My Morning Cadence

(This excerpt was used as my Common App essay I wrote in high school when applying to colleges)

My large, pink backpack bobs up and down, mimicking my hurried rhythmic strides. One hand tightly grips my violin case, and from the other hand a pair of blue converse shoes frantically dangle like wind chimes frolicking in an unrelenting gale. As I dart toward the vacant school bus stop, something bright below me catches my interest; I glance downward to realize neon mismatched socks half-heartedly embracing my feet. I can’t help but imagine passersby and drivers chuckling, amused by my silly demeanor.

Upon reaching my bus stop, I gently toss my backpack and belongings onto the fresh-cut grass. For a few moments, I stand in awed silence of the still, tranquil environment; sometimes my life becomes so hectic that I forget that I’m part of a greater and more remarkable scheme. A light drizzle starts trickling upon me, and I snap back to reality to fastening on shoes before my socks get soggy.

From the corner of my eye, I glimpse the school bus bashfully heading my way. I pluck my backpack and violin from the grass and notice that my possessions have left unmistakable impersonations of themselves onto the grass. “Nice,” I softly mutter to myself. A part of me will reside with nature.

“Good morning,” I politely greet the frazzled driver. She nods to me with positive affirmation. I amble to an open seat and slide over to the window, placing my large, pink backpack onto my lap. The engine of the bus roars like the tempest, enveloping conversation for a brief moment. I wipe the foggy window with my palm in search of the impressions left on the grass. They remain as they were left, untouched and pure. I smile in sincerity.

Soon the landscape passes me by as quickly as my thoughts scramble; the bus stop slips away into my peripheral vision and is replaced by street lights, dainty houses, a post-office, local restaurants…the fleeting nature reminds me of Gustav Holst’s The Planets, a monumental work that progresses through varied tones of triumph, somber, joviality, nostalgia, and agitation. Holst’s quirky VI movement, Uranus, sings through my mind; innumerable listens have etched the entire symphony into memory, as if a tRNA molecule has translated melodious codons into harmonious proteins to make up my musical genetic make-up.

My interest soon wanders to the people sitting around me. A wide array of people comprises the bus: in the front, Jamal listens to his rap music out loud; behind me, Connor and Gabe share dirty jokes with each other; ahead, Aliyah uses the brightness of her Smartphone screen to finish her reading assignment; and of course, Emily and Rosalind gossip about who’s dating whom in the seat beside me.

Then there’s me with a large, pink backpack perched onto my lap, observing from afar the authentic relations between people and their actions. Everyone’s too groggy in the morning to pretend to be anyone but themselves; this genuine and natural conduct is as exquisite as nature itself. 

As I rest my head against the window, I see Emily gossiping with large glowing eyes, hands gesticulating feverishly, and eyebrows rising in wonder. At first sight you could hardly imagine that such was her animation for only a gossip.

The school bus suddenly halts at our school, and I’m jolted away from my thoughts yet again. In just a few minutes I’ll be part of a commotion that will engulf my thoughts in its sea of demand. These sacred, self-reflecting moments will be missed.

Humming Holst’s quirky melody, I head toward my school gate. Naturally, my large, pink backpack bobs to the rhythm of my pace, of Holst, of the environment, and of my thoughts. As long as I’m internally composed, no external frenzy can sway the beat of my rhythm.