A Revisited Love Affair
I love music.
Music has been a big part of my life ever since I can remember. Way, way back when I was much younger, Mom would bring me along to church and let me join activities that allowed kids to showcase their talents. I remember having a recorded cassette tape of my singing (thankfully, it got lost!) when I was just about 5 or 6 years old. My parents kept on pushing me to take up lessons in playing the piano which I never took seriously. I wanted to be like my dad who was a “oido” player of many musical instruments (name it, he could play it. A literal one-man band).
I never had any formal education or training with music (in all of it’s forms). I always believed that as long as you love something, all else will fall into place. I kept a mediocre pace in my so-called craft. Assuming that my “innate” talents would manifest at one time or another and people would be awestruck by my genius. I rebelled my parents goading, and only halfheartedly attended my piano lessons and preferring to take it slow, thinking my knowledge and acquired skills where enough to pass off as G-R-E-A-T and that music was perfect for me.
Little did I know that I was far too blinded with my puppy love with music. Becoming surrounded by people who have mastered playing their respective musical instruments; friends who’ve had actual stage time in singing live in front of a large audience; and classmates/acquaintances who were either part of a choir, a singing group, a band and could carry a tune in their own style left me jealous, ashamed, and unworthy. It felt like being “friendzoned”. A bit out of place. The realization of being ORDINARY and not special was stinging. I fancied myself busy with admiring music on a safe distance. Collecting copies of the music I listen too, the occasional unleashing-of-my-innermost-demons-through-karaoke-singing, and having my dad show off his skills before.
When my dad died, I tried so hard to reconnect through music… always playing the piano (with one music piece I never got to finish), playing guitar and trying out complicated styles. I flooded myself with various music sheets, simple tab chords to learn, but I never could get to that high. I’ve lost my chances. Just like love (and life), you need to work – HARD – to get what you want. Having the passion to go after it is just the icing on the cake.
The facts of life humbles you. You can never get it all. I’ve made peace with my musical demons. I still LOVE music. But I give it a high regard knowing that I know my limits. If people see that what I have is talent, then I am honored by such a thought.
Earlier at work, my colleague and I were ambushed into singing. Thankfully, she was a better singer than I was and I just hoped I didn’t humiliate her by my amateur ability. And just recently as well, I seem to find myself being part of a choir (again! My experience with such a vocation was years ago.) I kept feeling out of place! My colleagues were there but being shoved into a part you’ve long forgotten can be quite daunting.
Choir practice was bittersweet. My desire to sing was warring with my inadequacy with it. Those around me were naturals. I felt like a stranger… awkward. Seeing how amazingly good the other choir members were, I realized how much I miss my dad. It’s almost two years since he passed and still I wish that he would always be there when I get home and give out his annoying advise in “singing through your diaphragm” spiel and urging me on (and correcting my singing). Bothersome but part of our repertoire. It was always a treat to see my dad perform. I could never rival with my dad’s passion for music. But it was a connection that made us bond without even talking.
I never fully appreciated how much music means to me until recently. Perhaps it comes with the territory of coming to terms with the things you need to keep, and the ones you need to let go but still be happy about it. I’m happy in being able to carry a tune, play certain music instruments in the most basic of ways, become good friends to those who mastered their skills and proudly cheer them on. Thus, each song I sing (or listen) will be a symphony of tribute in true appreciation to those who journeyed (and will continue journeying) with me in my love affair with music.
Posted on July 25, 2012, in A Blog A Day/Week, A Wandering Mind, Music, My Two Cents Worth and tagged Choir, music, Piano, postaday, postaday2012, postaweek, postaweek2012, Singing. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.