Common App:
Spotlights swirl, beams of light sliding across the floor. The hula dancers are illuminated, but it's our smiles that brighten the room. Live music emulates from stacked speakers: the rhythmic strums of ukuleles and voices that fit together in perfect harmonies. Costumes range from sleek silk dresses to elaborate headdresses to skirts made of fresh ti leaves. A royal court - a queen, and eight princesses to represent each of the Hawaiian Islands - sits poised in the back of the stage, watching each dance. Every song tells a story through every dancer's hands, motions, and expressions. This is Holoku, my school's annual May Day show.
I've been in Holoku every year since 7th grade. Hula has always been one of my passions. I've found that I'm at peace when I'm dancing. It feels normal, not awkward; it flows. It's one of the times in my life where I know I can be graceful. I've been dancing hula since I was seven years old, not only learning the dance but also about ancient Hawaiian traditions, culture, and language. Now my life is full of unique memories, and my closet is full of old Holoku costumes, among them a bright blue cellophane skirt and the dress I wore as a princess in the court my sophomore year.
Last year, we started up in November as usual. I was placed in a ballad dance and made it into the more selective Tahitian group. Every Saturday, I spent hours at school learning my dances, helping the directors choreograph the next verse of the dance, and learning other group's dances - all because of my love for hula and excitement for the upcoming performance. As Holoku drew nearer, our costumes were ordered. I began to make my costume for Tahitian, and helped friends make theirs. A week before Holoku, my stress level was running high as we went through final rehearsals and I juggled my time between school work, choir concerts, and Holoku preparations. During that same week, I also found out that my 93 year old grandma in Idaho was sick and getting sicker, and my family was worried.
Three days before Holoku, I got a call from my dad, who was on the mainland. "Gran-Gran passed away last night in her sleep," he said. I stared into nothing, unable to process this information, but he kept talking: "We scheduled the funeral for this Saturday and in order for you to be here, you'll need to fly to Idaho tonight." I translated the worried tone in his voice immediately: he'd scheduled the funeral for the day of my performance, and wasn't sure how I'd react. My silence communicated my understanding. "It's your choice, Lauren. You can stay in Hawaii for Holoku, or you can come with us to the funeral."
Many faced with this dilemma wouldn't have had to think twice to make a decision. But this was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make, made harder by the fact that I had only hours to make it. On one hand, I couldn't understand why my dad had scheduled the funeral for Saturday, when he knew I had been preparing for this one day for months. Formations were set, and to leave so soon before the show would leave a hole in every formation. I didn't want to let down the directors by leaving with such short notice. On the other hand, this was my grandmother. We hadn't really been close, but I still loved her a lot. I realized there was no way I could miss her funeral, so I called my directors and told them that I was very sorry, but I would have to drop out of Holoku. That night, I tucked my unused costumes into the back of my closet and left for the airport.
At the funeral on Saturday, I glanced at the program that had been printed. Halfway down the list of events, I read my name, followed by 'hula tribute'. My grandmother had loved to watch me dance hula, so I had agreed to perform for her funeral. I stood up from my seat in the front row and turned to face the rows of solemn faces. It was hard to keep the confident smile on my face, so opposite from everyone else's. Then the music started, and I settled into the comfortable movements, the ones I'd been rehearsing constantly over the last months. I had chosen to dance the same song that I'd learned for this year's Holoku program. As I danced, I knew I had made the right decision, and that my grandma was watching me from wherever she was. Although I was sad to miss Holoku, all the hours I had put to work were not, in fact, in vain. My performance that night, dedicated to my grandmother, was a million times more meaningful than dancing in Holoku could ever be.
THANKS FOR READING!
A couple questions -- My dad says this is not enough about me; how can I make it more so? Or, do you think it is fine?
Since you have no idea what Holoku is, is my explanation good? Too much?
If it's too wordy, can you give suggestions for corrections?
As well as grammar, etc...
