Taking a deep breath, I plastered a smile on my face, quickly stepped forward, handed the donation form to the cheerful store clerk, and explained my cause. Her sweet expression turned sour when I uttered the word "donation." The cold answer, "No, we don't do that," left my heart thumping with disappointment once again. For weeks I had been asking for money from what felt like half of the county's businesses as I attempted to secure funds to pay for a mandatory choir tour far beyond my family's budget. Alas, however hard I worked, I did not receive a single dime and I was on the brink of giving up.
When I dragged myself home from fundraising, my mother was already anxiously awaiting my arrival outside our one-bedroom apartment. She greeted me with the aroma of fried potstickers, but I had no appetite.
"How was it?" mother asked with concern and a touch of guilt.
"Not that bad," I muttered, not wanting my mom to feel "that bad."
That night, I could not fall asleep. Lying in bed, my thoughts flashed back to only two years ago when I had left China. Peeping out of the car window, gazing at the grand houses surrounded by unbelievable greenery, and gasping at the huge sky so stunningly clear and blue, I longed for a fairy-tale life in this land of opportunities.
Such an image of American life was soon shattered as time revealed that living here is often arduous and lonely. My mother's delicate health did not permit her to work full-time. My father, therefore, bore the pressure of supporting us three. Broken English became a handicap for him as he struggled to find a job. My parents' once-happy union became anything but united as they argued more frequently. To ward off my parents' worries and concerns, I engrossed myself in my music. Whenever arguments were raised, I would put on my headphones and let the music sooth my nerves, drowning myself in the passionate rhythms. At school, loneliness characterized my life. Peering into the mirror, I saw a girl with short hair, slanted eyes, and a foreign accent. She was so utterly different from the blond haired, big-eyed girls surrounding her every day. In order to blend in, I filled my day to the brim with part-time jobs, choir practice, community service, and club activities. Forgoing sleep in order to make more time for studying, I held firm and ended sophomore year at the top of my class. A gush of tears welled up in my throat when I reflected upon my year.
Eventually, my father found a job. Although the pay was minimal, his daily labor kindled our family's hopes of better days. Reflecting upon my fundraising experience, I became aware that, like my father who faced relentless rejections when finding a job, I ought to push myself to my boundaries and endure all the rejections in the world to realize my own dream of singing in choir. For a long time, I had been eagerly pursuing my passion for choir even as an amateur singer. To be sure, my beginning was fraught with difficulties as I had never received any formal vocal training from a teacher; therefore, I quickly enrolled in my own choir boot camp, asking my peers to correct me when out of tune, practicing Italian Art Songs while doing chores, and listening to pitches on my way to school. The memory of opening up the mail box and spotting the mail from the Honor Choir and All-State Choir is still vivid. Tearing open the envelope, I clenched my hand and shouted out a "Yes!" as I noted the boldly printed words, "Congratulations Yuanyuan." At that moment, I knew my efforts had not proven futile. Now I just had to pay for the mandatory trip.
Early the next day, I set out once again with my fundraising goal in mind. When I opened the doorknob to a small fitness center and addressed the store owner, the response that flowed out of her mouth was what I had been waiting for for months. "Sure, I would love to help." Holding my first check firmly in my hands, I hugged the lady tightly and let out tears of joy. Through my persistence, I received more aid from the community. One shop owner found an alternative way of helping me out--she hired me. Through this job, I not only got the funding for my choir tour, but also got the chance to pay back my community.
Taking a deep breath, I smiled as I got ready for a new day at work, knowing I was earning money for my future.
When I dragged myself home from fundraising, my mother was already anxiously awaiting my arrival outside our one-bedroom apartment. She greeted me with the aroma of fried potstickers, but I had no appetite.
"How was it?" mother asked with concern and a touch of guilt.
"Not that bad," I muttered, not wanting my mom to feel "that bad."
That night, I could not fall asleep. Lying in bed, my thoughts flashed back to only two years ago when I had left China. Peeping out of the car window, gazing at the grand houses surrounded by unbelievable greenery, and gasping at the huge sky so stunningly clear and blue, I longed for a fairy-tale life in this land of opportunities.
Such an image of American life was soon shattered as time revealed that living here is often arduous and lonely. My mother's delicate health did not permit her to work full-time. My father, therefore, bore the pressure of supporting us three. Broken English became a handicap for him as he struggled to find a job. My parents' once-happy union became anything but united as they argued more frequently. To ward off my parents' worries and concerns, I engrossed myself in my music. Whenever arguments were raised, I would put on my headphones and let the music sooth my nerves, drowning myself in the passionate rhythms. At school, loneliness characterized my life. Peering into the mirror, I saw a girl with short hair, slanted eyes, and a foreign accent. She was so utterly different from the blond haired, big-eyed girls surrounding her every day. In order to blend in, I filled my day to the brim with part-time jobs, choir practice, community service, and club activities. Forgoing sleep in order to make more time for studying, I held firm and ended sophomore year at the top of my class. A gush of tears welled up in my throat when I reflected upon my year.
Eventually, my father found a job. Although the pay was minimal, his daily labor kindled our family's hopes of better days. Reflecting upon my fundraising experience, I became aware that, like my father who faced relentless rejections when finding a job, I ought to push myself to my boundaries and endure all the rejections in the world to realize my own dream of singing in choir. For a long time, I had been eagerly pursuing my passion for choir even as an amateur singer. To be sure, my beginning was fraught with difficulties as I had never received any formal vocal training from a teacher; therefore, I quickly enrolled in my own choir boot camp, asking my peers to correct me when out of tune, practicing Italian Art Songs while doing chores, and listening to pitches on my way to school. The memory of opening up the mail box and spotting the mail from the Honor Choir and All-State Choir is still vivid. Tearing open the envelope, I clenched my hand and shouted out a "Yes!" as I noted the boldly printed words, "Congratulations Yuanyuan." At that moment, I knew my efforts had not proven futile. Now I just had to pay for the mandatory trip.
Early the next day, I set out once again with my fundraising goal in mind. When I opened the doorknob to a small fitness center and addressed the store owner, the response that flowed out of her mouth was what I had been waiting for for months. "Sure, I would love to help." Holding my first check firmly in my hands, I hugged the lady tightly and let out tears of joy. Through my persistence, I received more aid from the community. One shop owner found an alternative way of helping me out--she hired me. Through this job, I not only got the funding for my choir tour, but also got the chance to pay back my community.
Taking a deep breath, I smiled as I got ready for a new day at work, knowing I was earning money for my future.
