There's a story of mine that I've told about a million different times, and it goes a little something like this.

When I was 10, my family and I packed up our entire lives into large suitcases and dragged them across the Pacific to a foreign land called Canada.

I was put in a school where I was the only Asian kid in my grade, and I got teased for my broken English, Asian features and funny smelling ethnic lunches.

The racism was a real doozy.

But don't feel bad.

Through the magical healing powers of extracurricular activities and pure perseverance, I stand before you today, a new woman: healthy, healed and extremely employable.

You wouldn't even be able to tell from just looking at me that I was once the weird little immigrant girl who begged her mom to pack PB&J sandwiches so she wouldn't have to eat lunch alone in the bathroom.

This is a story that I’ve told in academic essays, job interviews and even in the very application that got me into this fine university.

It's also a story that, despite all of its truth, I've come to hate.

Now this is a story that I don't have copyright claim over.

It's one that continues to be regurgitated by immigrant kids all across the country to be served on a silver platter to prestigious universities who chew these stories and spit out acceptance letters in return.

The contents of the story may change.

Instead of a difficult immigration experience, it might be the death of a loved one, a chronic illness or a racist encounter.

But what remains constant is the moral: A bad thing happened to me, but it made me a good person.

This is part of a larger phenomenon that I'm here to talk about today.

The overwhelming pressure being put on high school students to write about their deepest traumas in their college applications with the hopes that they seem resilient and interesting enough to be given a spot.

I believe that these are not only bad metrics by which to evaluate applicants, but also incredibly harmful to the storyteller themselves and risks reinforcing existing inequities in higher education.

There's also pressure that's being amplified by admissions counselors themselves who play a huge role in influencing what applicants decide to write about.

Take, for example, this tip from the MIT admissions blog, where the author compares two different introductions for a potential essay.

The first one reads: "I'm honored to apply for the Master of Library Science program at the University of Okoboji.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a love affair with books.

Since I was 11, I've wanted to be a librarian."

The second introduction reads: "When I was 11, my great aunt Gretchen passed away and left me something that changed my life: a library of about 5000 books.

Some of my best days were spent arranging and reading her books.

Since then, I've wanted to become a librarian."

The author notes that the second introduction is much more striking and leaves a much better impression.

Consider another tip from collegeessayguy.com, where he advises students to “get personal.”

He says, "Weirdly, including painful memories and what you learned from them usually helps a personal statement meet the goals of a college application essay.

You come off as humble, accessible, likable and mature.”

Confessions from admissions officers themselves can also be telling.

Aya Waller-Bey, a former admissions officer from Georgetown University, said in a "Forbes" article that, "Within months on the job, I saw how the personal statements of Black and other racially minoritized students differed from those of white applicants.

Black students highlighted resilience through stories of survival, while their counterparts wrote casual essays about service abroad and sporting championships.

Black students shared their pain, white students shared their passions.”