Hi everyone!! This is the first draft of my UVA supplement, so I know it is a little rough. Any and all comments would be greatly appreciated. Did I answer the question too vaguely? Thank you so much!!
College of Arts and Sciences: What work of art, music, science, mathematics, or literature has surprised, unsettled, or challenged you, and in what way?
The muffled moaning that seeped from his speakers was enough. I pressed the buds into my ears, desperately begging the voice of Justin Timberlake to surpass the belligerent, bellowing sound system. Intuitively, I rolled my eyes at the authority figure responsible for my agonizing discomfort. My eyes mutated into burning daggers, vitriolic in their attempts to initiate a stare-down contest with my happily head-bobbing teacher.
This is the effect Irish dance music has on me. I sacrificed nearly a decade and a half to this particular dance form. While I will not dare dispute its beauty in performance, the symmetrical, eight-beat measures of Irish music which usurp my insanity are not beautiful. Rather, they are toddlers, infantile antagonists, vehemently beseeching my attention. My feet begin to tap instinctively from thirteen years of training. Soon they are flailing awkwardly in the limited space under my desk, while curious and cruel classmates look on. God save me. My ghost cheeks yield to candy apple hues, angrily enflaming my flesh. I pressed harder into my ears, hoping Tim McGraw would be successful in drowning out the provocative tune. A mild groan drained from the hollows of my throat.
I figured once I escaped the dance realm, an exclusive world that allowed me to enjoy the music that guided my shoestring-tangled feet, I would no longer fall subject to the memory-evoking cadences. I did not expect to encounter what I perceived as my health teacher's sadistic choice in music. Although I enjoy the art of Irish dance when I am among others abandoning their adolescence in dedication, it has been a challenge to ignore the malicious comments directed toward my atypical hobby.
I may curse my disobedient feet, impatient to perform, but I curse the music simply for evoking an interminable poignancy within me. My teacher's callous taste in music tortures my desperate feet, thirsty for activity. It was too much of a challenge. My scarlet countenance faded into my usual pale complexion as I relinquished my ears from the pop artist flow, allowing them to indulge in the flawless bars of the Celtic music.
College of Arts and Sciences: What work of art, music, science, mathematics, or literature has surprised, unsettled, or challenged you, and in what way?
The muffled moaning that seeped from his speakers was enough. I pressed the buds into my ears, desperately begging the voice of Justin Timberlake to surpass the belligerent, bellowing sound system. Intuitively, I rolled my eyes at the authority figure responsible for my agonizing discomfort. My eyes mutated into burning daggers, vitriolic in their attempts to initiate a stare-down contest with my happily head-bobbing teacher.
This is the effect Irish dance music has on me. I sacrificed nearly a decade and a half to this particular dance form. While I will not dare dispute its beauty in performance, the symmetrical, eight-beat measures of Irish music which usurp my insanity are not beautiful. Rather, they are toddlers, infantile antagonists, vehemently beseeching my attention. My feet begin to tap instinctively from thirteen years of training. Soon they are flailing awkwardly in the limited space under my desk, while curious and cruel classmates look on. God save me. My ghost cheeks yield to candy apple hues, angrily enflaming my flesh. I pressed harder into my ears, hoping Tim McGraw would be successful in drowning out the provocative tune. A mild groan drained from the hollows of my throat.
I figured once I escaped the dance realm, an exclusive world that allowed me to enjoy the music that guided my shoestring-tangled feet, I would no longer fall subject to the memory-evoking cadences. I did not expect to encounter what I perceived as my health teacher's sadistic choice in music. Although I enjoy the art of Irish dance when I am among others abandoning their adolescence in dedication, it has been a challenge to ignore the malicious comments directed toward my atypical hobby.
I may curse my disobedient feet, impatient to perform, but I curse the music simply for evoking an interminable poignancy within me. My teacher's callous taste in music tortures my desperate feet, thirsty for activity. It was too much of a challenge. My scarlet countenance faded into my usual pale complexion as I relinquished my ears from the pop artist flow, allowing them to indulge in the flawless bars of the Celtic music.
