7:10 pm
A night of good music, and the first two performances have already been phenomenal. The girl up next enters the stage with a swishing of deep blue skirts, a silver flute flashing in her right hand. With barely a pause, she leans forward slightly. I see her chest rise, and then she begins.
I had expected her to be good, but—not that good. Her music takes me away, light and clear and with that perfect vibrato, the kind I had never achieved even after years of practice. I listen, half in awe and half in envy. Mostly in envy. That could have been me, I think, and I feel suddenly that I will definitely pick up flute again, practice the very next day. Practice until my fingers come off. And then, someday... play like that.
This makes me feel good for a couple seconds until I tell myself to stop being stupid. I’ve never been talented at music, but I would have given up all my other so-called talents to be incredible at just one instrument. I wonder why I even came to this night in the first place, because the same regrets come back every time I see how far my previous bandmates have come.
It’s strange, that this girl has the same teacher I used to have. It’s just unfair, actually—one girl had talent, the other didn’t. I laugh at myself; I can’t believe how bitter I still am, after all these years. Then again, it’s hard not to be when my band director’s old words come back to me time and time again: you’re too young to give up on music.
He didn’t understand that I was talentless, and back then I didn’t either. I just thought I wasn’t passionate enough. That I wasn’t willing to work for the coveted results. But I know now that there’s a difference between giving up, and accepting the truth.
I had expected her to be good, but—not that good. Her music takes me away, light and clear and with that perfect vibrato, the kind I had never achieved even after years of practice. I listen, half in awe and half in envy. Mostly in envy. That could have been me, I think, and I feel suddenly that I will definitely pick up flute again, practice the very next day. Practice until my fingers come off. And then, someday... play like that.
This makes me feel good for a couple seconds until I tell myself to stop being stupid. I’ve never been talented at music, but I would have given up all my other so-called talents to be incredible at just one instrument. I wonder why I even came to this night in the first place, because the same regrets come back every time I see how far my previous bandmates have come.
It’s strange, that this girl has the same teacher I used to have. It’s just unfair, actually—one girl had talent, the other didn’t. I laugh at myself; I can’t believe how bitter I still am, after all these years. Then again, it’s hard not to be when my band director’s old words come back to me time and time again: you’re too young to give up on music.
He didn’t understand that I was talentless, and back then I didn’t either. I just thought I wasn’t passionate enough. That I wasn’t willing to work for the coveted results. But I know now that there’s a difference between giving up, and accepting the truth.