Hello, I am an international student from China and I am writing this essay to apply a RD school. This is my fourth edit version after i sent the essay to several of my friends.
Here it is. I'm looking forward to any critical comments. Thanks a lot~
Waiting
The grandfather clock behind me swung its pendulum with adamancy; its hard and heavy strokes shoved me closer to my dance performance on the school's fiftieth year anniversary celebration. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins, sweat coated my palms, and heat enflamed my cheeks. I peeked through the folds of velvet curtain past the blinding white light of the expansive stage and into the dim darkness of so many anxious faces awaiting our performance. It was a large auditorium, boundless and dark like the ocean. Suddenly, the curtains rose; the spotlight pierced the whites of my eyes, and the welcoming applause deafened my ears. In all this chaos, my nervous chatter exploded and anxiety devoured me. And it was in this condition that I followed my dancing troop into the first set of our rhythmic act.
I was excited and nervous, because my dance partner and I would end the dance with an intricate pose, challenging but aesthetically pleasing. We would be center stage while the other dancers surrounded us in an elegant circle. The minutes passed fast, and the ending pose was about to come. Yes, five more beats before the critical moment.
"If it is done right, the crowd will roar" I thought.
FIVE, I ran to my position, nearly losing my direction; FOUR, at the center of the stage, the spotlight focused on me, but it was so glaring; THREE, I opened my arms and divided my legs, but they felt so heavy; TWO, I bent down and stayed low, but felt my body twist out of control; ONE, a pair of hands pushed onto my shoulders; ZERO, I took a deep breath and shut my eyes.
By the time I opened my eyes again, she had fallen and we had collapsed on the floor in a tangle of limbs.
When I walked backstage before the disappointing faces of teachers and dance mates, I waited, waited for their criticism. However, they stood there like figures of the darkness, looming, unbearable and speechless. In their silence, I cried.
Time flew and the end of the semester approached quickly as did the date of the National Secondary School Chinese Dancing Competition. Despite our last performance, we were lucky enough to be invited to compete. In the months leading up to the competition, we practiced hard and waited patiently for the day to prove ourselves again.
The curtain rose once more. The spotlight illuminated the stage, and we executed every turn around and somersault flawlessly, floating nimbly to the music. The minutes passed and I was again at the same moment, five beats until the end.
"What if she falls off my back? What if I cost the team its gold?"
I glanced sideways and saw my friends backstage, clasping hands and anxiously waiting for our success. I saw on in their eyes an unbreakable determination to win, to win nothing more than gold.
FIVE, swallowing my fears, I ran to my position; FOUR, the shining spotlight gave me warmth; THREE, I opened my arms and legs-I had done this hundreds of times; TWO, I bent down and stayed low, my muscles charged to their maximum power; ONE, a pair of hands flew onto my shoulders; ZERO, I looked up and gave the audience my most confident smile.
"Ten, nine... ... two, one" during the ten seconds of supporting the girl on my back, I thought a lot. At that moment, I found myself deeply in love with the stage, and its opportunity to create my own world. I felt happier, stronger and prouder not only because of my successful performance but also because I had endured the long and agonizing wait backstage, a wait that could wrench nerves into knots and turn limbs into leads. In many ways, I live for the wait-the harrowing shadows of soon-to-be-raised curtains, the soft encouraging words drifting between backstage rooms, the quick shuffling of frantic performers, and last but not least, the eternally drumming grandfather clock.
"Pa--" Lights, off. We had done it.
Submerged in the cheers of the audience, I knew that the wait had been worthwhile; that as long as I kept my faith, my self-conviction, I could overcome dismal obstacles and accomplish what my heart yearned. At times the stage can be unforgiving-a stumble, a trip, a loss-but the trick is to never lose focus, to persevere and wait for those precious moments onstage when my body grows wings and my soul flies.
Here it is. I'm looking forward to any critical comments. Thanks a lot~
Waiting
The grandfather clock behind me swung its pendulum with adamancy; its hard and heavy strokes shoved me closer to my dance performance on the school's fiftieth year anniversary celebration. Adrenaline pulsed through my veins, sweat coated my palms, and heat enflamed my cheeks. I peeked through the folds of velvet curtain past the blinding white light of the expansive stage and into the dim darkness of so many anxious faces awaiting our performance. It was a large auditorium, boundless and dark like the ocean. Suddenly, the curtains rose; the spotlight pierced the whites of my eyes, and the welcoming applause deafened my ears. In all this chaos, my nervous chatter exploded and anxiety devoured me. And it was in this condition that I followed my dancing troop into the first set of our rhythmic act.
I was excited and nervous, because my dance partner and I would end the dance with an intricate pose, challenging but aesthetically pleasing. We would be center stage while the other dancers surrounded us in an elegant circle. The minutes passed fast, and the ending pose was about to come. Yes, five more beats before the critical moment.
"If it is done right, the crowd will roar" I thought.
FIVE, I ran to my position, nearly losing my direction; FOUR, at the center of the stage, the spotlight focused on me, but it was so glaring; THREE, I opened my arms and divided my legs, but they felt so heavy; TWO, I bent down and stayed low, but felt my body twist out of control; ONE, a pair of hands pushed onto my shoulders; ZERO, I took a deep breath and shut my eyes.
By the time I opened my eyes again, she had fallen and we had collapsed on the floor in a tangle of limbs.
When I walked backstage before the disappointing faces of teachers and dance mates, I waited, waited for their criticism. However, they stood there like figures of the darkness, looming, unbearable and speechless. In their silence, I cried.
Time flew and the end of the semester approached quickly as did the date of the National Secondary School Chinese Dancing Competition. Despite our last performance, we were lucky enough to be invited to compete. In the months leading up to the competition, we practiced hard and waited patiently for the day to prove ourselves again.
The curtain rose once more. The spotlight illuminated the stage, and we executed every turn around and somersault flawlessly, floating nimbly to the music. The minutes passed and I was again at the same moment, five beats until the end.
"What if she falls off my back? What if I cost the team its gold?"
I glanced sideways and saw my friends backstage, clasping hands and anxiously waiting for our success. I saw on in their eyes an unbreakable determination to win, to win nothing more than gold.
FIVE, swallowing my fears, I ran to my position; FOUR, the shining spotlight gave me warmth; THREE, I opened my arms and legs-I had done this hundreds of times; TWO, I bent down and stayed low, my muscles charged to their maximum power; ONE, a pair of hands flew onto my shoulders; ZERO, I looked up and gave the audience my most confident smile.
"Ten, nine... ... two, one" during the ten seconds of supporting the girl on my back, I thought a lot. At that moment, I found myself deeply in love with the stage, and its opportunity to create my own world. I felt happier, stronger and prouder not only because of my successful performance but also because I had endured the long and agonizing wait backstage, a wait that could wrench nerves into knots and turn limbs into leads. In many ways, I live for the wait-the harrowing shadows of soon-to-be-raised curtains, the soft encouraging words drifting between backstage rooms, the quick shuffling of frantic performers, and last but not least, the eternally drumming grandfather clock.
"Pa--" Lights, off. We had done it.
Submerged in the cheers of the audience, I knew that the wait had been worthwhile; that as long as I kept my faith, my self-conviction, I could overcome dismal obstacles and accomplish what my heart yearned. At times the stage can be unforgiving-a stumble, a trip, a loss-but the trick is to never lose focus, to persevere and wait for those precious moments onstage when my body grows wings and my soul flies.
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