有人给这个群体画过像吗？我感觉是收入不高，比较浪漫理想化的一群年轻人？ 会有仇富倾向？无病呻吟， 喜欢意识流？
我有次在高中做自愿者时碰到一个，很年轻， 需要到处出差。 谈了几句就问我都看了什么书？
看看这篇被哈佛录取的文书？感觉狗--PI--不--通， 无病呻吟。 都是这类货色被入选吗？
Thoughts Behind a Steam-Coated Door
By Neha Mahajan
Till taught by pain, men really know not what good water’s worth.
— Lord Byron
A light gauze of steam coats the transparent door of my shower. The temperature knob is turned as far as it can go, and hot drops of water penetrate my skin like tiny bullets. The rhythm of water dancing on the floor creates a blanket of soothing sound that envelops me, muffling the chaotic noises of our thin-walled house. Tension in my back that I didn’t even know existed oozes out of my pores into streams of water cascading in glistening paths down my body. I breathe in a mist of herbal-scented shampoo and liquid Dove soap, a welcome change from the semi-arid air of Colorado. In the shower, I am alone. No younger siblings barging unannounced into my room, no friends interrupting me with the shrill ring of the telephone, no parents nagging me about finishing college essays.
The ceramic tiles that line my bathroom wall have the perfect coefficient of absorption for repeated reflections of sound waves to create the wonderful reverberation that makes my shower an acoustic dream. The two by four stall is transformed into Carnegie Hall as Neha Mahajan, world-renowned musician, sings her heart out into a shampoo bottle microphone. I lose myself in the haunting melisma of an aalaap, the free singing of improved melodies in classical Indian music. I perfect arrangements for a capella singing, practice choreography for Excalibur, and improvise songs that I will later strum on my guitar.
Sometimes I sit in the shower and cry, my salty tears mingling with the clear drops upon my face until I can no longer tell them apart. I have cried with the despair of my friend and mentor in the Rape Crisis Team when she lost her sister in a vicious case of domestic abuse, cried with the realization of the urgency of my work. I have cried with the inevitable tears after watching "Dead Poets Society" for the seventh time. I have cried with the sheer frustration of my inability to convince a friend that my religious beliefs and viewpoints are as valid as hers. Within these glass walls, I can cry, and my tears are washed away by the stinging hot water of the shower.
The water that falls from my gleaming brass showerhead is no ordinary tap water. It is infused with a mysterious power able to activate my neurons. My English teachers would be amazed if they ever discovered how many of my compositions originated in the bathroom. I have rarely had a case of writer’s block that a long, hot shower couldn’t cure. This daily ritual is a chance for me to let my mind go free, to catch and reflect over any thoughts that drift through my head before they vanish like the ephemeral flashes of fireflies. I stand with my eyes closed, water running through my dripping hair, and try to derive the full meaning conveyed in chapter six of my favorite book, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." I’ll be lathering shampoo into the mass of tangles that is my hair as I work on a synesthesia for the next two lines of a poem, or the conditioner will be slowly soaking through when I experience an Archimedean high, as a hard-to-grasp physics concept presented earlier in the day suddenly reveals itself to me. Now if only they had let me take that AP Calculus test in the shower…
The sparkles of falling water mesmerize me into reflection. Thoughts tumbling in somersaults soften into a dewy mellowness. Do these drops of water carry a seed of consciousness within them? As I watch the water winking with the reflected light of the bathroom, it appears to glow in the fulfillment of its karma. Then, for a split second, all thoughts cease to exist and time stands still in a moment of perfect silence and calm like the mirror surface of a placid lake.
I know I have a tendency to deplete the house supply of hot water, much to the annoyance of the rest of my family. I know I should heed my mother’s continual warnings of the disastrous state of my skin after years of these long showers; as it is, I go through two bottles of lotion a month to cure my post-shower “prune” syndrome. But my shower is too important to me. It is a small pocket of time away from the frantic deadline and countless places to be and things to do. It is a chance to reflect and enjoy—a bit of welcome friction to slow down a hectic day. The water flows into a swirling spiral down the drain beneath my feet. It cleanses not only my body but my mind and soul, leaving the bare essence that is me.