Thanks (:
Spotlights swirl, beams of light sliding across the floor. The hula dancers are illuminated, but it's our smiles that brighten the room. Live music emulates from stacked speakers: the rhythmic strums of ukuleles and voices that fit together in perfect harmonies. Costumes range from sleek silk dresses to elaborate headdresses to skirts made of fresh ti leaves. A royal court - a queen, and eight princesses to represent each of the Hawaiian Islands - sits poised in the back of the stage, watching each dance. Every song tells a story through every dancer's hands, motions, and expressions. This is Holoku, my school's annual May Day show.
I've been in Holoku every year since 7th grade. Hula has always been one of my passions. I've found that I'm at peace when I'm dancing. It feels normal, not awkward; it flows. It's one of the times in my life where I know I can be graceful. I've been dancing hula since I was seven years old, not only learning the dance but also about ancient Hawaiian traditions, culture, and language. Now my life is full of unique memories, and my closet is full of old Holoku costumes, among them a bright blue cellophane skirt and the dress I wore as a princess in the court my sophomore year.
Last year, we started up in November as usual. I was placed in a ballad dance and made it into the more selective Tahitian group. Every Saturday, I spent hours at school learning my dances, helping the directors choreograph the next verse of the dance, and learning other group's dances - all because of my love for hula and excitement for the upcoming performance. As Holoku drew nearer, our costumes were ordered. I began to make my costume for Tahitian, and helped friends make theirs. A week before Holoku, my stress level was running high as we went through final rehearsals and I juggled my time between school work, choir concerts, and Holoku preparations. During that same week, I also found out that my 93 year old grandma in Idaho was sick and getting sicker, and my family was worried.
Three days before Holoku, I got a call from my dad, who was on the mainland. "Gran-Gran passed away last night in her sleep," he said. I stared into nothing, unable to process this information, but he kept talking: "We scheduled the funeral for this Saturday and in order for you to be here, you'll need to fly to Idaho tonight." I translated the worried tone in his voice immediately: he'd scheduled the funeral for the day of my performance, and wasn't sure how I'd react. My silence communicated my understanding. "It's your choice, Lauren. You can stay in Hawaii for Holoku, or you can come with us to the funeral."
Many faced with this dilemma wouldn't have had to think twice to make a decision. But this was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make, made harder by the fact that I had only hours to make it. On one hand, I couldn't understand why my dad had scheduled the funeral for Saturday, when he knew I had been preparing for this one day for months. Formations were set, and to leave so soon before the show would leave a hole in every formation. I didn't want to let down the directors by leaving with such short notice. On the other hand, this was my grandmother. We hadn't really been close, but I still loved her a lot. I realized there was no way I could miss her funeral, so I called my directors and told them that I was very sorry, but I would have to drop out of Holoku. That night, I tucked my unused costumes into the back of my closet and left for the airport.
At the funeral on Saturday, I glanced at the program that had been printed. Halfway down the list of events, I read my name, followed by 'hula tribute'. My grandmother had loved to watch me dance hula, so I had agreed to perform for her funeral. I stood up from my seat in the front row and turned to face the rows of solemn faces. It was hard to keep the confident smile on my face, so opposite from everyone else's. Then the music started, and I settled into the comfortable movements, the ones I'd been rehearsing constantly over the last months. I had chosen to dance the same song that I'd learned for this year's Holoku program. As I danced, I knew I had made the right decision, and that my grandma was watching me from wherever she was. Although I was sad to miss Holoku, all the hours I had put to work were not, in fact, in vain. My performance that night, dedicated to my grandmother, was a million times more meaningful than dancing in Holoku could ever be.
THANKS FOR READING!
A couple questions -- My dad says this is not enough about me; how can I make it more so? Or, do you think it is fine?
Since you have no idea what Holoku is, is my explanation good? Too much?
If it's too wordy, can you give suggestions for corrections?
As well as grammar, etc...
Thanks (:
