a teenager to have their identity compiled into her 650-word Common Application Essay and Questionnaire, but it’s probably even scarier to retroactively witness how everything was judged. .
I got a behind-the-scenes look at Yale admission when Yale read my application
Each aspect of my application was graded out of 9 points. Readers gave me a 6 for my extracurricular activities and first teacher recommendation. They gave me a 7 on her second teacher’s recommendation and counselor’s recommendation. I received an “excellent” rating in the interview and a 2++ overall rating. The overall rating is given on a scale of 1 to 4, with 1 being the best and plus being a good sign.
Overall, my review wasn’t bad by any means, but it wasn’t anything special either. The numbers on the page stared back at me—cold, formulaic, transactional. It felt strange to be reduced to a numerical system, knowing that even qualitative things like extracurricular activities can be broken down and scored.
But beyond the ratings, what really stood out were the comments left by admissions officers. Many of the comments were about my personality, my essay, and my potential to contribute as a student.
“Essay 1 brought me to tears,” one reader wrote about my typical application essay. Another said of the same essay, “His Lunar New Year is nontraditional in that it reminds him of his family’s economic struggles.”
I got emotional. The memory of writing that essay came back to me all at once. I remembered how difficult it was to get started. I knew there was no easy way for someone to understand me without knowing my background. I wanted to prove that I deserved a seat at the table, where traditional students and wealthy people continue to outnumber their low-income, first-generation peers like me.
I continued reading and found more comments from admissions officers that moved me. “He treats his mother well.” “He seems to have a really good heart.” “One of the most intelligent, honest, and cheerful students I’ve ever met.” “Brian yells I have no doubt that he will inspire his colleagues at the university to stand up for what is right.” “I have a strong impression that this student will make a significant contribution to the faculty community.”
I looked for negative comments. There was nothing.
I whispered to myself, “I can’t take this.” Here I was in my third year of college and no longer a 4.0 student. My plans for graduate school were vague, and I was just hoping to survive the midterm exams while juggling two part-time jobs. It was great to know that someone was rooting for me to be here.
The process reminded me of how far I had come.
Coming from an underprivileged family where no one else went to college, I always viewed the Ivy League application process with skepticism.
Without the resources to enroll in SAT exam preparation or the financial safety net to pursue unpaid leadership positions and reopening initiatives at my school, I was unable to afford the “holistic” admissions process that many universities boast. I had doubts. My criticisms of Yale remain numerous.
However, at least in their comments, the admissions committee gave me a reprieve in that they considered my circumstances and reviewed my application. I may never know exactly what happened in that reading room. Still, based on my own viewing experience and conversations with others who have done the same, some lessons ring true. Good character and potential are key. It didn’t have to be perfect.
And finally, I needed to give myself a chance to apply first, no one else.
“GPA stands out, especially in context,” the admissions officer said. “This is a home run.”
