This is my first draft to the UC prompt:
Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud and how does it relate to the person you are?
It's a little bit too long, and some parts aren't as clear as I want it. Edit please :DDD
My harp teacher always said that my hands don't look like a musician's hands. They are callused, decorated with cuts and bruises that never seem to fade, and sporting a pinky that has been swollen since 2007. During weekly lessons, she would always cluck disapprovingly and shake her head
"These aren't an artist's fingers, it doesn't look like music should flow from them"
I didn't tell her until after I quit that I've agreed with her all these years.
I'm no masochist, but I am proud my misshapen pinky and cuts that mark who I am - a Color Guard member. Since Sophomore year, I have spent every free minute spinning singles on my flags, triples on my rifle, and quads on my sabre. It's amusing to see people's expression when they see my equipment, run their fingers along the smooth silk and gasp at the weight of the weapons. You actually toss these things?
But between weekly 17 hour Guard practices, harp lessons, as well as other extracurricular activities, I became physically and mentally exhausted. The busier I got, the more my teacher and parents began pushing me to quit Guard, that it was just a hobby while harp could become a career, and my peers didn't help either. Each week, I and would hear a colorful range of insults from the passing cars that throw Slurpees and coke bottles at my team. At practice, I would jam my fingers with my rifle or nearly faint from a metal pole ramming into my head, but the thing that frustrated me most was that all this pain seemed for nothing. I worked and bled week after week, and for what? Another soda can lodged into my hair? And let's face it, no one's ever even heard of Guard.
At least with harp, there was some respect. When I play, my neighbors literally stop what they're doing and listen to the notes floating out my kitchen window. I've heard complete strangers outside my house clap when I finish the last note, commenting on the painted golden leaves and velvet covered pedals through the window.
It seemed as if the world had already made and confirmed my decision for me, but the more I truly thought about it by myself, the more I disagreed with everyone. I realized how out of place and lonely I felt whenever I played the music that never seemed to reach past my ears, rough fingers plucking the strings - the way for five years I've hated my teacher's sharp voice and the recital audiences that demanded perfection. I love the way, after eight hours of Guard on Saturdays, my entire body would feel sore but I felt strong and accomplished, breathless in a good way. On the harp, I was always playing for others, but Guard was something that I did for myself, that didn't require other's compliments or approval to make me feel beautiful. During competitions, I would repeat my routines in my head - chase, leap, shunei turn. Set the rifle, toss it up, watch it turn four times, then catch firmly. But not once did I have to remind myself to smile, that I felt right in my own skin
For five years, I've been letting others tell me what is best and good for me, and the day I finally began to think for myself was the day that I quit harp. I told my teacher that I agreed, music wasn't meant for my fingers. On the field, with a flag or rifle rising or falling in my hands, I wanted to tell her that I do have an artist's hands. They were just meant for a different type of art.
Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud and how does it relate to the person you are?
It's a little bit too long, and some parts aren't as clear as I want it. Edit please :DDD
My harp teacher always said that my hands don't look like a musician's hands. They are callused, decorated with cuts and bruises that never seem to fade, and sporting a pinky that has been swollen since 2007. During weekly lessons, she would always cluck disapprovingly and shake her head
"These aren't an artist's fingers, it doesn't look like music should flow from them"
I didn't tell her until after I quit that I've agreed with her all these years.
I'm no masochist, but I am proud my misshapen pinky and cuts that mark who I am - a Color Guard member. Since Sophomore year, I have spent every free minute spinning singles on my flags, triples on my rifle, and quads on my sabre. It's amusing to see people's expression when they see my equipment, run their fingers along the smooth silk and gasp at the weight of the weapons. You actually toss these things?
But between weekly 17 hour Guard practices, harp lessons, as well as other extracurricular activities, I became physically and mentally exhausted. The busier I got, the more my teacher and parents began pushing me to quit Guard, that it was just a hobby while harp could become a career, and my peers didn't help either. Each week, I and would hear a colorful range of insults from the passing cars that throw Slurpees and coke bottles at my team. At practice, I would jam my fingers with my rifle or nearly faint from a metal pole ramming into my head, but the thing that frustrated me most was that all this pain seemed for nothing. I worked and bled week after week, and for what? Another soda can lodged into my hair? And let's face it, no one's ever even heard of Guard.
At least with harp, there was some respect. When I play, my neighbors literally stop what they're doing and listen to the notes floating out my kitchen window. I've heard complete strangers outside my house clap when I finish the last note, commenting on the painted golden leaves and velvet covered pedals through the window.
It seemed as if the world had already made and confirmed my decision for me, but the more I truly thought about it by myself, the more I disagreed with everyone. I realized how out of place and lonely I felt whenever I played the music that never seemed to reach past my ears, rough fingers plucking the strings - the way for five years I've hated my teacher's sharp voice and the recital audiences that demanded perfection. I love the way, after eight hours of Guard on Saturdays, my entire body would feel sore but I felt strong and accomplished, breathless in a good way. On the harp, I was always playing for others, but Guard was something that I did for myself, that didn't require other's compliments or approval to make me feel beautiful. During competitions, I would repeat my routines in my head - chase, leap, shunei turn. Set the rifle, toss it up, watch it turn four times, then catch firmly. But not once did I have to remind myself to smile, that I felt right in my own skin
For five years, I've been letting others tell me what is best and good for me, and the day I finally began to think for myself was the day that I quit harp. I told my teacher that I agreed, music wasn't meant for my fingers. On the field, with a flag or rifle rising or falling in my hands, I wanted to tell her that I do have an artist's hands. They were just meant for a different type of art.
