A THOUSAND CROSSINGS X

Dear Diary...
Poverty
dimanche 12 juillet 2009

Just done my revised essay on poverty. Mr Tan wanted us to revise the essays we did for the Preliminary examinations. Some of us asked if we could try the other questions and since he allowed us to, I decided to attempt to write a narrative. Poverty.

Here's the long version, which I think is less likely to pass.

Born to a Chinese mother and a Czechoslovakian father, Štefan had inherited his sleek centre-parted jet black hair from his mother, his sharp angular nose and big blue eyes from his father. Most importantly, he inherited the love for music from both parents. Štefan Kadlec grew up with music. His mother and father played the fiddle and the saxophone respectively at a street corner in Chicago, Illinois. Rain or shine, one could always hear the classic Czech tunes resonating from that street corner.

That was the music Štefan grew up with. Since a baby boy, he would bob his head up and down with the rhythm of the tunes his parents played. At night, his parents would cajole him to sleep with Dvorak’s Humoreske or Purcell’s Minuet in G. The Kadlecs, despite being mired in poverty, had big dreams ever. His parents always wished to have the opportunity to play for everyone who appreciated music in Walt Disney Concert Hall. Štefan, at the age of six swore that he would one day be admitted into The Julliard School. Stefan was a master at the violin. His parents marvelled at the way his left fingers flew across the strings above the fingerboard, while his right hand pushed and pulled with fluidity. His fingerwork was near perfect for any violinist, much less a six-year old. His parents were positive that their son would make it to Julliard. They thus scrimped and saved, so that they can afford to purchase a Greyhound ticket for Štefan’s future journey to Julliard in New York City.

Štefan grew up to become a handsome young man that made heads turn. He played with his parents at the street corner whenever he was not at school. Despite failing humanities, science and mathematics, he excelled in the arts subjects. Even his teachers were sure that Štefan was born to become a musician. Štefan practised hard everyday, striving hard towards his dream to entering the most distinguished arts school in the world, Julliard.

After finishing high school and having fourteen years of experience of playing the violin under his belt he packed his bags for New York City. On that summer morning of 4th of July, his parents handed him the Greyhound ticket they have saved up to buy for years. It was a one-way ticket, Štefan had no room for failure. A quick goodbye was all the time they could afford before Štefan was hurriedly ushered into the coach.

On the journey to New York City, Štefan imagined his right forearm to be the fingerboard of his violin, and his left fingers flew back and forth the imaginary fingerboard, playing the Canon in D in his mind. The coach passenger in the adjacent seat could not help but stare at the young musician’s eccentric behaviour.

The coach rolled to a stop at 60 Lincoln Center Plaza. Štefan stepped out of the coach and took in a deep breath of the polluted New York City air. That would be the air he would be breathing if he were to succeed.

Štefan was early. A whole two hours before the scheduled audition. He began preparing. He rubbed his bow with resin, tuned his violin and practised with his right arm again. Time passed quickly and soon it was his moment. Štefan pulled his bow and violin from its case and marched smartly towards the audition room.

Three stone-faced musicians sat behind the mahogany table. Štefan brought his left arm with the bow to his stomach and bowed deeply. After the musicians returned his greeting, he slipped the chin piece under his sharp chin and begun doing what he did best, making music.
He let his fingers do the magic again. The fingers jumped all over the fingerboard, producing accurate and audibly pleasing notes. He knew he was at his best today. His fingers tapping at the exact spots, his right arm was pulling the bow very smoothly too, in other words, it was perfect.

However, he still was not accepted. The musicians felt that he played without emotion and could not bring out the sadness of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major, especially the Slow Movement section.

Štefan stepped out of the audition room disappointed. He was at a loss. He had no money for food nor lodging. He could not make his way back to Chicago either. It would take him days to get back to Chicago on foot. Dragging his feet, he slowly walked towards Central Park. The roost of pigeons broke up as Štefan placed his luggage and violin case under the Shingle Oak tree. Štefan did not understand what they meant when they said he was emotionless. He pulled out his violin and played again.

As Violin Concerto reverberated from under Štefan’s tree, a crowd started to form, the pigeons flew back too. There was no doubt the Violin Concerto was full of emotion. As Štefan pulled his bow, he remembered his vow to make it to Julliard, he remembered the hardships and pains his parents gone through to send him to New York City and he remembered his teachers’ well-wishes when he graduated from high school to pursue a life of music. Pea-sized tears started to roll down his cheeks as he played the the last notes of the Violin Concerto.
He bowed to his audience in the usual gentlemanly fashion and opened his violin case to keep his violin. To his surprise, everyone started to place notes and coins of all denominations in to his case. Many of them added a “bravo” as they placed their donations into the case. All but one man were polite. He threw a penny at Štefan’s feet, and he smirked. Štefan bent over to pick up the penny and stretched his right palm to the man.

“You dropped your penny, sir.” Štefan said and he reached for his man’s right hand and placed the penny in it.

The man was caught by surprise, and his eyes turned red with anger as he saw Štefan return the penny in such a manner.

“No, I gave you the penny, you keep it.” The man bellowed and threw the penny at Štefan’s feet again.

“Thank you, Sir. Since I did you a favour by picking up and returning a penny you dropped just now, could you return it by picking up this penny for me?” Štefan replied.

The man blushed and walked away with embarrassment. Štefan kicked soil over the penny and whispered, “Goodbye penny, thanks for standing up for me.”

