Rap Narrative

I could have never predicted that my life would come crashing down on a hot summer day at the Nautica Courts.

It was the final round of the local rap battle tournament. My opponent had just delivered a killer freestyle that destroyed any hopes of a comeback. It was a fatal blow. An effortless pun on my clearance-bought clothes and my braces would forever brand me as a clown. The crowds taunts swamped me in humiliation. My opponent’s intimidating stare solidified his clear win. A shiver went down my spine as the thunderous beat exploded in my ears. I stood there silent, drowning in doubt. I wasn’t a rapper, I was just another childish kid with an impossible dream.

Growing up, rap was something that excited me. With headphones on, I immersed
My traditional Chinese parents saw a degenerate child detouring from their meticulous plans. "Why does a bright boy like Michael want to disgrace the family?" My judgmental classmates saw me as a clown, thinking that my art was a joke. "Why does this kid think he can make it big?" The rappers at the court saw me as a wannabe, never able to relate to them. "Why does this guy infringe on my culture when he does not belong?" They were relentless in their criticism, but never bothered to ask the essential question:

"Why does Michael love Hip-Hop?"

Hip-hop was more than a hobby to me, it was a friend. When nobody was there to listen to my pleas, hip-hop gave me the opportunity to speak. I reflected with it, we discussed my problems and devised solutions. Hip hop helped me realize that I could do anything I put my mind to. Hip hop was what I used to paint my world.

On a hot summer day at the Nautica Courts, I forgot about what hip-hop meant to me. I stared into my opponent's eyes and saw my horrid insecurities brewing. My defeat was inevitable. As the beat looped, the crowd waited for a comeback verse. I stood there silent, dropping the mic. I walked home silent that day, losing the biggest rap battle in the