Assignment 21 – Dilni Abeyrathne

        No matter who we are, obstacles seem to step into view every step we take in life. Whether small or large, they are always there, always waiting. However, every person faces obstacles, there are simply the bumps in the fateful road of life. Indeed, it would be miraculous if the world bore a person who has not suffered from difficulties, who has lived a life free of problems. Although I cannot say that I have not faced difficulties in my lifetime, I can say that those obstacles have shaped who I am today. However, being introverted, I keep my private life just that, private. But, there is one instance that warrants sharing.

        It was in 7^th grade, on a bright Saturday morning, that I faced a major setback. I was in my second year of playing my violin, elated at having progressed as far as I had. That day, I was on my way to the KMEA Solo and Ensemble Festival, which is an event for young musicians to receive a rating on their performance, be it a solo, an ensemble, or both. I had prepared quite a lovely solo to play and was excited to perform yet again at the Festival. After my success the year before, I felt fairly confident in my skill as a violinist at that point. However, that day was not be one of elation, oh no, that day went downhill faster than a sled on a ski slope.

          It was the eve of the Festival and I was a bit nervous, as was to be expected. But, I swallowed my nerves and went into the respective room of my judge, ready to perform and be rated. Beforehand, I had practiced the solo quite often, working to perfect the notes and rhythms. As such, I thought my solo would go just fine.

           Oh, how wrong I was.

        As soon as I started playing, things started to go downhill quite quickly. I messed up notes, timing, the rhythms. I could not understand. How was I making so many mistakes? Especially after practicing the piece day after day? Eventually I finished my solo and stood nervously, my cheeks heating up and my eyes downcast, waiting for my judge’s comments on my playing. And I got them not soon after. Truth be told, I cannot remember much of what the judge told me, aside from being more cautious in my playing and to play louder (I tend to play on the soft side). With those words, I exited the room feeling as apprehensive as ever, afraid to find out my rating. As I was walking towards the warm-up area to pack my instrument, my apprehension and fear began hurriedly whispering to me, questioning what rating I was to receive. Try as I might, I could not put the fearful voices out of my head, and so my apprehension grew.

         The fear and apprehension on my mind weighed heavily, intertwining to weave an indestructible web around my consciousness. With those emotions driving my mind, I quickly packed my darling instrument up and rushed to the area where the ratings would be displayed. Though the fear and apprehension were still present in my mind, a new emotion began to form: excitement, excitement to find out my rating. However, that excitement would soon be crushed.  

           Once I reached the rating board, my entire world came tumbling down, at least it seemed to do so in my eyes. I had received a proficient on my solo, a proficient. Questions whirled around in my head: how could I have gotten a proficient? Did I really mess up so much? I was so close to a distinguished. How could I have let this happen?

            Oh, I felt like an absolute failure, a failure to everyone, but most especially to my dear Orchestra teacher, who has taught me much about playing a violin. Having started playing violin in 6^th grade, I was eager to prove my skill in the Festival. However, that was not to be. Instead, I received a proficient, a rating that made me wholeheartedly feel worthless inside. Now, I know proficient is not by any means a bad rating, but to my dismal 7^th grade self, it was the epitome of failure. I felt like I failed everyone who had faith in my playing. I felt frustrated, but most of all, angry at myself for allowing this to happen.

         In the first instances of my discovery, I was disappointed and it denial. However, once the realization sunk in, my distressed mind raged in silent fury as I glared at the rating board. Bitter tears began sliding down my cheeks, which I quickly wiped away, ashamed of showing such emotion in front of everyone in the lobby. I felt utterly terrible, like an ashamed failure. Try as I might, I could not keep my emotions in. Tears flowed down my cheeks like a dismal waterfall, refusing to stop even as I furiously wiped them away.

         Terrible, terrible, terrible, I told myself. I shouldn’t have let this happen. My parents and Orchestra teacher tried to comfort me, saying that the judge had been too hard on my playing, but I pushed them away. I didn’t believe them, because the answer was cruelly staring me in the face. I went home in tears that day, refusing to talk to anyone and wallowing in disappointment. I held onto that bitterness for a long time, even to the end-of-the-year concert. However, it was an important lesson to me.

             Even though the sting of failure burned painfully, I used it to fuel my determination to work harder at bettering my playing and making my teacher proud. Ever since then, I have never gotten any rating below distinguished in the Solo and Ensemble Festival. In addition, that single failure also served to push me to work harder in subjects other than music. Although the event was terrible in my eyes, it allowed me to realize the value of hard work and not letting failure drag me into the depths of despair.

               Without that fateful day, I would not be who I am now.