Personal Narrative: Musi Music

Looking around with wide eyes, I was cornered. There was no escape; I had led myself straight into a trap and there was no way out. How could I even have expected to learn how to play the violin in a summer, when my classmates had been playing for at least two years? I played softly, cringing at the scratchy squeaks my violin emitted and wondering what I could possibly be doing in a room filled with sixth graders who, to me, seemed better than any Carnegie Hall performer. Six years ago, I was an intimidated beginner violinist, surrounded by peers who could read music, which to me, was an impossible feat. I never thought that I would continue playing the violin, for I was afraid. I always strive to be the best in anything that I do, be it playing an instrument, working on an assignment, or playing a sport. So why would I continue playing, when I was hopelessly behind my peers? To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I didn’t continue to play the violin.
Starting at three years old, I would perform at yearly Indian community functions, mouthing the lyrics as I executed the choreography, the steady rhythm of the drums encouraging me. I recall long drives in the family car, the hum of the engine and rhythm of the Bollywood songs lulling me to sleep with a smile on my face. I had always appreciated music, but when I began to play the violin, my entire perspective changed. While listening to the radio, I began to notice the different instruments playing, and the nuances in tone which indicated the climax of the song. I started to memorize the lyrics to my favorite songs, so that whenever they came on the radio, I could belt out the words eagerly. In movies and TV shows, I realized the importance of the haunting music during a particularly poignant moment. Music had opened my eyes to the beautiful and delicate details of the world, and gave me stubborn