Measure 1
My lips brush against my mouth piece already attached onto the trumpet. The instrument is kind of warm since the warm up was cut short. My palms are sweaty, my lips tremble; I look at the audience, this is not Chicago, and I have no family here. I search through the audience only to see the 5 judges in the back and my band director in the front. He is nervous, I can tell; the band is nervous, so am I and so is the director. Why? It’s our first national Jazz competition in Boston. It’s an ensemble, the director won’t start us off, so the percussion will count us off. My knees lock, I can’t move, and the notes in my stand are getting blurry. Wait! I can’t shut down now! My solo awaits in the music.
Measure 15
The intro is over, and the saxes are in. The time is ours to shine. I begin to think about everything that I have done wrong. All the moments I could’ve placed more time in my music instead of hanging out with my friends. Suddenly, a more familiar voice rings in my head in this unfamiliar territory. “Practice mijo! You haven’t touched your instrument all day. Don’t forget your homework and your chores.” The voice of my parents ring in. All the responsibilities, sometimes my plate may be full, but this solo is all that should matter. Maybe this is what makes me feel so cocky that I’ll nail this solo.
Measure 30 …show more content…
Who are they to dictate my future? Nobody, I myself have made a conscious decision: the past is done, and the future is near, the only way out this stress is to give it my best. Maybe I have to admit my failures before I ponder what a failure is. The truth is the trip to get my father’s kidney transplant in Mexico was sweet. I got a lot of independence and everything a 17 year old wants. Now I’m 18, wondering, why did I not enjoy my adolescent years? While I know it’s not over, I feel like I’m older. I can’t be weak, and the nailing of this solo just feeds my
My lips brush against my mouth piece already attached onto the trumpet. The instrument is kind of warm since the warm up was cut short. My palms are sweaty, my lips tremble; I look at the audience, this is not Chicago, and I have no family here. I search through the audience only to see the 5 judges in the back and my band director in the front. He is nervous, I can tell; the band is nervous, so am I and so is the director. Why? It’s our first national Jazz competition in Boston. It’s an ensemble, the director won’t start us off, so the percussion will count us off. My knees lock, I can’t move, and the notes in my stand are getting blurry. Wait! I can’t shut down now! My solo awaits in the music.
Measure 15
The intro is over, and the saxes are in. The time is ours to shine. I begin to think about everything that I have done wrong. All the moments I could’ve placed more time in my music instead of hanging out with my friends. Suddenly, a more familiar voice rings in my head in this unfamiliar territory. “Practice mijo! You haven’t touched your instrument all day. Don’t forget your homework and your chores.” The voice of my parents ring in. All the responsibilities, sometimes my plate may be full, but this solo is all that should matter. Maybe this is what makes me feel so cocky that I’ll nail this solo.
Measure 30 …show more content…
Who are they to dictate my future? Nobody, I myself have made a conscious decision: the past is done, and the future is near, the only way out this stress is to give it my best. Maybe I have to admit my failures before I ponder what a failure is. The truth is the trip to get my father’s kidney transplant in Mexico was sweet. I got a lot of independence and everything a 17 year old wants. Now I’m 18, wondering, why did I not enjoy my adolescent years? While I know it’s not over, I feel like I’m older. I can’t be weak, and the nailing of this solo just feeds my