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Music was my life. I loved it since I was little and adored every aspect of it. When I was still in elementary school, my parents enrolled me in vocal and piano lessons so I could explore. I continued until I was in my freshman year of high school and fell out of touch with the piano. My passion for singing, though, prevailed.
I didn’t think I was very good. I didn’t have perfect pitch, couldn’t sight-sing or sight-read...I couldn't do any of that cool stuff. I had been pretty hard on myself throughout my musical endeavors, to be honest. But the worst part was when my own family would tell me, “Why aren’t you singing? Why aren’t you playing the piano?” but right after, tell me, “You’re so loud, just stop. Your singing is annoying. You can’t even play piano without mistakes.” I hated it every time they said that to me. So I also developed a hatred for music along the way. The already-heavy burden of negativity I carried became even heavier.
When I was in high school, though, at the start of my junior year, I wanted to pick it all back up--I wanted to express myself through music and let the world how I feel through my elaborate melodies and heartbreaking harmonies. I enrolled myself into a music production class at a local community center and told my parents that the meetings were for a club I was a part of.
I was giddy and full of excitement and anticipation for the first class. I was looking forward to meeting people who had the same dream as me and learning different things about music theory and connecting with instruments I hadn’t encountered yet.
Long story short, I expected way too much. In that first session, I ended up making what I thought was a really good song, only in that hour. Of course, it wasn’t mixed or mastered or any of the sort, but I thought it was a pretty good base. The instructor told me I was being arrogant and being a show-off by presenting the song to her. I presented it to her in private . She then told the whole class, “This is what a show-off is. Don’t boast about your music like she is--you’ll never get anywhere in the music industry. No one will listen to your music. You’ll be regarded as an attention-seeker and everyone will hate you. You call this creativity? Pouring your feelings into the melody?” she asked in a mocking tone. “That is absolute bullshit.” She proceeded to play my song demo in front of the class. Mixed feelings were expressed among my peers’ faces--some disgusted, some listening curiously, some not even bothering to care.
Soon after, with one of the most heart-breaking and stern tones I’ve ever heard, she ended class with, “That’s it for today’s session. I’m sorry for cutting class short, but I can’t comprehend how narcissistic this girl was...to show her instructor her music and call it “good”?” she scoffed. “What a joke.” She glared right at me with eyes that could pierce diamonds. “Never come back to my classes again. In fact, give up on music entirely. You’re not worth the time. You’re a disgrace to all the legends out there and rising artists who actually produce good music.” She turned her back on me, and I sat in disbelief and frustration and was so...crestfallen. I came to these classes in hopes that I’d be able to cultivate my artistry but it ended up that my hopes were absolutely destroyed. Crushed. Obliterated. And from that day on, I swore to never sing or play again. I would not touch an instrument or sing a single note.
That night, I bawled my eyes out. Everything my instructor said hurt. Her words were like daggers, slashing deeper and deeper into my skin, tearing me apart. I hated her so much. I think the worst part though, was that I came to hate myself more than I ever had in my life. I became stone-cold after that day, and was never the same as I was before in the 16 years of life that I had lived.
Fast forward a couple years, and soon, I was in college under a BS/MD program in hopes of achieving my dreams of becoming a doctor. At the age of 22, you’d think I should be out partying and drinking my life away with my friends at ungodly hours of the morning before graduation, but nope. That wasn’t who I was. I studied consistently and made sure to ace all my exams, even if it meant sacrificing more than just a couple hours of sleep.
I was considered a pretty smart student among my peers, and the attention was unbearable at times. I hated hearing the gossip surround me about how I was a “fraud” and that I slept with my professors to get A’s in my classes. None of that was true. I didn’t understand how people could just be happy for someone else rather than tear them down. Why don’t you work for what you want to get to? Earn it, dumbasses.
One spring morning, I woke up to my roommate Maryjun whisper-screaming frantically and waving my fuzzy blanket around the room, leaving me cold. “What the heck, Mary,” I complained, “It’s 5 in the morning. On a Saturday. I should be catching up on my sleep for once.” I rubbed my eyes begrudgingly and got up to do my morning routine. I might as well have anyway, right?
Maryjun took me by the wrist and spun me around. “Look, Gina,” she pointed to her phone, a bright poster smack in the middle of it. “Our university is going to be having an opportunity for all its students to participate in a concert slash talent show!” she exclaimed, squealing to her heart’s content. I worried about my neighbors.
I looked up at her, unamused. “And the significance of this is…?”
“We get to meet and mingle with students from all the other colleges for this!! For an entire week, students from all of our university’s colleges can roam around campus and chat! Isn’t that amazing?” she added. “Plus, aren’t guitarists and singers that are guys, like, usually kinda hot? I can’t wait to meet a cute boy,” she giggled.
Maryjun was one of the only people I was close to; I met her within the first week of studying here. She’s such a bright person, a major contrast to me. Studying a crap ton meant that I didn’t have time for normal college student things, like making a lot of friends. It didn’t matter to me anyway--I didn’t want to have to go through the pain of being rejected again by people I thought I could trust. It was nice to listen to her; she relieved a lot of the internal tension I had just by being her bubbly self. “I guess…” I feebly replied.
“Hey, we both have a free period at 2 on Wednesday! And you and I are free most of the day on Friday, right? We just have classes at 8 and 2!” she looked up to me with puppy eyes. “Can we pleeeeeeassseeeeee go meet other people? It might be more fun than you think it is,” she said.
“I guess it’s alright...but you know that I don’t really like music,” I reasoned, trying to come up with an excuse that would get me out of meeting “hot” boys who could sing and play guitar or whatever.
She pouted at me. “It’s alright! You don’t have to go to the concert with me,” she paused, “although I would like for you to go with me. I just want to have some fun girls’ time with you for once.” She smiled at me and looked at me for a second and sighed. “I love being friends with you, you know? But sometimes I want you to come out of your shell and show people how great of a person you are. So people can get to know the ‘top student’ and not think she’s just a snob, you know? Because you aren’t.”
I smiled back at her and chuckled. “This is a pretty deep conversation for 5 in the morning, huh, Mary?” I squeezed her into a tight, yet quick hug and finally agreed to go with her to mingle. “I’ll go with you. But please, just don’t try to set me up with some random boy. Or force me to sing...yeah,” I ended tentatively.
“Deal,” Mary held out a pinky and we locked our fingers into a pinky promise. “We’re going to have fun this week, okay? Let loose a little! Besides, it’s not like the road to becoming a doctor is easy, anyway. I’m surprised that our university even allowed this.”
“True, true,” I agreed. “Okay. Let me get changed and we’ll go out for breakfast today, okay? My treat,” I said while making my bed. “Let’s study hard this weekend, get our chores done, and we can relax next week!”
Mary jumped up and down in delight. “Hooray!! You’re the best, I love you so much! Let’s get it!! Carpe diem, as you always say,” she said with a wink and a finger gun.
Our weekend consisted of doing exactly what I said. We studied our asses off, bought groceries for the week, took a walk around campus, and ate out. Secretly, I was hoping Monday came faster. I was wondering about what was in store for me the upcoming week.