Music. Light flashes of song in the air; nimble fingers creating breathtaking, gorgeous sounds; something brimming with so much emotion and passion it just connects with you right in the heart. It sets your soul aflame, refreshes your mind and is an outlet for people to escape.
Today I was reminded about my love of music when I restarted my guitar lessons. Music had always been something wonderful and magical too me because when I was younger–about in kindergarten to third grade–I was really shy. I had friends but had trouble interacting with strangers and would drift away in my own little world. Music and words were my escape from the world I had so much trouble in; the trouble which faded abruptly after a sudden change in fourth grade where my previous awkwardness melted away as quickly as it transpired. But the memory of it remained fresh in the back of my mind, swirling around with other distant thoughts and lurking moments.
The strums of the guitar and soft tunes on the piano morphed me into a place where I could converse as easily as any other seven year old and exist in a place where everything was wonderfully happy; a small little haven. The hardship of trying to make my voice as loud as my five best friend's in second grade melted away in that small room where I visited after school on Thursdays, surrounded by guitars, pianos and words. The smell of ink and wonder in the air.
Touching my guitar today made me recall those days spent in that special place–the place where my time as a shy, socially awkward kid were spent after school; the time where my six best friends who were more confident and louder drowned out my voice.
I guess the memory of who was in second grade will never completely fade whenever there is music or words.