Undergraduate /
Walk on the Wild Road;Personal Statement [11]
Walk on the Wild RoadThere was a freeway which was visible through the window of my bedroom. Every day, the ceaseless stream of traffic was moving straightly from the same direction, on the same road, permanently dull and grey.
I watched the rushing cars attentively, thinking about the question that was just raised once more by them.
"What do you want to do when you grow up?"
"I don't know." Again I answered perfunctorily, afraid of being mocked like my friends did when I told them hip-hop was the thing that I would pursue for life.
One year later, I was standing on the stage, grasping the mic tightly with my sweating palm. The auditorium was filled with restless audience yelling. I lifted the mic slowly.
A shrill of feedback.
My own verses exploded in the house, describing the walled cubicles we live, the polluted air we breathe, the censorships we meet... Some students were quietly sitting down there with strange and confused countenances, but the impatient clamor was louder, so I began to shout. Now, sprouted in my mind was the scornfulness in the eyes of the dean skimming my proposal, the bewilderment on the faces passing by the hip-hop club's poster...The words were subconsciously flowing out of my absent mind, my voice quivering, my head bobbing awkwardly on each downbeat vibrating with my eardrums.
I had known that the performance would turn into a disaster. This is China, after all. And I am too much an idealist anywhere in the world, rapping about those sensitive topics, worshiping and lecturing on the style of obscure foreign music, reggae, funk or bebop, which was out of fashion decades ago. But when I read about the white hip-hop devotees such as Jonathan Shecter, the Harvard graduate who established the magazine to promote the positive spirit of the culture with meager payback and Rick Rubin, who produced the creative rap music out of his dorm room as a film major at NYU, I found out the idealists the mainstream never touts. I realized though this increasingly materialistic world is forcing individuals to get on the fast lane, what I want to do deep in my heart is to hold on to my enthusiasm and ideal, regardless of my complexion, others' recognition and final outcomes.
So, why would I give up my voice right now in the blessing of hip-hop, because of the upcoming harangue of the dean in that Ideological Education Office? Why would I compromise my principle, my stage and my rugged road because of being a weirdo perceived by people on that level "freeway"?
Now, I just enjoyed my fleeting moment. I was shouting with all my efforts, clutching at my school uniform, squeezing all my energy, soul and indignation into my hoarse voice. The dazzling spotlights scorching my forehead made the scene surreal. I felt like a warrior fighting with the storm. More excitingly, I felt like living first in my lifetime.
Barely hearing any applause, I turned into the backstage, smiling.
"He's insane." I heard a contemptuous tone faintly.
Maybe.
For me, I just happened to step into another road rather than the jammed freeway. I am walking steadfastly on my wild road, along which I walk alone in the unknown, in which nothing is guaranteed in the other end, neither a respected job, nor boundless happiness, but becoming myself, one of a kind.
This is a essay that I rewrote just a few days ago. And there is an another version of PS about hip-hop giving me the courage to express. Which topic do you think would be better? If you leave some comments to mine I will also comment on yours. Please be harsh. Thanks a lot! :)