蒸汽笼罩的门后的思绪
作者：尼哈·马哈詹
“直到痛苦教会人们，人们才真正知道好水的价值。”
——拜伦勋爵
一层薄薄的蒸汽覆盖在我淋浴间的透明门上。温度旋钮被转到最大，滚烫的水滴如同小子弹般渗入我的皮肤。水在地板上跳舞的节奏创造了一层舒缓的声音包围着我，掩盖了我们薄墙房子的混乱噪音。我背部的紧张感在我甚至不知道存在的情况下通过我的毛孔渗出，变成闪亮的小溪在我身体上流淌。我吸入一股草药香味的洗发水和液体Dove肥皂的雾气，这是科罗拉多半干旱空气中的一种受欢迎的变化。在淋浴间，我是孤独的。没有弟弟妹妹不经意地闯进我的房间，没有朋友打电话打断我，没有父母唠叨我完成大学申请论文。
覆盖我浴室墙壁的瓷砖具有完美的吸音系数，可以反复反射声波，创造出一种奇妙的混响，使我的淋浴间成为一个声学梦想。这个两乘四的淋浴间变成了卡内基音乐厅，尼哈·马哈詹，这位世界知名的音乐家，用洗发水瓶当麦克风尽情歌唱。我迷失在印度古典音乐中自由旋律的诱人音调中。我完善了无伴奏合唱的编排，练习Excalibur的编舞，并即兴创作后来我将在吉他上弹奏的歌曲。
有时我坐在淋浴间里哭泣，咸咸的眼泪和脸上的清水混在一起，直到我无法再分辨它们。我曾为我在强奸危机团队中的朋友和导师失去了她的妹妹在一场恶性家庭暴力事件中而感到绝望的哭泣，我意识到我的工作紧迫性的哭泣。我在第七次观看《死亡诗社》后不可避免地流泪了。我因无法说服一个朋友我的宗教信仰和观点与她的一样有效而感到的纯粹沮丧而哭泣。在这些玻璃墙内，我可以哭泣，我的泪水被淋浴的热水冲走。
从我闪亮的黄铜淋浴喷头流下的水不是普通的自来水。它充满了一种神秘的力量，能够激活我的神经元。我的英语老师会惊讶地发现我有多少作文是从浴室开始的。我很少有一个长时间的热水澡不能治愈的写作障碍。这种日常仪式是让我放飞思想的机会，捕捉和反思任何在我脑海中漂浮的想法，然后在它们像萤火虫的短暂闪光一样消失之前。我闭着眼睛站着，水从我的滴水的头发上流过，试图理解我最喜欢的书《禅与摩托车维修艺术》第六章传达的全部意义。我会在我的头发纠结成团的时候涂上洗发水，当我为下一行诗句的共感工作时，护发素会慢慢渗透，当一天早些时候提出的难以捉摸的物理概念突然向我揭示时，我会经历一个阿基米德的高光时刻。如果他们让我在淋浴间参加AP微积分考试就好了……
水的闪光让我迷失在反思中。翻筋斗的思绪柔和成露水般的温和。这些水滴内是否携带着意识的种子？当我看着水在浴室反射光线时，它似乎在履行其业力中发光。然后，在一瞬间，所有的思绪都不复存在，时间在一片完美的寂静和平静中静止下来，像一面平静湖泊的镜面。
我知道我有耗尽家里热水供应的倾向，这让我的家人非常恼火。我知道我应该听我母亲不断警告我多年来这些长时间淋浴后我的皮肤灾难状态的警告；事实上，我每月需要用两瓶乳液来治疗我的淋浴后“梅干”综合症。但我的淋浴对我来说太重要了。这是一个从紧张的最后期限和无数要去的地方和要做的事情中抽身出来的小口袋时间。这是一个反思和享受的机会——一天忙碌
