descriptive essay my first tears of joy In150 to 200 words
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The previous year, in February 2007, when I was in eighth grade, professional world-renowned violinist Mark Wood had visited the high school to perform a concert with orchestra students from across the county. He had recognized my talent immediately and had me perform center stage during one of the songs with him, along with two high school seniors. That had been most definitely, one of the greatest days of my life. My efforts had finally been recognized by an outsider--and a very celebrated one at the least. So, as March was strolling its way over, all of us orchestra students anxiously awaited the second coming of this raven-haired, violin-wielding rock star. Several of us orchestra and choir students purchased tickets, hoping that one of us would have Lady Luck on our side the night of the seventh. One of Mark’s own electric Stingray violins would be raffled off during the concert.
Rehearsals were a nightmare. Since many of the students participating were not actually part of the orchestra, practices were held every week with all the violinists from the school--which pertained to all grade levels. Two of them, a male and female, were seniors; one male was a junior; and lastly, there was a freshman girl who was rumored to be extremely skilled at the violin, due to her father’s profession as a music teacher. Naturally, my fellow classmates had created a rival that pinned those four musicians against me. Nearly every school day was met by the incessant nagging and bragging of the other students, and sometimes, even teachers.
“She can do this, this, and that…She‘s been playing for so many years…I bet you can‘t do that,” classmates’ voices rose in worship of the others while I was in their presence.
Finally, the legendary Mark Wood and his lovely wife, Laura Kaye, arrived for their two-day residency. Surprisingly, they both had remembered me as “the purple violinist” who was one of their favorites. Eventually, as our bond grew, I would converse with them backstage during the breaks, among other things. Laura and I exchanged e-mail addresses. Mark autographed my copy of Jimmy Page’s biography that I had brought along to read during my spare time. Apparently, this beautiful connection emerging between us greatly perturbed many of my colleagues. Mark announced the second day during lunchtime that I would be “test-driving” the electric Stingray violin, which was going to be raffled off during the show. Later that day, Laura declared that I would be singing the first verse of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” with her. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I returned to rehearsal from lunch, shocked that my violin had been tampered with. When I arrived home to prepare for the concert, a clandestine surprise awaited me. I had already fixed my violin up for the performance, and quite trustingly, as I pulled the music folder out of my backpack, I discovered that over half of the music I was due to play that night was missing. I was in a horrible fit of rage, literally crying rivers of boiling tears.“The one time it seems like everything is going to be perfect, someone has to go and ruin the whole entire day for me! I’m so sick of it, it’s not even funny! How am I going to perform now?” my voice resonated throughout the paper-thin walls of the tiny apartment. I had kept most of my feats that were scheduled to happen a secret, in order to surprise my mother at the performance. She assured me that she would travel to the school to pick up the sheet music from the choir teacher before the concert. I was clearly told to change clothing, tune my violin, and not to worry about a thing. Everything would go well. But unbeknownst to her, my gift to her had been sabotaged by some envious, cowardly classmate of mine. The remainder of the daylight, I was shaken, battling the bad vibrations obscuring me throughout the afternoon. From this extraordinary experience, I learned an extremely valuable lesson. No matter how much a person suffers, they will always be rewarded in the end. This taught me that even if you seem like the most insignificant, despised outcast in the universe, Fate will have something else in store for you. I also learned that some predicaments can actually be blessings in disguise. Never would have anyone guessed that the one day that was guaranteed to ruin my life would actually be one of the happiest. The dark exhausted atmosphere of the night of March seventh brought relief to my household and laid many of my problems to rest. Surely, that night, I was crying. But for once, they were finally tears of joy.
Answer:
For me, the word “joy” always brings to mind the same thing: tears.
I realize this might not be the logical thought process for most people, and some might even find it strange, but it’s the truth. The idea of joy immediately makes me think of tears. This is because I am what some might call a “crier.” I cry when I’m angry and sad. I cry when I’m frustrated or overwhelmed. But mostly, I cry when I’m joyful. I’m one of those people who cries at my niece’s chorus concerts, or when I found out my good friend had just given birth, or when watching two people make a commitment to one another in marriage. These times of joy bring tears to my eyes, and I am so thankful for that.
It’s like my heart is overflowing with emotion, and the only way for that joy to go is out! So those tears of joy are indicators of abundant love and happiness. They are my way of showing support and love for the people I care about. They help me feel connected to the joyful and happy experiences in life. I think, in some ways, those tears of joy are also reminders of the bittersweet that can come with success or achievement.
Most recently I have been watching videos of soldiers coming home and seeing their dogs for the first time. To be honest, I’m not sure why I do that! Having a spouse deployed is an emotional rollercoaster, and every time I watch one of those videos I long for the day that Susan is home, and our pups see her again. Watching these dogs squeal and jump, wag and give kisses brings such joy into my heart, and I can’t help but cry. There is such a pure love and joy in their responses to seeing the person they love after a long deployment. In those videos, the dogs and the soldiers exude pure joy and appreciation for each other.
I have moments of joy that happen almost every day. Afghanistan is 8 ½ hours ahead of Boston, so my day is essentially on an opposite schedule from my wife’s. We usually get to talk or email twice a day. I feel so blessed to have the ability to stay connected with her in this way. Every time my phone beeps with a message or email (yes, I got a smartphone specifically for this deployment!), my heart starts to beat a little faster. There is nothing like the feeling I get when she writes to me or calls. There is a solid joy in knowing that she is okay. But those times of joy are amplified because of the very true reality that she is not in a safe place right now. That’s the bittersweet I’m trying to explain.
But whether bittersweet or genuinely joyful, I am so thankful for those times in my life when I have felt wholly joyful and happy. There is a necessity in relishing in those times of joy. There is so much suffering in this world, but there is so much joy too. All too often we focus on the negative, or try to keep ourselves under control. My hope for myself, for all of us, is to live in the moment. My hope is to feel the joy, and to let those tears of joy flow. Like those dogs who are swept up in the excitement of reunion and jumping with joy, I hope to grasp the moment and be overcome with joyful emotion.
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