I love music just as much as the next person would. The striking on the piano keys, the bowing of a violin, the plucking of a guitar, the rhythmic beat of the drum. Can you hear it? The favourite rhythm playing in your head; It’s faint, but it’s there. The lovely sound that sweeps you away each time.
Most of us can play at least a musical instrument or two. Some of us starts at a tender age, bearing hopes that one day we could learn to play the song we love. For me, I started playing the piano at age seven; I could still remember as i struck the white keys – a little surprised, a little amazed at what I could do with just a little force. I used to think of the big black upright piano as a magic kit, that a beautiful melody could come out as long as I know which key to press.
As I grow older, I learn about vibrations produce sound (which kills the joy of believing in magic), followed by terms like slur, staccato, semi-quavers, and then Italian terms I am sure I would never need to apply.I faintly recall how high the teacher’s expectation was, and that for every time she said I would most probably fail the grade, I manage to pass all nine examinations. It was either due to silent encouragement or my stubborn attitude to prove people wrong. I think it was the latter. I stop piano lesson few years back, and without practice, it detoriates significantly, and…
..then, some of us start to pick up another instrument because, simply because, the passion of the previous instrument simply isn’t there anymore. I started violin lessons a couple of weeks back, but it would be soon before I admit I am musically-disabled. At least for this instrument. It is not about reading the tauge notes, it is about being able to reproduce the song you hear ; and i just simply can’t. Sometimes during the lesson, he would play the piece for me – i wonder if it is to remind me the beautiful melody a violin can produce, or because he could not stand the way i butchered each song. But every time he does that, my heart tightens a little, envious, knowing that no matter how long i take, I will never be good enough.
It’s the holidays now. And music seems to be the soothing breeze in the midst of every storm. A reminder that amongst all terrible things that has happen, we are blessed with things we still have. Family, cousins, friends, and most importantly, our beating heart.
Clench your palm into a fist and hold it close to your heart and be thankful, for a moment or two, that it is still beating. Dup-di-dup-di-dup.
Isn’t that the best sound ever?