Narrative Essay

November 13, 2016

Everybody searches for their own unique trait about themselves, whether that is a special talent, something they possess, or even their style of apparel. No matter how people want to go about doing that, the fact of the matter is that people want to be recognized for something. I believe that this statement perfectly describes me and my drumming career.
As a kid, I strived to have a special talent, something to differentiate me from other kids. I loathed being the quintessential of normal, so I made it my mission to find a talent that I loved to do. One thing that stood out to me was music. Music always appealed to me as something that I might want to pursue. I remember driving down the highway on warm, sunny days with my sister. I would scroll through her iPod, eyes fixated to the screen, searching for a song of interest. Once having found that song, I would play it over and over again, slowly but gradually agitating my sister, who just wanted to hear another song for once. Regardless, music has always served a great purpose in my life. It has cheered me up in my sorrow moments, distracted me from the rough parts in life, and all in all, opened my eyes to different perspectives of the world.  Music was always like a caretaker to me, helping me out when I felt no one else could.
Having always been affiliated with music and wanting to start playing an instrument, I quickly began my search for what might be my future talent. I looked across YouTube, clicking and typing furiously looking for musical inspiration. I looked at saxophone videos, guitar tutorials, and even trumpet lessons at one point. I couldn’t find what I wanted to do. I felt a certain sense of being trapped and restricted to a normal life like a goldfish in a bowl, but I wasn’t going to submit yet, I needed to try harder.
As I continued to look for something to do, it occurred to me that I never gave drums a chance. This realization hit me like a truck, almost paralyzing me in my current position. At this moment, I felt like a cretin, not realizing what has been surrounding me the whole time. I immediately typed “Drums” into the search bar, getting hundreds upon thousands of results, lighting up my eyes as if they were stars. One click later, I was watching a video of a professional drummer showing off his talent so people like me could be inspired. I immediately took an interest to drumming, and it was at this moment that I had a fate-changing realization. This realization was that the drums were the instruments that I wanted to play.
It started out from small beginnings. I put together a makeshift “Drum set” if you could even classify it as that. It consisted of a dusty cardboard box, riddled with seams, rips and tears. On top of it was a strip of cheap foam that yet again, also found from my basement. I messily colored four asymmetrical circles on them. One was green, one was red, one was yellow, and the other one was orange. This drum set I created looked as if it had went to hell back, seeing how much of an eye soar it was to look at. To top it all off, I played with weak, feeble cylindrical cardboard objects. I’m not even going to refer to them as drum sticks, which would be sad.
Regardless of my lack of equipment, what I didn’t lack was motivation. I would play on that stupid, decrepit cardboard box each and every day until I graduated to something better, a practice pad.  This practice pad was nothing more than a flap of cheap rubber, but in the eyes of a child who just wanted to play the drums, that didn’t matter. At the time, I didn’t need expensive, materialistic items, but more so anything to get the job done. After all, I was not even close to picking up the basics.
After months of drumming, I began private lessons. These helped expand my knowledge on drumming more. At this point, I was like a train full force; nothing could stop me from going off my path and getting to my objective. Drum lessons continued for months later and at that point I had saved up enough money for an actual drum set. After hours of shopping, testing out sound, and all around seeing what my preference was, I went out and bought a drum set.
The exterior was coated with a navy blue to black fade. The color of it was like deep space, dark and ominous. Shiny silver rims lied on top of the shells. They gleamed like stars in the nighttime sky. To top it off, the shiny gold cymbals reflected light off them each time they were clashed. The drum set stood out like an old artifact in a museum. It was new, shiny, and nice to look at. However, everything else surrounding it was aged and caked with dust.
Now, the drum heads are beaten and battered down from years of wear and tear. This was all thrown onto a spare red strip of carpet. On this carpet lies mismatched drum sticks, broken drum sticks, crumped up papers, and shavings of wood. Although it might seem aged, dilapidated, and on its last limbs, it still stands out regardless of its change over the years. This is where I sit down and practice for hours on end, pushing myself to the limit and showing persistence and vigor as I play my heart out honing my talent that I was blessed with.   




Word count: 958

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