My hands moved across the instrument, fingertips brushing its glossy surface. Standing under the bright limelight, I felt a sense of belonging. The drums began: one, two, three... That was my cue. I gently flicked my wrist and began playing the first notes of my life.
"Piano it is. It's the king of all musical instruments," said my father.
Like every obedient Chinese child, I had to choose between the violin and piano. Though my American side dictated I had the freedom to pursue my own interests, the piano was chosen for me regardless. Every day after school, my mother would drive me to a writing workshop, a math tutor, and finally my piano lesson. Whenever I questioned the purpose of this difficult regimen, the answer was always because, as a Chinese child, my duty was to become great, like a "Long" (or dragon). Moving to China became a crescendo of pressure, especially when my parents purchased a brand-new piano and hired a private local instructor. Compared to my patient American teacher, this Chinese counterpart was austere; she would hit my hands with a ruler whenever they faltered.
One day, I passed by a CD store blasting "Livin' on a Prayer". Briefly, I felt as if I was strolling by the neighborhood records store back in California. On the TV screen, I watched intently as Richie Sambora rocked out his Stratocaster. Eyes closed and mouth half-open, he seemed to be in a perfect dream; it was the look of bliss. This look was the prelude to my decision that piano didn't provide the fulfillment that I wanted from an instrument. Each note resounding from Sambora's guitar represented my American side calling me to finally make my own choice.
I met an overwhelming chorus of objections. "How can a Chinese boy play guitar when all successful people play piano, violin, or cello?" Though I tried to explain to my parents how I would be happier with a guitar, my mother only threw up her hands and exclaimed, "Have your American 'pursuit of happiness'; if you reject your Chinese heritage, so be it."
After buying my first guitar, I quickly learned to play, guided only by passion as a teacher. With guitar, I felt truly happy. I knew I had found my calling. However, I found that the music theory from piano lessons formed the solid basis upon which I built my guitar skills. Moreover, guitar and piano seemed to be the perfect complements; the bright, sharp notes of the guitar blended in with the warm, dulcet tones of the piano. Thus, for a charity concert, I formed a band with piano and guitar as the main instruments.
My fingers danced across the Les Paul's rosewood fretboard, tapping each string at precise locations to deliver the cadence of the finishing chorus. Out of the amplifier came a resonating final harmony of notes. In that harmony, I discerned both my guitar and my band's piano. They united to create one music, my music.
Any comments would be appreciated. Suggestions on how to improve would be even more appreciated. And the most brutally honest remarks would be appreciated the most! Please help a poor double-rejected (yeah, I really did receive two rejections) applicant out!
"Piano it is. It's the king of all musical instruments," said my father.
Like every obedient Chinese child, I had to choose between the violin and piano. Though my American side dictated I had the freedom to pursue my own interests, the piano was chosen for me regardless. Every day after school, my mother would drive me to a writing workshop, a math tutor, and finally my piano lesson. Whenever I questioned the purpose of this difficult regimen, the answer was always because, as a Chinese child, my duty was to become great, like a "Long" (or dragon). Moving to China became a crescendo of pressure, especially when my parents purchased a brand-new piano and hired a private local instructor. Compared to my patient American teacher, this Chinese counterpart was austere; she would hit my hands with a ruler whenever they faltered.
One day, I passed by a CD store blasting "Livin' on a Prayer". Briefly, I felt as if I was strolling by the neighborhood records store back in California. On the TV screen, I watched intently as Richie Sambora rocked out his Stratocaster. Eyes closed and mouth half-open, he seemed to be in a perfect dream; it was the look of bliss. This look was the prelude to my decision that piano didn't provide the fulfillment that I wanted from an instrument. Each note resounding from Sambora's guitar represented my American side calling me to finally make my own choice.
I met an overwhelming chorus of objections. "How can a Chinese boy play guitar when all successful people play piano, violin, or cello?" Though I tried to explain to my parents how I would be happier with a guitar, my mother only threw up her hands and exclaimed, "Have your American 'pursuit of happiness'; if you reject your Chinese heritage, so be it."
After buying my first guitar, I quickly learned to play, guided only by passion as a teacher. With guitar, I felt truly happy. I knew I had found my calling. However, I found that the music theory from piano lessons formed the solid basis upon which I built my guitar skills. Moreover, guitar and piano seemed to be the perfect complements; the bright, sharp notes of the guitar blended in with the warm, dulcet tones of the piano. Thus, for a charity concert, I formed a band with piano and guitar as the main instruments.
My fingers danced across the Les Paul's rosewood fretboard, tapping each string at precise locations to deliver the cadence of the finishing chorus. Out of the amplifier came a resonating final harmony of notes. In that harmony, I discerned both my guitar and my band's piano. They united to create one music, my music.
Any comments would be appreciated. Suggestions on how to improve would be even more appreciated. And the most brutally honest remarks would be appreciated the most! Please help a poor double-rejected (yeah, I really did receive two rejections) applicant out!
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