Assuming the numbers are right (and I sincerely hope they're not), in a randomly selected crowd of ten thousand Americans, I am the only one who can read.
It's mind boggling; my nine year old self had to sit down when she first learned it, mere hours after meeting the eyes of the astonished boy who was told that the note he was looking for was a B-flat. I have words running through my mind constantly, small phrases or whole pages on a loop, complete with percussion, until another strain catches my fancy. The pages of my conscious mind are never blank, and my pretentious self wonders how 99.99% of people get by in their permanent illiteracy.
I have absolute pitch. Each one of the twelve notes is an old friend, the sound of the school bell, or the microwave timer, or the climax-maker in my recital piece, or the first note in the clarinet solo in Rhapsody in Blue. Sometimes, if I listen carefully enough and …show more content…
When I like a piano piece, I invest a bit of myself into every note I play. I will practice a seven page sonata for hours, one that I'm indifferent about, at best, just for one single soul-saving measure.
I am not an emotional person. My nature and nurture lottery seems to have given me perfect pitch, but taken away most of my emotional empathy. I understand when someone's ecstatic or dejected, and I can put myself in their shoes, but I myself don't feel a thing. I'm not depressed, or a sociopath, just closed off at a certain point. I've never cried at a book or a movie. The words "I feel bad for you" are the most constant lie in my life. It can be hard to pretend that I care about something, or even someone. Knowing that everyone else feels this, it can be hard to feel human.
I am not a brilliantly talented piano player. Music does not define me, nor will I be a definer of it. I know that there must be people out there with more passion for music than I will ever
It's mind boggling; my nine year old self had to sit down when she first learned it, mere hours after meeting the eyes of the astonished boy who was told that the note he was looking for was a B-flat. I have words running through my mind constantly, small phrases or whole pages on a loop, complete with percussion, until another strain catches my fancy. The pages of my conscious mind are never blank, and my pretentious self wonders how 99.99% of people get by in their permanent illiteracy.
I have absolute pitch. Each one of the twelve notes is an old friend, the sound of the school bell, or the microwave timer, or the climax-maker in my recital piece, or the first note in the clarinet solo in Rhapsody in Blue. Sometimes, if I listen carefully enough and …show more content…
When I like a piano piece, I invest a bit of myself into every note I play. I will practice a seven page sonata for hours, one that I'm indifferent about, at best, just for one single soul-saving measure.
I am not an emotional person. My nature and nurture lottery seems to have given me perfect pitch, but taken away most of my emotional empathy. I understand when someone's ecstatic or dejected, and I can put myself in their shoes, but I myself don't feel a thing. I'm not depressed, or a sociopath, just closed off at a certain point. I've never cried at a book or a movie. The words "I feel bad for you" are the most constant lie in my life. It can be hard to pretend that I care about something, or even someone. Knowing that everyone else feels this, it can be hard to feel human.
I am not a brilliantly talented piano player. Music does not define me, nor will I be a definer of it. I know that there must be people out there with more passion for music than I will ever