I Play Viola Monologue

I play viola. I’ve played it for a couple of years now, and, (the sound of the viola being the acquired taste that it is) I believe it has finally grown on me. In regards to playing this instrument, my decision to do so was, initially, not one that arose from interest and fervor, but rather one of practicality. Cello had long been my preferred choice of string instrument to anything else. Its sound is, to say the least, spectacular. But the feasibility of taking a cello on public transportation, and even more so on a bike, was little to none. These two being my primary source of transportation at the time when I had to make my selection of string instrument, I was rather dissuaded me from this instrumental attraction of mine. But I could get
The person in question is altering some aspect of themselves in order to be noticed to a lesser degree, or even conjointly as an ally. Just as the fox grows its white winter coat in order blend into the snow surrounding it, we have the characters growing a sense of reverence and admiration for this stronger power. Having said that, the extent to which the character, be it the viola, the man in La Bruja or what else, has changed in these cases is to an incomparable extend. Once this sense of self is lost, the nature that causing the power to be frightening in the first place, an irreparable quality has vanished. The fox in this case would be turning into an icicle to blend in with the snow. And the very thing that caused apprehension initially had been altered in the process of familiarizing oneself with the action. Like the viola marching in Shostakovich’s third movement more vehemently than anything else, when it was this instrument that had previously been marched
In her book, A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf wrote a series of essays beginning with the state of the female novelist and expanding from there. In her closing essay she writes a public service announcement of sorts, calling out to her audience, the female ones in particular, to write books of all forms and variety, in spite of the difficulties that stand in front of them. Woolf asserts that not only they stand to benefit from writing good literature, but so do the generations to come. Foremostly her warning existed due to the current situations that surrounded her, and the ease with which the status quo could exist. Woolf prompts the reader to be uncomfortable existing state of affairs. And there is a dreadful outcome in the inverse of advised result. Again a transformation like that aforementioned could occur, the female writers Woolf so strongly advocated for siding with and assisting the very men that systemically put the women in this place. It would have changed in its own right both the previous and current state perpendicular to their direction previously. Furthermore, the memory of why change was needed, and the actions of change itself, would become neglected and eventually forgotten. And this exactly is the