The deadline is Jan 15...so you can imagine my situation...
Please please help me!! Tell me your feeling after reading (I wanna see if I made my points effectively) and check my grammar errors!!!
THANK U!!! Welcome all criticism!
"Er...what?" S/he replies with confusion and embarrassment, the brows knitting. This response occurs often after I talking to someone in high spirit---- Neither is the audience napping nor I am telling some lame jokes----for no other reason than my voice, yes, my naturally feeble voice.
I talk as others whisper; others talk as I shout. Even worse, thanks to the physical law, I cannot hear my voice same as what others hear thus I don't realize it at all. My friend once said I need a microphone with me. I agreed dimly, remembering how my parents pointing out my shyness and reticence, which are revealed by my faint voice, as my huge disadvantages all the time through my childhood. Still, my voice does not really influence my life until I was become the president of the school Drama Club.
The club used to perform the plays acclaiming the politics under the orders of the school on the Art Festival. I believe the club should not be a screw of propaganda machine and I could not bear doing nothing while sitting on the position. So I decided to be a renegade by leading the club to play our original story. Aware of my light voice, I almost yelled----rather than talked----when I made the speeches or directed the rehearsals, squeezing all the air out of my lung as hard as I could. When I communicated with various teachers, I heard my voice, not resonant but resolute, with strength of the will of making a change.
Our play was permitted to perform at last. I did surprisingly what I had never done before. I felt, however, puzzled. Was not I the introverted girl with few words?
Afterwards, I was recommended to take part in the OM competition on the behalf of school. This time, besides playwriting and directing, I had to act myself. After persuading the best dancer to join us, after staying at school during the winter vacation to make the props and scenery, and specially, after shutting myself in the empty classroom to shout freely and get a sense of my voice, the day finally came.
Catching our self-composed music, I , the angry teacher, took a breath and stroke onto the front stage. Ignoring the blurry faces of the great crowd, forgetting the tension totally, I rolled out my words, "scolding" the poor student. As if the laughter and noise came from another distant space, it was silent in my world, only my voice roaring. It sounded dareful and leaving slightest hesitation behind. At that moment, I was entirely free, without labels. I was not the shy girl in my parents' disappointed words, not the successful leader in teachers' eyes; I was the angry teacher;I was everybody;I was mere myself. I realized for the first time how deeply my parents' view influenced me as a little child. It was not the shyness or my light voice got in my way, but rejecting to accept my complete true self, which led to lose my confidence, hindered my pace.
I do not need a microphone;the effective one is already in my heart. I love my voice, no matter it is feeble or loud, soft or tough. It is just my own voice, making who I am.
Please please help me!! Tell me your feeling after reading (I wanna see if I made my points effectively) and check my grammar errors!!!
THANK U!!! Welcome all criticism!
"Er...what?" S/he replies with confusion and embarrassment, the brows knitting. This response occurs often after I talking to someone in high spirit---- Neither is the audience napping nor I am telling some lame jokes----for no other reason than my voice, yes, my naturally feeble voice.
I talk as others whisper; others talk as I shout. Even worse, thanks to the physical law, I cannot hear my voice same as what others hear thus I don't realize it at all. My friend once said I need a microphone with me. I agreed dimly, remembering how my parents pointing out my shyness and reticence, which are revealed by my faint voice, as my huge disadvantages all the time through my childhood. Still, my voice does not really influence my life until I was become the president of the school Drama Club.
The club used to perform the plays acclaiming the politics under the orders of the school on the Art Festival. I believe the club should not be a screw of propaganda machine and I could not bear doing nothing while sitting on the position. So I decided to be a renegade by leading the club to play our original story. Aware of my light voice, I almost yelled----rather than talked----when I made the speeches or directed the rehearsals, squeezing all the air out of my lung as hard as I could. When I communicated with various teachers, I heard my voice, not resonant but resolute, with strength of the will of making a change.
Our play was permitted to perform at last. I did surprisingly what I had never done before. I felt, however, puzzled. Was not I the introverted girl with few words?
Afterwards, I was recommended to take part in the OM competition on the behalf of school. This time, besides playwriting and directing, I had to act myself. After persuading the best dancer to join us, after staying at school during the winter vacation to make the props and scenery, and specially, after shutting myself in the empty classroom to shout freely and get a sense of my voice, the day finally came.
Catching our self-composed music, I , the angry teacher, took a breath and stroke onto the front stage. Ignoring the blurry faces of the great crowd, forgetting the tension totally, I rolled out my words, "scolding" the poor student. As if the laughter and noise came from another distant space, it was silent in my world, only my voice roaring. It sounded dareful and leaving slightest hesitation behind. At that moment, I was entirely free, without labels. I was not the shy girl in my parents' disappointed words, not the successful leader in teachers' eyes; I was the angry teacher;I was everybody;I was mere myself. I realized for the first time how deeply my parents' view influenced me as a little child. It was not the shyness or my light voice got in my way, but rejecting to accept my complete true self, which led to lose my confidence, hindered my pace.
I do not need a microphone;the effective one is already in my heart. I love my voice, no matter it is feeble or loud, soft or tough. It is just my own voice, making who I am.
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