In my view waking up in the morning is the best part of the day. As I hear the birds singing in their sweet and swift way, I arouse full of energy to watch them flying around the drenched, green, leaves on the elevated, swarthy, textured trunk. I take a deep breath and sense the affectionate, balmy and breezy atmosphere and I look up, observing the clouds progressively diminishing into the never-ending, azure sky.
Imagining and pretending is my life, if I did not have this talent, I would be enormously depressed, even in a pleasant moment. I call it a talent because not all people can do it, in fact, the minority can imagine things as if they were truth. Imagining is what helps me in poignant instants, and that is why it keeps me going all time.
Whilst looking through the window, I read a book. I read all sorts of books science fiction, adventurous, action, romantic and comic and I always lie on my bed and envisage an ending to the story. It is very engrossing because it feels like I am living the story not visualising it.
I subsequently single out my preferred DVD and view it; this is habitually comic and horror. I luxuriate in watching films and I especially concentrate on the acting; the technique used to compose the music; the singing within the film; and more importantly visualising the film if it was directed differently.
Followed by breakfast I start my singing lessons, I am at grade three now and my dream is to be at grade eight by the time I am sixteen. Singing lesson are warming up your voice; completing exercises; and practising chords. The pitch is also a very imperative issue but it is mostly essential for opera singers, which I am not interested in becoming.
The place I go to my lessons is awfully ominous and gloomy, it is saturated with instrument, and the furniture along with the walls is dark, red mahogany, which adds to the sinister atmosphere. It also smells like polish and the teachers are always dressed in black suit with a black bow and there moustache is always curled towards their frowning eyes like jaguars waiting to attack you (if you mess with them). When I finish my lesson I go sauntering while listening to the song given to me in the musical lesson and if I need to go shopping, then I do that on my way too.
As soon as I get home, I start drawing. The drawing I produce could be of anything such as: my pet, a family member, a secondary study, an abstract drawing and sometimes I just copy a great artists drawing after writing a massive project on them. This usually takes me three hour, and since I am usually home at two in the afternoon, I eat dinner with my family at five o’clock pm.
School is an incredibly important part of my life, albeit I have hated it since my sister left because when I walk to school in the morning I remember the good times I spent with her everyday. I still put all my effort to achieve A* in all my subjects. I know it is too much to ask for, but in my opinion nothing is impossible, whichever star I want reach I can reach with hard work, energy, tiredness and dedication I will confidently succeed in life. Completing my homework and revising for my GCSE subjects is the next job I do after dinner, even though my exams are in two years time. I revise for: Maths, English, Science, Religious Education, German, Graphics, Music, and before I sleep I also read a book for half an hour, which means I would asleep, dreaming by ten thirty before midnight.
Suffering is also an element of my typical day, except it is not optional. Life is satiety of excruciating moments and choosing the worst should therefore be a demanding task. A life of fifteen years seems a short period to many, but I dare say that by this time the range of choices would be infinite on this imperfect planet. An agonizing time depends on what the person’s individuality is like. Those who are petrified of snakes would deem the e with one their most severe moment in life; people that are intelligent would shudder at the recollection of low grades; and those who are introvert would not be passionate about mistaking whilst performing.
Personally, I admire performing in front of large numbers of people and I do not mind in the least whether it is acting, dancing, playing an instrument or even singing. However, this is only when I am confident and certain that no predicaments are going to occur. I have perpetually gone red when pronouncing words erroneously to teachers, so you can imagine what colour I would go if it was to the whole school. Pronouncing a word incorrectly to the school is not an event that has occurred in my school life, but inferior than that had happened to me.
It is a tradition for my school to present a concert during Christmas, which shows performances by the students dancing as professional dancers, acting as movie stars and singing as Pop stars to entertain the remainder of the school … and I was chosen to sing. It was not a major concern for me at that time, because I knew all I had to accomplish was rehearse the song and retain the dance moves that match it in my memory. Doing the wrong thing onstage was not part of my imagination or expectation, because I would have rehearsed it - I always imagined myself performing it the correct way, the way it should be.
Six o’clock after school is the time the concert begins. The hall is enormously colossal with glossy, wooden floor, in which you can see your reflection. The refreshing walls are painted in milk white and sky blue to suit the maroon coloured, soft curtains against the sparkling, clear windows on the sides of the hall. Green chairs are queued efficiently in lines, with an entrance to the stage in the middle of the two blocks of chairs, to help portray a theatre atmosphere. The stage is approximately two metres higher than the floor with one door and five steps on each side and exquisite stained glass window representing all religions in the middle. Unfortunately the stage did not have curtains used when changing scenes but that was not an immense problem.
