Dream
Dream
The anxiety had grabbed my mind once I stepped outside the campus, jolting my relaxed mood into disarray. I'd made the sudden realisation of how close it was to my turn on the stage. Not as an emcee, nor a mentally questionable speaker who only had 2 minutes to churn out as many one-liners that could be pulled from my imagination for the sake of class glory. For once, I'd be a performer.
Playing the guitar had been a dream of mine - The same instrument that sang infinite tunes in the hands of others had always receded into a silent, clumsy block of wood with a few strings attached to it the moment it was handed to me. I stared at it awkwardly for the first time, and it seem the least bit interested in returning the eye contact, only annoyed by my inadequacy that was amplified by the skill of its owner.
The chance to realise this off-handed thought had came true not overnight, but only through countless nights of plucking away at the six specific strings.When I played the G chord for the first time, I was drawn in completely. I listened to the six different notes that somehow found common ground in forming a collective musical picture, waiting for the sound to finally run out of breath, before slowly continuing with the then-painful C. Followed by D. Even E slowly made its way in. And all of a sudden, I didn't want to stop.
Over the next few months, with my right hand taking cues from the left, and the left reciprocating for the right's varying speeds, I made a steady progression. My left fingers had grown hardy from use, and familiar with each fret that corresponded to every string. My right had grown their nails out, forming the perfect tool in expressing every note with care and passion. Even my left index had taken to the task of barring down all six strings at once. My dream, bit by bit, was growing into a reality.
Right now, despite a desperate need to reconcile with my bed, the tabs and notes that I have pored over days on end are now resurfacing in my head, fighting for a chance to be released through my guitar again. I have no energy, but still create some to satisfy this near-addiction. I create some to do my best for tomorrow, in knowing my fellow dreamers are doing the same.
As I sleep tonight, I have my hopes up, my dreams big for tomorrow.
I was squirming in my seat just a couple of hours back, wondering and wishing about tomorrow. The concert fever built up in the recently bustling PAC had permeated my wakefulness, edging me on into countless worries and doubts. In a short hour, I'd be congratulating my artistically inclined friends whose intricate steps and movements have kept me enraptured for the night. In just another 12, I'd be back in the same venue but with a vastly different objective. Within a mere 22, the curtains of the PAC would part once again.
The anxiety had grabbed my mind once I stepped outside the campus, jolting my relaxed mood into disarray. I'd made the sudden realisation of how close it was to my turn on the stage. Not as an emcee, nor a mentally questionable speaker who only had 2 minutes to churn out as many one-liners that could be pulled from my imagination for the sake of class glory. For once, I'd be a performer.
Playing the guitar had been a dream of mine - The same instrument that sang infinite tunes in the hands of others had always receded into a silent, clumsy block of wood with a few strings attached to it the moment it was handed to me. I stared at it awkwardly for the first time, and it seem the least bit interested in returning the eye contact, only annoyed by my inadequacy that was amplified by the skill of its owner.
The chance to realise this off-handed thought had came true not overnight, but only through countless nights of plucking away at the six specific strings.When I played the G chord for the first time, I was drawn in completely. I listened to the six different notes that somehow found common ground in forming a collective musical picture, waiting for the sound to finally run out of breath, before slowly continuing with the then-painful C. Followed by D. Even E slowly made its way in. And all of a sudden, I didn't want to stop.
Over the next few months, with my right hand taking cues from the left, and the left reciprocating for the right's varying speeds, I made a steady progression. My left fingers had grown hardy from use, and familiar with each fret that corresponded to every string. My right had grown their nails out, forming the perfect tool in expressing every note with care and passion. Even my left index had taken to the task of barring down all six strings at once. My dream, bit by bit, was growing into a reality.
Right now, despite a desperate need to reconcile with my bed, the tabs and notes that I have pored over days on end are now resurfacing in my head, fighting for a chance to be released through my guitar again. I have no energy, but still create some to satisfy this near-addiction. I create some to do my best for tomorrow, in knowing my fellow dreamers are doing the same.
As I sleep tonight, I have my hopes up, my dreams big for tomorrow.
posted by someone who stopped to think at
08:25
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