Music --- An Essay from My Finals

I sat alone in my little room at night. Earphones were the protection I wore to shield myself from the shouts and screams outside. Mom and dad were quarrelling again. I could not understand the point they were arguing about. Perhaps it was because of me.

Maybe it was my fault. I should not exist.

I remembered how mom cried when the doctor spoke to her in whispers. She broke down completely and the arguments and quarrels started. Everytime she looks at me, I could see disappointment and angst welled up in her eyes. Then slowly, one by one, like a string of pearls, the mixture of disappointment and angst slided down her cheek.

All I could do was look. I could not utter a word of comfort to her. Maybe it really is a sin for me to exist.

Dad never smiled. I used to think dads were the ones who give you a 'horse ride' or a 'plane ride' on their shoulders. But my dad was not that kind of dad. He works in a very tall building and he told me, "You should be proud because your dad owns twenty of these buildings nationwide," oh I am proud. Proud that he bought this big golden cage for me, proud that he hired (or rather, rented) many people to serve me. Yet, he looks at me with woe and exhaustion.

All I could do was look. I could not ask him why is he so moody. Maybe I am a kind of sin.

Other children go to school, I was home-schooled. Latin, French, English, Literature, History, Music, Physics, Chemistry and even Philosophy were my daily bread. My tutor was a strict and dry man, he would recite the same things until I could no longer digest them. During Music lessons, he would stand beside the Grand Piano and talked about the composers and style of the piece.

My favourtie subject was not Music, but suprisingly it was my best subject. I could play Chopin's 'Fantasie Impromptu' when I was twelve. "Mozart, Dvorak, Strauss and Beethoven would cry in joy to hear you play," my tutor said. Well, it does not matter, as long as they stay in their grave.

I listen to various genres of Music, hip-hop, jazz, rock, techno, anything that is considered as Music. My tutor grimaced when he saw me with earphones listening to pop songs. "Lyrics and melodies that are pure noise! Pollution to the mind!" he shouted. He was an orthodox person, no pop, no jazz, no techno.

Here I am again, going against my tutors's orders. I see it as a form of armour protecting me from mom and dad's shouts. I realised I was tired of this lifestyle. It was suffocating, I needed to breathe. That was it, I needed to run away.

Bringing nothing buy some money and my MP3, I climbed down the window of my room and ran. I ran as fast as I could to the main road. A small car was driving in my direction and pulled over. A young boy about my age popped his head out, "Where to?" he asked.

I stood still and did not reply.

He raised an eyebrow and walked down towards me. "Girl, are you alright?" I held his hand, shaking it, and pointed to his car. Take me away.

"You can't talk?" he asked. I nodded. "Well, where do you want to go?" he asked again. I shook my head. I do not know. He pulled my hand and said, "You ran away from home?" I nodded again.

"Come along."

Behind the driver's seat were guitars and drums. "I'm going for a band practice, I'll take you there until you figure out where to go." After half an hour, we reached a small shophouse and a few young boys stood there too. They eyed me queerly but did not question about my existence.

The band started playing loud music and the boy who drove me here, Lucas, started singing. They played and played and suddenly Lucas said, "No! No! Not this tune, I need something sentimental... I need Music."

"Dude, this is Music," another boy said. The others echoed. Lucas just shook his head and listened to their complains. "Hey, you're the one who started this band and you're the one driving us crazy by asking for Music. This is Music!" I saw him scratching his head, in deep thought.

Suddenly, a tune came into my mind and I went to the keyboard. My fingers waltzing on the keys and Music filled the air. I did not know what tune it was but I continued playing. I was certain it was not Bach's nor was it any of Green Day's songs.

Lucas stared at me, flabbergasted. The others were curious too. Lucas stood up with his guitar and started playing. People around gathered to watch us play. It was as if I was in a trance. My fingers would not stop and the Music was different, beautiful.

"Gisele!!" a familiar voice called out. I saw my mom and dad standing in the midst of the crowd. They beckoned me to go home. I stayed and continued the melody. A few policemen came and pulled me away, Lucas grabbed my hand. Dad came and pulled his grip off me and beat him up. I was reluctant to leave but I had to.

Dad gave me a long lecture and forbid me to leave the house without his permission. Day by day, I missed that feeling of playing Music together. It was not the atmosphere, but the Music we created together. I sat at my piano trying to play that melody again, but what came out was noise, not Music.

One night, when it was starless, I sat at the piano. Loneliness invaded my heart and frustration grew as I tried to play the melody again. It was futile. Then, I heard a faint and lonesome guitar playing. So heartbreaking and lonely it made my tears shed.

I placed my fingers on the piano again and played an accompaniment. The guitar Music grew bolder as my fingers created a forte. As it gently faded, my fingers played a diminuendo. The crescendos and staccatos flew in the air as the Music grew cheerful.

A knock came from the window and I saw Lucas and his guitar outside. We continued our duet and I felt the stars lighting up the skies. Our duet faded into a pianissimo when the first ray of sunshine touched my skin.

Lucas said, "Shall we play like this every night?" I nodded. Smiling at him.

What is Music? I think I finally understood.

Music is not making beautiful sounds on strings or keys, or following the rules of playing a melody.

No, it is not.

Music is the voice and stories from the depth of your heart.