When I Dropped Out At 20, My Sister Told Everyone: “She’s The One Who Didn’t Finish.” Twelve Years Later, I’m Yale’s Dean Of Admissions. One Essay Read: “My Family Moved Past My Aunt’s Setback.” The Name? Amanda Chen. My Niece. I Picked Up My Red Pen And…

” my mother would say, and the unspoken opposite sat in the space between us, heavy and practiced. Sometimes I imagined telling her that I had just stayed up until midnight helping an editor shape a debut novel into something beautiful, or that I had read a manuscript so raw and alive it made me forget to eat lunch, or that despite the rent and the continue reading …