Nostalgia of my Youth

Nostalgia of my Youth

I used to be a pretty darn good violinist. I was no child genius, but I was one of those really motivated types, who was willing to work hard to achieve a good quality sound on the instrument. I never had the same zeal for piano, because I was probably too young and it was too forced upon me. When I picked up the violin, I was mature enough to appreciate the sound it produced. In many ways I think the violin was a more suitable instrument for me.

I started like everyone else; I wasn't composing concertos for violin the minute I started playing this instrument. I started with Hot Cross Buns like all the other students and studied scales. I used the mnemonics taught by my music teachers: Every Boy Does Fine, Five Cows Go Down And Eat Barley (this one is the order of the sharps and flats). I started in the 6th grade, where music was about half an hour once a week or so. It was really basic instructions, but I absorbed all I could. In Middle School, it was one hour every day, but in an orchestra setting. Since I was practically a beginner, I sat waaaaay in the back in the second violin section, but quickly worked my way up. When I went to High School, it was the same deal. I sat in the back, and worked my way up to the very front.

I didn't get private lessons until much much later, I think I was in the 11th grade. I had already been playing for 5 years, pretty much self-taught. The private lessons were given by a wonderful woman whom I only remember as Ruth. (In fact, I had a really hard time calling her Ruth, because in my culture, we just don't call adults by their first name!) When my family's finances dwindled even lower, she offered to give me lessons at half price, and then later, some were even free. And I became good. I became so good, that I actually enjoyed hearing myself play. I had a cheap violin, but I was proficient enough to produce a pure sound from it. I loved seeing the strings vibrate so close before my eyes and the rosin dust, smoking from my bow. I was pleasant to the ear, almost musical.

As part of a duty in being a member of the school orchestra, I was required to play in the graduation ceremony. Imagine, playing Pomps and Circumstance at your own graduation! Of course, I skipped it (I didn't feel like lugging a violin around the graduation ceremony either!) and didn't play, and the teacher understood and forgave me. But since that day at graduation when I actually refused to play that violin, I have not played it.

Since I am doing much soul searching these days, I decided to revisit my childhood, or at least what's left of it, by picking up that violin. It's been six long years since I graduated, since I played the violin. And now, I suck. I tried to close my eyes and rekindle those savory moments, and let the magic work my fingers, but the magic wasn't there. I had lost my touch. I had lost the hard calluses on my fingertips that used to make my fingertips look squared. I had lost the perfect groove where my chin rested on the chin-rest. My shoulders no longer contoured itself to the shoulder-rest. I was not able to rest on the violin, and I found no solace.

Nostalgia is just nostalgia. You just can't hope to diminish by trying to grab whatever that remains, because there's a reason why you're nostalgic about it; that is because you can never have that moment ever again.

I have let my violin playing skills slip away in atrophy. I know that I can probably practice my way back into that music ascension in a year or so. But I learned something else: Not to let my other skills wither away; like my writing. Imagine if I didn't write for a few years. How desolate that life would be! And I would try to write, as I tried to play the violin tonight, and feel defeated and futile. I'm not letting that happen again.