She was the reason for frustration. Anger. Maybe even tears. For three years, she consumed my Sunday afternoons. At times, I got so frustrated that I wanted to just end it. But still, I stayed. I stayed for the shimmering voice that she resonated herself with. I stayed for the memories that we made. I stayed for the hundreds of sunny days we had that shined through the very somber ones. I'm not sure that even I knew what I was getting myself into when we convened for the first time in the fourth grade. Initially, there was excitement—to finally find something that always seemed so interesting to me, albeit unfamiliar. But soon after, my love for music began to waver. Curiosity soon became frustration; I picked up the viola for the first time wanting to play something that I’d be eager to call my mom over to listen to. Instead, I made sure to shut the door every time I practiced, hoping to muffle the unpleasant screech of …show more content…
But my frustrations always lingered right in front of me, and no matter how much I improved, I always felt a beat behind. Since the …show more content…
Everything I love in life—whether it’s my interest in music, my family, or my love of science—come to be cherished not just by circumstance, but instead through waves of deliberate compromise. Upon entering high school, I have found myself in numerous situations that felt about as fruitful as my fourth-grader self trying to play the viola, struggling to muster anything. But, instead of dwelling on my struggles, I pursued what I wanted. I bore the brunt of feeling stalemated by inexperience and forged my way to success. Whether or not my musical pilgrimage continues, my ambition for betterment will always emanate from me as a constant reminder of my relationship with music, and how it impacted me to shape the way I live