Feedback/criticism would be much appreciated
Prompt: Recount an incident or time in which you experienced failure. How did it affect you and what lessons did you learn?
"Go practice," said my mother in that stern voice of hers. This was probably the 44th time this week that I heard those two dreaded words. Don't I have enough things to worry about? With homework from school, the marathon of Pretty Little Liars airing that night, and all the inescapable teenage drama that seemed to clutter my life, practicing was the last thing I wanted to do. Sure, I would have to sing in front of hundreds of people in two weeks, but I knew that song like the back of my hand. After all, my mom had the Bengali folk song on endless repeat, in hopes to get me more motivated. And yes, my grandparents were visiting from Bangladesh, and to her, this was my opportunity to make them proud by showing them I still bare the roots of my heritage. But this was definitely not the first time I was singing in front of a crowd. "I still have two more weeks, Ammu!" I replied, using the Bengali word for "mom" in order to ease her just a little.
Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart was pounding. What was happening to me? "Get a grip. You will be fine. Why is your heart jumping out of your chest? People are going to hear it through the microphone." I mumbled to myself. After what seemed like a never-ending flight of stairs, I was finally on stage. The spotlight was hitting me directly in the eye, blinding me. Why must it be so bright!? The music began to play and it was my cue to begin singing. My nervousness started to fade as the lyrics rolled off my tongue. "I was nervous for no reason," I thought to myself. Suddenly, my voice became silent, yet the music continued. I had completely forgotten the lyrics, I completely lost count of the beat, and my entire face looked like a ripe tomato. I could feel my eyes sting with the tears I was holding back. I looked at the audience and could almost hear the laughter that was surely ensuing in their heads. But the most devastating part was seeing the face of my mom. No, it was not rage, it was worse: disappointment. Pure and utter disappointment. The music came to an end and the audience started a slow and hesitated applaud that only made things worse.
"Go practice," my mother was about to say, only to realize that I was one step ahead of her. Not only did that experience teach me to practice my singing, it taught me to input effort into everything I do. And yes, that means that the Pretty Little Liars episode could wait. After that incident, I knew that I could not just expect things to come naturally without any effort. In order to be decent at anything, practice is obligatory, no matter how simple the task at hand might be. To this day, I occasionally hear my parents' laughter echoing from downstairs while they re-watch the embarrassing video of me from that day.
Prompt: Recount an incident or time in which you experienced failure. How did it affect you and what lessons did you learn?
"Go practice," said my mother in that stern voice of hers. This was probably the 44th time this week that I heard those two dreaded words. Don't I have enough things to worry about? With homework from school, the marathon of Pretty Little Liars airing that night, and all the inescapable teenage drama that seemed to clutter my life, practicing was the last thing I wanted to do. Sure, I would have to sing in front of hundreds of people in two weeks, but I knew that song like the back of my hand. After all, my mom had the Bengali folk song on endless repeat, in hopes to get me more motivated. And yes, my grandparents were visiting from Bangladesh, and to her, this was my opportunity to make them proud by showing them I still bare the roots of my heritage. But this was definitely not the first time I was singing in front of a crowd. "I still have two more weeks, Ammu!" I replied, using the Bengali word for "mom" in order to ease her just a little.
Thump. Thump. Thump. My heart was pounding. What was happening to me? "Get a grip. You will be fine. Why is your heart jumping out of your chest? People are going to hear it through the microphone." I mumbled to myself. After what seemed like a never-ending flight of stairs, I was finally on stage. The spotlight was hitting me directly in the eye, blinding me. Why must it be so bright!? The music began to play and it was my cue to begin singing. My nervousness started to fade as the lyrics rolled off my tongue. "I was nervous for no reason," I thought to myself. Suddenly, my voice became silent, yet the music continued. I had completely forgotten the lyrics, I completely lost count of the beat, and my entire face looked like a ripe tomato. I could feel my eyes sting with the tears I was holding back. I looked at the audience and could almost hear the laughter that was surely ensuing in their heads. But the most devastating part was seeing the face of my mom. No, it was not rage, it was worse: disappointment. Pure and utter disappointment. The music came to an end and the audience started a slow and hesitated applaud that only made things worse.
"Go practice," my mother was about to say, only to realize that I was one step ahead of her. Not only did that experience teach me to practice my singing, it taught me to input effort into everything I do. And yes, that means that the Pretty Little Liars episode could wait. After that incident, I knew that I could not just expect things to come naturally without any effort. In order to be decent at anything, practice is obligatory, no matter how simple the task at hand might be. To this day, I occasionally hear my parents' laughter echoing from downstairs while they re-watch the embarrassing video of me from that day.