youaresokrunk
Dec 3, 2011
Undergraduate / 'My musical career' - Commonapp [3]
My life is composed of a bittersweet symphony. From the lively overture to the romanticizing cadenza, each movement builds upon another. Like music with dynamics and timbre that add depth and complexity, my life has had its ups and downs. The intricacy contributes to the continuous rise of my independence.
My musical career began in large ensembles where I carelessly played without consequences. Similarly, my childhood was defined in one word - easy. I was Daddy's little princess and our family received every ounce of his love. Even when I foolishly stole a classmate's toy, my father forgave me without any hesitation. He managed to find happiness in those disheartening times. Too late would I recognize the unconditional love my father had for me. I never had the opportunity to thank him for his sacrifices and strength. I never even had the chance to tell him one last time that I loved him.
As I matured musically, quartets allowed a greater focus on myself; in life, my responsibilities began to increase in importance. During a school trip in the fifth grade, I received a call that would forever change my life's direction. The deadly disease of cancer had consumed my father. Tears instantly gushed down my cheeks as silence pierced both ends of the line. I refused to accept the news as I spent countless nights drowning in my own tears and inevitably creeping into a state of severe mourning. My mother and I eventually grew to face the music, keeping my father's legacy of perpetual happiness alive. We grew closer as she endured hour-long drives to the familiar community of Chinatown and we took on my father's laborious duties, religiously watching instructional videos on YouTube. It was sink or swim, and I chose to swim. This loss taught me to let nothing hinder me from reaching the unknown.
Symphonies culminate in cadenzas, amplifying each note and leaving no blemish unnoticed. My mother suffered a stroke as my middle school years ended, losing some speech function and becoming impaired on her right side. She unwillingly let me feed her small spoonfuls of food only because she had no choice. I persistently sought her out, but she had no intentions of retaliating. Her stroke triggered a denial that made it harder for me. However, she slowly gained twice over in her candor whatever she had lost. My name was frequently used as she constantly called for me. I became a translator and a human cane, deciphering broken messages and helping her walk. No longer did she endure the hour-long drives to Chinatown. Instead, I took hold of the wheel. I learned to think as I became the intermediary between my mom and her daily tasks. I proactively anticipated my mother's words and actions; my mom now says my name more seldom.
In music as in life, the show must go on. After seventeen years, my first symphony has come to an end. Perseverance has rewarded me with appreciation and knowledge. I took on the responsibilities of adulthood, and in doing so, I learned how to conduct myself. As I approached the intimidating stage of life, my audience did not see the imminent music that they would soon experience. As soon as the final notes of my cadenza rang through the concert hall, the celestial applauses encouraged me to cling onto my father's legacy of relentless happiness and love through my times of adversity and joy.
My life is composed of a bittersweet symphony. From the lively overture to the romanticizing cadenza, each movement builds upon another. Like music with dynamics and timbre that add depth and complexity, my life has had its ups and downs. The intricacy contributes to the continuous rise of my independence.
My musical career began in large ensembles where I carelessly played without consequences. Similarly, my childhood was defined in one word - easy. I was Daddy's little princess and our family received every ounce of his love. Even when I foolishly stole a classmate's toy, my father forgave me without any hesitation. He managed to find happiness in those disheartening times. Too late would I recognize the unconditional love my father had for me. I never had the opportunity to thank him for his sacrifices and strength. I never even had the chance to tell him one last time that I loved him.
As I matured musically, quartets allowed a greater focus on myself; in life, my responsibilities began to increase in importance. During a school trip in the fifth grade, I received a call that would forever change my life's direction. The deadly disease of cancer had consumed my father. Tears instantly gushed down my cheeks as silence pierced both ends of the line. I refused to accept the news as I spent countless nights drowning in my own tears and inevitably creeping into a state of severe mourning. My mother and I eventually grew to face the music, keeping my father's legacy of perpetual happiness alive. We grew closer as she endured hour-long drives to the familiar community of Chinatown and we took on my father's laborious duties, religiously watching instructional videos on YouTube. It was sink or swim, and I chose to swim. This loss taught me to let nothing hinder me from reaching the unknown.
Symphonies culminate in cadenzas, amplifying each note and leaving no blemish unnoticed. My mother suffered a stroke as my middle school years ended, losing some speech function and becoming impaired on her right side. She unwillingly let me feed her small spoonfuls of food only because she had no choice. I persistently sought her out, but she had no intentions of retaliating. Her stroke triggered a denial that made it harder for me. However, she slowly gained twice over in her candor whatever she had lost. My name was frequently used as she constantly called for me. I became a translator and a human cane, deciphering broken messages and helping her walk. No longer did she endure the hour-long drives to Chinatown. Instead, I took hold of the wheel. I learned to think as I became the intermediary between my mom and her daily tasks. I proactively anticipated my mother's words and actions; my mom now says my name more seldom.
In music as in life, the show must go on. After seventeen years, my first symphony has come to an end. Perseverance has rewarded me with appreciation and knowledge. I took on the responsibilities of adulthood, and in doing so, I learned how to conduct myself. As I approached the intimidating stage of life, my audience did not see the imminent music that they would soon experience. As soon as the final notes of my cadenza rang through the concert hall, the celestial applauses encouraged me to cling onto my father's legacy of relentless happiness and love through my times of adversity and joy.