“You were at Julliard just now, weren’t you?” A voice said. Štefan turned around to see a man in his mid-forties. His eyes were as shiny as polished pennies. His thousand-watt grin looked as if it could power all the lights in New York City.

“Yes I did, but I…” The man interrupted before Štefan could complete his sentence.

“Grab your bags, come with me to the hostel.”

Bending over before someone may be a demeaning chore for some; however, what you are picking up is your dignity. Being poor may not be the end, but losing your dignity would.

And here's the shorter version that would probably be more suitable for GCE O level standards:

Born to a Chinese mother and a Czechoslovakian father, Štefan had inherited his sleek centre-parted jet black hair from his mother, his sharp angular nose and big blue eyes from his father. Most importantly, he inherited the love for music from both parents. Štefan Kadlec grew up with music. His mother and father played the fiddle and the saxophone respectively at a street corner in Chicago, Illinois. Rain or shine, one could always hear the classic Czech tunes resonating from that street corner.

Being musicians without opportunity, the Kadlecs lived a frugal life. Despite busking for up to sixteen hours a day, they struggled to make ends meet and provide two meals for their talented son. They were one of many immigrants whom were mired in wretched poverty. Luckily, unlike the other poor immigrants, they were blessed with a talented violin playing son.

Ever since Štefan Kadlec’s youth, he wished to be admitted into the Julliard School and he had worked hard towards achieving that goal. After finishing high school and having fourteen years of experience of playing the violin under his belt he packed his bags for New York City. On that summer morning of 4th of July, his parents handed him the Greyhound ticket they have saved up for years to buy. It was a one-way ticket, Štefan had no room for failure. A quick goodbye was all the time they could afford before Štefan was hurriedly ushered into the coach.

The coach rolled to a stop at 60 Lincoln Center Plaza. Štefan stepped out of the coach and took in a deep breath of the polluted New York City air. That would be the air he would be breathing if he were to succeed.

Štefan was early. A whole two hours before the scheduled audition. He began preparing. He rubbed his bow with resin, tuned his violin and practised with his right arm again. Time passed quickly and soon it was his moment. Štefan pulled his bow and violin from its case and marched smartly towards the audition room.

Three stone-faced musicians sat behind the mahogany table. Štefan brought his left arm with the bow to his stomach and bowed deeply. After the musicians returned his greeting, he slipped the chin piece under his sharp chin and begun doing what he did best, making music.
He let his fingers do the magic again. The fingers jumped all over the fingerboard, producing accurate and audibly pleasing notes. He knew he was at his best today. His fingers tapping at the exact spots, his right arm was pulling the bow very smoothly too, in other words, it was perfect.
However, he still was not accepted. The musicians felt that he played without emotion and could not bring out the sadness of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major, especially the Slow Movement section.

Štefan stepped out of the audition room disappointed. He was at a loss. He had no money for food nor lodging. He could not make his way back to Chicago either. It would take him days to get back to Chicago on foot. Dragging his feet, he slowly walked towards Central Park. The roost of pigeons broke up as Štefan placed his luggage and violin case under the Shingle Oak tree. Štefan did not understand what they meant when they said he was emotionless. He pulled out his violin and played again.

As Violin Concerto reverberated from under Štefan’s tree, a crowd started to form, the pigeons flew back too. There was no doubt the Violin Concerto was full of emotion. As Štefan pulled his bow, he remembered his vow to make it to Julliard, he remembered the hardships and pains his parents gone through to send him to New York City and he remembered his teachers’ well-wishes when he graduated from high school to pursue a life of music. Pea-sized tears started to roll down his cheeks as he played the the last notes of the Violin Concerto.

He bowed to his audience in the usual gentlemanly fashion and opened his violin case to keep his violin. To his surprise, everyone started to place notes and coins of all denominations in to his case. Many of them added a “bravo” as they placed their donations into the case. All but one man were polite. He threw a penny at Štefan’s feet, and he smirked. Štefan bent over to pick up the penny and stretched his right palm to the man.

“You dropped your penny, sir.” Štefan said and he reached for his man’s right hand and placed the penny in it.

The man was caught by surprise, and his eyes turned red with anger as he saw Štefan return the penny in such a manner.

“No, I gave you the penny, you keep it.” The man bellowed and threw the penny at Štefan’s feet again.

“Thank you, Sir. Since I did you a favour by picking up and returning a penny you dropped just now, could you return it by picking up this penny for me?” Štefan replied.

The man blushed and walked away with embarrassment. Štefan kicked soil over the penny and whispered, “Goodbye penny, thanks for standing up for me.”

“You were at Julliard just now, weren’t you?” A voice said. Štefan turned around to see a man in her mid-forties. His eyes were as shiny as polished pennies. His thousand-watt grin looked as if it could power all the lights in New York City.

“Yes I did, but I…” The man interrupted before Štefan could complete his sentence.

“Grab your bags, come with me to the hostel.”

Bending over before someone may be a demeaning chore for some; however, what you are picking up is your dignity. Being poor may not be the end, but losing your dignity would.

Little change actually, but the shorter version omitted the irrelevant paragraphs at the beginning. Hope it'll help.

Harper's Island 2h finale tonight. YESSS.

Andandand, I'm so going to get a cute dog like this in future! (:

THE PORTUGESE WATER DOG!

Au Revoir

yongliang

he closed his diary at {19:55}