The only place that I really feel at home with myself is in the band hall, and in front of a marimba. I’m that awkward, geeky, bookworm that sits in the back of the room tapping out a rhythm on her desk. I don’t feel comfortable in a classroom, sitting with the rest of the kids in my grade. I never go to school affairs unless I’m forced to because nobody understands me there. I would rather be with my instruments, playing my heart out. I only feel at home when I’m playing. I fit into the music, dancing, leaping, and playing in between the notes. My heart soars every time I pick up my mallets, my missing links. They connect me to this world that I can’t live without, the world of music.
My True Home
January 5, 2012