by ruoni t., ’30
My to-do list always had one unfinished task. No matter how much time passed, I could never check off “clean closet.”
My closet is a time capsule going on eighteen years. It’s packed with favorite toys, plush animals, retired gymnastics leotards, and grandma-sewn dresses that once decorated my childhood. Shelves are adorned with art projects I once was so proud to showcase and yearbooks scribbled with notes from teachers and friends. The rest includes attempts to discover personal style, cheerleading uniforms, and several memory boxes filled to the brim. The closet holds who I was and who I’ve tried to be.
Every attempt to clean became an excavation. Picking up Littlest Pet Shop figures brought back late nights spent creating storylines. Canvases following painting tutorials showed attempts at being worry-free like Bob Ross. Trophies and medals reminded me of how I learned to flip, terrified and exhilarated at once. Every corner echoed a moment that shaped me.
As I started high school, my collection of memory boxes did too. Boxes with charming designs hold every award, letter, trinket, and photo booth strip. Another box is dedicated to flowers from friends and family that I dried. My cheer bag holds well-used pom poms and cheer shoes. All of them remind me of people I learned from and laughed with. Getting rid of them would feel bittersweet. These feelings were exactly why I could never bring myself to clean my closet before. To accommodate the future, I had to do it. One Saturday morning this spring, I sat cross-legged surrounded by piles and committed to completing the task. For years, I always put everything back in the usual place, too sentimental to let anything go. This time, I set aside what I no longer needed in a donation pile, figuring the clothes, books, and toys could benefit others rather than remain stagnant in my closet. I cleared the shelf of childhood books and old art to make space for nail supplies and more memory boxes. It felt weird. But the longer I sat, the more I valued moving toward the future. I can donate books while remembering what made me love them. I can recycle trophies without forgetting my hard work. I don’t need objects to know I’m loved. I still adore and appreciate the sentimental, but I’ve come to see it as a reminder to cherish growth rather than dwell on the past. The memory boxes are my reminders. The things I’ve let go of have grown with me: painting became nail art, gymnastics became cheer, creating storylines became exploring people.
Since then, I’ve acted on that mindset beyond my closet. I stopped constantly worrying about the past and overthinking interactions and choices. Instead, I began saying yes to things that were previously met with hesitation. The same sentimentality I reserved for objects spread to people, and I developed a love for talking to those I once just observed. I started pouring into my nail hobby and volunteering at the hospital. Through these, I get to know clients, patients, and children. I use my love for art and design to reflect personalities on fingers. I celebrate in the rehab ward when patients are going home. I teach kids to be creative and kind. Though they don’t contribute physical objects to my memory boxes, I treasure their smiles. These moments remind me that my childhood self, who loved stories and color, is still within me.
My closet is not spotless. It grows and cycles out, just like life. As I step into new chapters, new memory boxes will start for college, new people, and new milestones. And with the upcoming growth, I’ll have to leave some things behind; the difference is I now recognize that letting go is part of growing.
The next time I’m tasked to “clean closet,” it won’t take eighteen years.
Admissions Committee Comments
Ruoni turns an ordinary task into a meaningful reflection on identity, memory, and learning how to let go without losing what matters. Her essay includes vivid and specific details that make the story feel authentic, and it shows change through action: donating old belongings, making space for new interests, and becoming more open to people and experiences.
Her essay highlights her creativity, empathy, and growth through service. Ruoni also showcases something we value at Hopkins: a culture of discovery. Cleaning the closet shows her discovering who she is and what she values, which mirrors the kind of growth Hopkins supports through close relationships, residential life, and hands-on opportunities.
Overall, the essay presents a student who is ready to explore and keep evolving in a place like Hopkins.
Ruoni T.“My application lists how I spent my time: playing in my orchestra, leading my cheer team, volunteering at the hospital, and working with children. In my essay on dissecting my closet, I wanted to illustrate my character and love for preserving memories through short and sweet anecdotes. These small details fill the gaps left in my application with a list of just ten things. I hope my essay gave admissions counselors a better understanding of the person behind my activities list—what I value, how I think, and my approach to life.”
