9.25 Saturday Fine
Something mind-boggling occurred to my roomate.
My roomate, James, a fairly prominent English learner with native and orthodox British accent and diligence in everything, after an exquisite and omni-aspect preperations , he turned up with a I-am-sure-I-will-win countenance in front of the judges and began his round in the speech competition in this morining. All of his stability in the master of tone, stamina in anti-stress during his talk was virtually touchable and immaculate without any reserve from his perfect performance. The speech focused on such subject called,' Telling Chinese stories in English', which denoted James was addressing a speech of content derived from Chienes stories. And it was more than excellent , he overtaking every competitor on the scene. Not only was his sophisticated British tongue and logical speech talking sense that surpassed, but also his attitude which confronted the none-script-in-hands-and-reading demeanour. Every speaker,except James, clenched a piece of paper where the words,laying innocently, they were going to roll out. But, it would be ridiculous and label the competitors with most criticised manners and disrespect to judges that speakers in a speech competition were literally reading rather than speaking to a row of fools rather than serious judges . No wonder antecedent competitors didn't go well in the ensuing impromptu speech and James, on the other hand, said fluently,jettisoning any staccato out of lips.
What was his speech about? What did he tell? He was of such a judicious mind that he chose a short story to be retold in English from a book called'Red Star Over China' in the purpose of political right which transcribes what the author's had been through during his life with the Communists and army in the anti-Japanese war. Half-covered behind the rostrum, full-shining in the four-concrete classroom stood James, a sagacious person, his brain, truely a handful, functioning fairly rapidly , his hands gesturing as the embodiment of emphasis and the alternative media of expression, his eyes-abundant confidence, persisitence, competence spilt from those windows of hearts and compacting and pervading the air about him,contacting with judges' as if he were waltzing on the crest, tentativly ambitous but elegant.
Eyes radiating, voice undulating, air spinning, with an impressive rising tone, he loosed all the tonic muscle and, thus, ended his tremendous address, throwing all the present astounded with wide-open mouth and dangling-half-in-the-air tongue. From the staggered faces , how extrodinarily eminent you can witness. Behold-you-suckers-with-scripts-in-hands smile spread across his triumphant eyes, though he dared not to look straight into there rolling-eyes and recalcitrant faces. There staged claps after the air got more tranquil and there existed no dubious mind whether he would be beaten, theorically.
And, he really--failed. A TOTAL FAILURE ! I projected my bewilderment to the judges and turned to James, he standing below his sphinx-like visage with wide open eyes of unexpectation after the result was unveiled to the present that James didn't enter the finals. Still, could be worse, those 'readers' should make it instead, treading the corpse of James as if retaliatory. That was not a little inscrutable. He was trumiphanted over by those competitors who read scripts aloud and talked dully, aloof from what is called 'a proper speaker'. More than propriety, James, however, shew off virtually his outstanding self without any skeptical and dubious ponit during his talk.
As one of the audience, I threw a question to myself: am I getting less and less astute in catching sparkling quality of someone? So,all what should be doutful at that moment should be the judges. Something problematic staged in them definitely.
