lowcal /
Nov 21, 2009 #1
Prompt: Tell us about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that is important to you. What about this quality or accomplishment makes you proud, and how does it relate to the person you are?
On a scale of one to ten, I rate myself a nine as a meticulous individual. Many of whom have entered my bedroom seem to think I hold a secret by not allowing even a speck of bread crumb to exist inside it. Those who have seen my bedroom assume I must have some form of obsessive-compulsiveness, not allowing even the tiniest of bread crumbs to exist within the vicinity of my room. No unnecessary or loose leaf papers escape out of my three inch three ringed binder. Yet, to say my cleanliness as a indication of holding steadfast to idiosyncrasy would be a fallacy. Frantically searching through chaotic piles of sheet music, I could not place the piece entitled L'Arabesque. Arriving at my first piano recital without solo in hand was not something I had intended.
Although Mrs. Susan typically recommended her students to memorize their recital pieces, I was an exception. She felt it fair to allow my music before me since I was a recent student. If given the same opportunity, most players would likely heave a sigh of relief. I, rather, merely felt all the more inferior. Seated around me were children aged between four and six dressed up to the nines. The girls were dressed in flowery and patterned attire. The boys, on the other hand, either wore pullover sweaters or clean-cut, pristine, collared shirts. The majority of the others had been playing the piano since before their feet grew enough to reach the pedals. In my eyes, I saw each child as young Mozarts, Beethovens, and Zimmermanns. As for me, I stood as the only sixteen year old "beginning" player. I was the rookie and they were the veterans.
My fruitless efforts at locating my solo piece only added to the inferiority. My predecessor, a young, curly, blond-haired girl reached the closing stanzas of her performances. My heart pounded vigorously, beating faster than a drum. [My heart pounded vigorously, resounding like the beating of a drum. The nervous tapping of my foot against the gold granite-tiled floor echoed dimly across the room]. Oddly enough, I found myself playing the popular Sesame Street theme song. The unexpected melody soon built inside of me a nostalgic feeling of my childhood memories. [The unexpected melody stirred a feeling of nostalgia for my childhood. Memories of jumping upon the rugged earth floor from a rusted chained swing, building sand castles about five stories high, and swinging speedily across the monkey bars suddenly filled my mind. The bittersweet memories of my childhood were ephemeral. The augmenting claps from the audience following the blond girl's performance jarred me back to reality. The rush of anxiety made me feel like a cat on a hot tin roof. Stuck in the setting, I had no other choice but to play Burgmüller's classical piece by heart. As the saying goes, the show must go on.
"Many of you might not recognize this young lady since this is her first recital. She's worked very long and hard on her piece and I know you all will appreciate it as much as I will." Although Mrs. Susan's words were kind, an apprehensive feeling of not doing justice to one of the most famous piano pieces of all time engulfed every fiber of my being. Forcing a smile to hide my nerves, I attempted a confident stride towards the piano. As soon as I took my place on the padded seat bench, I laid my fingers on the warm to-the-touch soot black and ermine white piano keys. I could feel the audience's eyes fixated in my direction. My fingers shook over the keys. Slowly, I straightened my shoulders, and placed my right foot on the rusted golden pedal. I broke the silence as the strings within the piano vibrated at their own frequency.
Smooth resonances of low and high notes flooded the room - similar to the tweets of a hummingbird and jingles of sleigh bells mixed to create an elegant blend of harmony. My fingers played smoothly across the keys and the notation of the piece echoed. Occasional staccatos and fortes added to the images I was painting with sounds. Gradually, I felt the anxiety leave. Confidence seeped inside me and spread fiercely to my veins. At that moment, the sky was my limit. I discovered that I had the talent to play passionately. Although I'd only played for a year, a year was all it took to bring me to this moment, this moment of self discovery.
With the pressing of each key, confidence pushed its way out from under all many fears. Through the up and down gradual steps atop the pedal, I pumped the notion that I had the ability to take on any challenge. The sounds I vividly produced illuminated that I had no reason to be afraid of revealing my ability to everyone. With this experience, I continued to triumph over every recital I partook in. The confidence I built inside led me to accomplish several other events in my life. Whether I took on the role as a Clinical Nursing competitor in an academic competition or simply asked passersby to donate money for a UNICEF fundraiser, my confidence from my first piano recital was to thank for.
Reverberation of clapping and whistling dominated the room. I turned toward the audience and smiled like a Cheshire cat. I had made music. Not just a melody one listened to on a 200 miles car ride to Denver, Colorado. Then, I had my own music.
