Up Close and Personal- The Then and Now

These days I walk extensively in the city, in solitary. From one place to another, I continuously walked, until I couldn’t walk anymore. I was hoping to see the naive tourists who would fulfill my experience, but as the season falls forward to autumn, they all left. I bought new soles to embellish my gait, and new corduroy pants to match them, the European fit, as I called them. I could never pull this off in the suburbs. They would stare and stereotype me as “metro,” such an unsolicited word, even though I would look sharp. But here’s my chance, a chance to express myself. I am an individual.

When I was young, every time I had acquainted myself to a new environment, my family would end up moving. It became frustrating, and at times I would feel aloof and lost. On the upside, however, I became an individual and always found myself eventually adapting to my new surroundings. But at the same time, I developed a shield and often enclosed myself, afraid of getting too close to others. The outcome is that when I do open myself up, I open it extensively, in a way that I can be loquacious of my feelings. Thus, when I fall, I fall hard. So I never expose myself to too many people, afraid of getting burned.

I was able to shift focus. Instead of changing myself to someone that I’m not and fit into the stereotypical “popular” socialites of the new surroundings, I was my genuine self, an individual, and concentrated on my goals. I would spend hours upon hours of practicing, everyday, hoping to be a concert violinist. I had no time. Knowing time is of essence, I would go home after school and spent the rest of my day practicing. Even during school I was thinking how I would spend my hours at home on the scales, etudes, concertos, and other repertoires. I practically breathed music. I read music. I dreamed music. The old saying of “How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice,” I took it to heart. I knew that the only way I would be able to achieve my dream was to live it, until my dream was crushed.

It was my sophomore year of high school going into junior, the crucial moment of preparing for SATs and getting into a good university. My father was anxious, and realizing how exclusively I wanted to make music my life, he did whatever he could to stop it. He cut off my lessons and screamed at me for practicing. I remembered I would get so scared, at the same time I wanted it so bad, that I would go to the basement to practice.

“If you really want to be a violinist, show your dad there is no other way for you.” My friend at that time who shared the same passion suggested.



I took his words and rebelled. I started doing horribly in school to make apparent that the only way I would be able to get in to a college was to audition for music school. I would mention Curtis, the reputable music school in Philadelphia, and brought home brochures of Julliard. Unfortunately, I was fighting a losing battle. Soon I realized the man does wear the pants in the house, and unless I was willing to live on the streets and start from being a street musician, there was no other way (Now I have to clarify that in the world of classical music, due to its eminent history and prestige, without proper training, it’s like finding needle in a haystack. You have to search the entire bookshelf and recordings on classical music to learn how to play a note appropriately on Bach, for example. There is also a cut off age).

“Is it really worth it?” My friend with the same passion asked me. For some reason I can’t recall his name. Perhaps subconsciously I had erased that part of me, to forget the dreadful memories I had.

Fortunately, I was adaptable. I soon find a group of friends that lasted until now (although we no longer see each other, we still keep in touch once in awhile). We weren’t exactly the “popular” crowd until senior year, where all the underclassmen looked up to us, especially the girls (what does it really mean to be popular anyways). We were the off-beat individuals who were atypical, in a good way i.e.

Things change. The friends that I made have their own dreams to pursue, and so do I. After series of relationships and heartbreaks, I decided to move. I always wanted to live in New York: the idealistic loft apartment, the endless nights, the chance for me to be an individual. I packed my bags and decided not to look back. Perhaps I was running away, but that’s how it has always been since my childhood. I never kept in contact with most of my friends, especially the girls I had relationships with. I always thought I could just start fresh in a new surrounding. After all, I am adaptable. I am an individual.

Living in the city is much more than the fairy tale you seen in movies and read in novels. It is rough if you don’t know anyone. Quite frankly, I am sociable, just afraid of getting too close. I had met many people here in the city. Some are great. Some are eccentric. But I never kept in contact with any of them.

This city is cold. I stray myself from getting too close to others, afraid of getting hurt. But one thing I acquired from my experiences is hope. I am adaptable. Aren’t I? Right now I am trying to shift focus. I am still able to shift focus. I write excessively hoping one day I would become a writer. One day. It is the only way I know how to express my emotions wholly. I mean, how am I going to connect with those strangers in New York? When people started talking about the shows they used to watch and the games they used to play when they were kids, I just nod silently. What am I going to say? That I did not do those things because I spent my entire childhood practicing to reach a dream that had failed? I’ll find ways. I am adaptable. After all, this Apple is a gregarious social melting pot filled with diverse people from all over the world. I did meet some great people didn’t I? But they all left.