At quarter past six, the head teacher, Mr. Gallagher, begins his speech. He is a relatively chubby man in the late fifties (minimum), and although I do not no know him to a great degree, he appears to me like he is a conscientious, responsible and organised old man, and as being exceedingly gracious with a good sense of humour and extremely munificent.
Followed by faultless performances by my fellow mates, comes my turn to go up onstage.
“‘From The Bottom Of My Heart’ written, composed and performed by Marwa Najat, is up next!” Mrs Stapleton, the Arts Director, shouted from down the corridor. Confidently and with extreme dignity I move slowly (walked) out of the room feeling not in the least nervous. I imagined myself a leading light glimmering in the midst of crowded admires blowing kisses at all the fans who were shrieking and screeching, asking for my autograph.
I stared out of the window with my lips pinched together and saw in my reflection my miserable fate; I was not a leading light glimmering in the midst of crowded admirers but a small dejected, hopeless figure in painful seclusion.
This time, my hopes were big but the star was too distant to reach and so I did nothing to myself but being hurt in the process of trying to do so.
The fact made me wrap my blanket around me and hide underneath the duvet as I tried to accept it in pain. Tears started to form in my rheumy eyes one by one, rolling down the bridge of my nose and dropping off at the end of it, and it seemed quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in grey slanting lines and splash and stream down the window-panes as if it had understood and considered the reasons of my contempt.
It felt long before I resolved an ending to my depression. I threw away the duvet and wiped my face boldly with my handkerchief, then I turned my face towards the streaming panes and gazed out at the grey rain-storm which looked as if it would go on for ever and ever. But I decided it should not; I should make it stop and make the world glow for me yet again and so I watched it so long and steadily that the greyness grew heavier and heavier before my eyes, and lulled by the splashing of the rain droplets against the frosty window pane, I fell into a deep, deep sleep …
I dreamt of a place far, far away far beyond the horizon, of warmth, of lying on soft sand and watching a sunset – I dreamt of my holiday in India:
There were floods of molten gold covering the west, as if a glorious tide was sweeping over the world, a deep rich yellow light filled the air and birds flying across the tops of the flat-roofed houses. I suddenly turned my head because I heard a sound a few yards away from me. It was an odd sound, like a queer little squeaky chattering. Someone had come to look at the sunset as I had. There was a head and part of a body emerging from the balcony, but it was not the head or body of a tourist; it was the picturesque white-swathed form and dark-faced, gleaming-eyed, white-turbaned head of a native Indian – “a lascar”, I said to myself – and the sound I had heard came from a small monkey he held in his arms as if he were fond of it, and which was snuggling and chattering against his breast. As I looked toward him he looked toward me. The first thing I thought was that his dark face looked sorrowful and despondent. I felt completely persuaded he had come up to look at the sun, this being, for him, some sort of relief in my imagination. I looked at him interestedly for second, and then smiled across the slates. I had learned to know how comforting a smile, even from a stranger, maybe. Mine was evidently a pleasure to him. His whole expression altered, and he showed such gleaming white teeth as he smiled back that it was as if a light had been illuminated in his dusky face.
It was quite dark when the cold breeze of the starry December night had awakened me from this beautiful dream. Until this very moment it leaves me with a sense of pride for what I had done to this man, though it may only have been, to him, a split-second of contentment, and so I aroused full of energy, energy to help people and provide them with happiness.
This energy has instigated in me the will to become a physician. It will start me off by achieving A* in all my GCSE, which is why I am going to revise hard to produce excellent results in Maths and Science as well as putting all my effort to create exquisite Art drawings and Music compositions. . Confidently, this will end me up with at least six A-levels. Contemporarily, my options for A-levels are: Chemistry, Biology, Maths, German and Music Technology, but I will change them (if in need) according to my GCSE grades; otherwise, I will always thoroughly study my subject, so I am continuously prepared for any exams.
This rule will follow me throughout university, and and up to work. because I want to provide people with happiness I will succeed in building a hospital by becoming a doctor.
This energy will start me off by achieving A*s in all my GCSE: I will revise hard to produce excellent results in Maths and Science as well as putting all my effort to create exquisite Art drawings and Music compositions. Confidently, this will end me up with at least six A-levels. Contemporarily, my options for A-levels are: Chemistry, Biology, Maths, German and Music Technology, but I will change them (if in need) according to my GCSE grades; otherwise, I will always thoroughly study my subject, so I am continuously prepared for any exams.
This rule will follow me up to university, and because I want to provide people with happiness I will succeed in building a hospital by becoming a doctor.
I was past the point of realizing that now is the time to start before it is too late