On a scale of one to ten, I rate myself a nine as a meticulous individual. Many of whom have entered my bedroom seem to think I hold a secret by not allowing even a speck of bread crumb to exist inside it. Those who have seen my bedroom assume I must have some form of obsessive-compulsiveness, not allowing even the tiniest of bread crumbs to exist within the vicinity of my room. No unnecessary or loose leaf papers escape out of my three inch three ringed binder. Yet, to say my cleanliness as a indication of holding steadfast to idiosyncrasy would be a fallacy. Frantically searching through chaotic piles of sheet music, I could not place the piece entitled L'Arabesque. Arriving at my first piano recital without solo in hand was not something I had intended.
Although Mrs. Susan typically recommended her students to memorize their recital pieces, I was an exception. She felt it fair to allow my music before me since I was a recent student. If given the same opportunity, most players would likely heave a sigh of relief. I, rather, merely felt all the more inferior. Seated around me were children aged between four and six dressed up to the nines. The girls were dressed in flowery and patterned attire. The boys, on the other hand, either wore pullover sweaters or clean-cut, pristine, collared shirts. The majority of the others had been playing the piano since before their feet grew enough to reach the pedals. In my eyes, I saw each child as young Mozarts, Beethovens, and Zimmermanns. As for me, I stood as the only sixteen year old "beginning" player. I was the rookie and they were the veterans.
My fruitless efforts at locating my solo piece only added to the inferiority. My predecessor, a young, curly, blond-haired girl reached the closing stanzas of her performances. My heart pounded vigorously, beating faster than a drum. [My heart pounded vigorously, resounding like the beating of a drum. The nervous tapping of my foot against the gold granite-tiled floor echoed dimly across the room]. Oddly enough, I found myself playing the popular Sesame Street theme song. The unexpected melody soon built inside of me a nostalgic feeling of my childhood memories. [The unexpected melody stirred a feeling of nostalgia for my childhood. Memories of jumping upon the rugged earth floor from a rusted chained swing, building sand castles about five stories high, and swinging speedily across the monkey bars suddenly filled my mind. The bittersweet memories of my childhood were ephemeral. The augmenting claps from the audience following the blond girl's performance jarred me back to reality. The rush of anxiety made me feel like a cat on a hot tin roof. Stuck in the setting, I had no other choice but to play Burgmüller's classical piece by heart. As the saying goes, the show must go on.
"Many of you might not recognize this young lady since this is her first recital. She's worked very long and hard on her piece and I know you all will appreciate it as much as I will." Although Mrs. Susan's words were kind, an apprehensive feeling of not doing justice to one of the most famous piano pieces of all time engulfed every fiber of my being. Forcing a smile to hide my nerves, I attempted a confident stride towards the piano. As soon as I took my place on the padded seat bench, I laid my fingers on the warm to-the-touch soot black and ermine white piano keys. I could feel the audience's eyes fixated in my direction. My fingers shook over the keys. Slowly, I straightened my shoulders, and placed my right foot on the rusted golden pedal. I broke the silence as the strings within the piano vibrated at their own frequency.
Smooth resonances of low and high notes flooded the room - similar to the tweets of a hummingbird and jingles of sleigh bells mixed to create an elegant blend of harmony. My fingers played smoothly across the keys and the notation of the piece echoed. Occasional staccatos and fortes added to the images I was painting with sounds. Gradually, I felt the anxiety leave. Confidence seeped inside me and spread fiercely to my veins. At that moment, the sky was my limit. I discovered that I had the talent to play passionately. Although I'd only played for a year, a year was all it took to bring me to this moment, this moment of self discovery.
With the pressing of each key, confidence pushed its way out from under all many fears. Through the up and down gradual steps atop the pedal, I pumped the notion that I had the ability to take on any challenge. The sounds I vividly produced illuminated that I had no reason to be afraid of revealing my ability to everyone. With this experience, I continued to triumph over every recital I partook in. The confidence I built inside led me to accomplish several other events in my life. Whether I took on the role as a Clinical Nursing competitor in an academic competition or simply asked passersby to donate money for a UNICEF fundraiser, my confidence from my first piano recital was to thank for.
Reverberation of clapping and whistling dominated the room. I turned toward the audience and smiled like a Cheshire cat. I had made music. Not just a melody one listened to on a 200 miles car ride to Denver, Colorado. Then, I had my own music.