——————————————— ! +( 0:00 - 0:35 ) / ( 0:35 - 0:55 )
——————————————— ! + ( 0:00 - 0:35 ) / ( 0:35 - 0:55 ) / ( 1:35 - 2:02 ) he chews on his lower lip. it’s a nervous habit he had picked up over the course of his time in south korea, where the winters are a lot dryer. he knows he shouldn’t, his lips are already cracked enough, but he can’t help it; nerves are eating him away, slowly but surely. and if his parents on the other side of the phone have noticed how unsettled he is, then they’re quite the sadists for dragging out his misery. it’s been five minutes, and they still haven’t gotten the audio to work. “it’s okay,” he says after some time. “you can just watch the dance portion. my singing and rapping weren’t good.” his mother thrusts her face in front of the phone camera. what did i say about that sort of talk? she narrows her eyes. “my singing and rapping can be improved, so that it will be good one day,” he responds, tone apathetic, almost as if he’s been forced to recite this for years. she beams. that’s right. there’s some shuffling then got it! his father exclaims from the background, turning the camera around so that kun can see the paused video of his triple threat challenge performance blown up on their tv screen. he continues chewing on his lower lip while halfheartedly debating if he should make up a story so that he can excuse himself from this viewing. it’s not that he’s embarrassed, per se, but there’s just something about his parents watching him perform that doesn’t sit well with him. the video plays. his confidence falters. the kun on-screen swoops into a low bow. “my name is qian kun, and today i will be performing a rendition of christina perri’s ‘human.’ i hope you can enjoy my performance.” and then he starts. his movements are graceful, soft – complimentary of his voice that carries the lyrics in practiced english:i can hold my breath,i can bite my tongue,i can stay awake for days,if that’s what you want. be your number one. he flinches when his on-screen self falters a bit during the i can stay awake for days ( 0:25 ) part. nervousness had caught him at that precise moment, and he had lost his breath. that’s something he didn’t account for during his practices. nerves. right. nerves could truly mess up a performance. fortunately, the subsequent parts didn’t require him to carry out a tune. as a pre-recorded i can do it, i can do it, i can do it plays in the background, his on-screen self draws the audience’s attention with a running start that turns into a front aerial flip ( 0:35 ). he lands on one knee, a choreographed movement that had his knee scraped and red for days, before twisting upward and shedding off the thin outer layer of clothing to the flow of his arm gestures. his parents are quiet, making absolutely no sound nor movement, even at the front aerial flip part, which he believes was the highlight of his choreography. it was intended to be the main focus, and when he had performed this in front of his dance class ( since this choreography was originally created for an evaluation ), he was rewarded with reactions. his parents are giving him no such luxury. fingers clenching into fists, he watches as his on-screen self graciously falls to his side ( 0:52 ), before rolling onto his back. his chest heaves, his eyes cast upwards as he begins the rap portion:i’m the kid who’s always picked last,easy to skim through and miss without noticing, i’m there when you pass.always been the shortest in the class,i force a laugh ‘cause my own friends push me to the ground and say they’re only joking.i’m just hoping someone has my back, no stab. save for reaching up to grab a metaphorical rope, his on-screen self doesn’t move during the entire rap part. there are too many words crammed into just a few seconds that would surely make him lose his breath if he were to layer it with dancing. thus, he had scraped the choreography in this section in lieu of a stronger rapping performance. compared to others, though, it’s still not as strong. not enough feeling, he thinks as he watches his on-screen self finish off no stab in a whisper. the last few piano notes play as he sings ‘til i had enough to complete the verse. if he closes his eyes, he can still feel the cool stage beneath his back, can still hear the applause that erupts afterwards. it’s loud. louder than the applause he had received back when he performed with the circus, which drew less than twenty audience members on most days. the popularity of idol companies . . how terrifying. and then the video cuts off, the camera shifts, and he’s faced with his parents’ reaction. i have a friend living in america, if you would like to move there, his mother says. he blanks. “america?” she laughs, waving her hand in front of her face. so that you can pursue a rap career. clearly joking. his father chimes in: don’t give him ideas. america is too far away. korea is already far enough. and though he knows that he should be happy with their indirect compliments—rap isn’t his strongest suit—he can’t help but feel . . off. it’s not that he’s not happy, but this isn’t quite the reaction he was hoping to get ( then again, what was he expecting? ). you did well, his mother continues, but you should work on your singing more. singing is more pleasing to the ear. you may even attract your future wife with singing, if you work hard to become the next li yugang. he can’t help but laugh at that. “i don’t think i’ll ever achieve li yugang’s octave.” a pause, then, “what did you think about my dancing?” it was good, as always, his father comments. good. as always. never better. he allows a tremor of a smile pass his lips. “i will work harder.” and we know you will. they talk for another hour about his classes, about money, and about his future wife ( whoever she may be ). he sits through all of it with a hollow stomach, though an empty plate of food sits beside him. always good. his brow furrows. never better. -- source link
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