Youngthroats.com

The baton lifted, and the hall erupted. Voices rose in unison: a chorus of languages, of laughter and tears, of hope and doubt. The sound was not perfect; it was raw, beautiful, imperfect—exactly as it should be. And as the final chord faded, a soft whisper echoed through the virtual rafters:

The conductor raised the baton, and a ripple of sound spread through the hall. One by one, holographic silhouettes materialized, each representing a different teen from around the globe: Aisha from Nairobi, who whispered poetry in Swahili; Luis from Rio, who beat a drum with his heart; Mei from Shanghai, who sang lullabies in a language older than words. youngthroats.com