Personal Narrative Essay

I let out a big sigh and tried not to think about how stupid I would look on stage when I fell out of the turn and continued with class trying to distract myself from the worries. Another 45 minutes went by and class was over. She dismissed us and I walked to the front corner of the rectangular room to grab my sweatshirt that I had placed on the floor earlier that class. I then headed to the door and was about to exit the class when I heard a soft voice.

"What do you mean," the girl tilted her head as if she doesn't believe the boy's statement. "Ah, now that you mention it, I do not even remember anything at all before we were captured here. My name is '''Katie Miu'''. My talent is mysterious so it's best if you don't know it until the very end."

I can remember the moment when I decided that I would become a musician. I was at a summer music program that I didn’t really want to be at, sitting in a room that was filled with the scent of insulation. I was sitting on one of the many blue cushioned chairs in the room/. The instructors went around the hall, asking other children how old they were and what instrument they played. Everyone seemed to know each other already, chewing at the bit to be let on the stage to grab their preferred instrument and play the little music that they already knew with their friends. I felt left out, as I didn’t have an instrument that I could call my own. When the instructor finally got to me, he asked my age, name, and what I played, just like he had to

In the first grade, I picked up a clarinet. It was my sister’s, collecting dust while waiting for me to play it. From the moment I produced my first sound, an ear-piercing squeal that frightened my dog, the path of my life took a turn for the better. I began teaching myself for the following three years, along with learning from my sister how to properly play the beautiful instrument. The music pushed me out of my comfort zone: concerts that forced me onstage, tests that made me play difficult songs, and teachers that pushed me to be an exceptional player. From the shy elementary school student I used to be to the outgoing band member I take joy in being today, music has shaped my everyday life.

At 11 years old, I sat outside Mr. Tilman Singleton’s porch waiting for my piano lesson. From outside the front door, I could hear the frustrated comments and the occasional bangs of his hands pounding on the piano. Slowly, I stood up off the bench and opened the door. “You never improve! This is trash and you know it. Your lesson is over. Next Victim.” I assumed the victim was me. At first glance, my piano teacher Mr. Singelton was a tall, startling skinny, man with thinning hair and a large pair of glasses. I still remember what he wore my first lesson: turquoise dress pants perfectly creased, and a pink plaid button down shirt. Every outfit looked straight out of an 80s magazine. He was the definition of eccentric. Today, I will be commemorating my former piano teacher Tilman Singleton; the man whose character, perseverance, and friendship will forever inspire my musical dreams.

“Who did you get to do the work Alessandra and how did you find them? Pretty clear what I’m asking sweetheart.” I look into her eyes waiting for answers.

In fifth grade, I played my first cincernt on the alto saxophone and I was as neurotic as a cat that hears a mouse hiding in a wall. With butterflies fluttering , I found a way to be optimistic. The concert was in the huge Kilmas Field House at MHS. The glazed over basketball court was a very awkward and a not ver acoustic place to play a concert. But somehow for as long as anyone can remember, Methuen has help the Band Jambore when grades 5-12 all play pieces of music and at the

Growing up on a small farm in Purmela, TX, I was a shy kid with big dreams. My family all played musical instruments and we would go to my grandpa’s house often. Besides church, it was there where I watched my dad spill his sorrows, achievements and stories through his songs. With my grandpa on the fiddle and my cousins on various instruments, they would play on his back porch for hours upon hours. To a 10 year old kid, that back porch seemed bigger than the Grand Ole Opry. I loved to listen but it wasn’t until I turned 20 years old, that I picked up my first guitar. My dad surprised me with it one afternoon, and his exact words were, “you better learn how to play this thing”. So, I did and six weeks later I wrote my first

As I was staring at my childhood memory, I realized my feet had begun to slowly move me forward towards the piano.

In the second grade, I told my mom I wanted to play guitar. Watching School of Rock may or may not have affected that decision. A couple weeks later, my mom brought home… a violin – Guitar Center had run out of guitars, she claimed. And though it wasn’t exactly what I had asked for, I ended up liking the violin, and came to appreciate classical music. But my other musical tastes stuck with me, and quickly expanded – my iPod soon contained rock, jazz, alternative, heavy metal, hip-hop, rap, country, and everything in between. As I listened to various musical styles, I gradually picked up more instruments – electric guitar, bass, classical guitar, and so forth.

"You know.." She trailed off, growing nervous. She was afraid he would get mad at her for asking. Luke raised his eyebrows at her, and she let out a deep breath. "How you became a heartbreaker."

My father began teaching me music with an extraordinary rigor and brutality that affected me for the rest of his life. Neighbors witness me as a small boy weeping while I played the clavier, standing on top of a footstool to reach the keys. My father beat me for each hesitation or mistake I made. He hoped that I would be recognized as a musical prodigy à la Mozart. My father arranged my first public recital for March 26, 1778. I played my best and was most impressive, but

Vic sighed, obviously frustrated with my behavior. "Did you plan to?" I find myself asking thereafter.

“I did genuinely want to know whether you'd recovered after Morgana's attack,” she said, by way of explanation. “You never told anyone about

Just like before, everything was strange to me, but only I concerned about my ambition. I never took music classes before but in high school as a freshman which fascinated me. The class was tough for me at my first time, and other classmates would make fun of me. I never mind it but take them as a thrust to my curiosity for music. After all, I composed a song and learned to play piano better than anyone in the class at the end of the semester. My songs were my feeling that I jotted down on the dairy. At the end of the semester, I sang a song and everyone applause with a grin. After that, my dairy turned to many songs over the high school years. Whatsoever, I sang a song too on the graduation day where everyone cheered for me and realized that I wasn’t the different one there, but they