Tragic, Truly Tragic

Last year, being dominated by online classes seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye. Classes after classes and hours in front of the computer screen are not moments in your life that one would recollect and remember. But, even so, a particular incident still remains fresh in my mind- an incident so tragic that it only turned out to be seen as humorous.

It all started when we were made to select which performing art we would learn this year. Years past I have only ever learned and played the keyboard, so that was the obvious selection I had in mind. My keyboard, my love. Sure, I wasn’t the best at taming the instrument, nor playing it- but the love was there. Worn out and handed down, it left a lot to be desired. But, the quality of the music does not depend on the instrument itself, but rather the hands which play it. And sure, my hands were not the most experienced, nor were they in any way good, but it’s the feeling that comes with it that counts.

I had kept it ready, nice and polished as I anticipated having to play it in front of my class. So, imagine my surprise as I opened up the google form to see- nothing. Not a single option is even remotely close to the word ‘keyboard’. I looked past my laptop screen at my keyboard solemnly staring at me, knowing it would be of no use this year.

Tragic, truly tragic.

With not much of a choice, I reluctantly chose guitar; the only real reason being that dance was not my forte.

Tragic, truly tragic- but, this is only the start of my tragic tale.

Fast-forwarding to my first guitar class. As I entered the meeting link, I had low expectations. No instrument could fill the hole that my keyboard left, because my loyalties lie with, and only with my keyboard. And, as expected, one could not learn guitar without a… well, guitar; so, our guitar teacher asked us to download an app that simulated a real guitar so that we could play along and learn chords. BETRAYAL! BETRAYAL! BETRAYAL! - were the words which kept popping up in my head as my shaky hands downloaded the aforementioned app.

I kept glancing over at my keyboard, which was blissfully unaware of my actions.

Tragic, truly tragic.

I felt disappointed in myself as I flicked the strings in my app so shamelessly. I felt even more disappointed as I realized… I kind of liked it.

Strictly professional was the first thought that came to mind when first downloading the app, but now I found myself secretly playing in between classes and in my free time, learning more about the instrument as time progressed, leaving my newly polished keyboard to collect dust.

Tragic, truly tragic.

My newfound emotions for the guitar app were making me neglect my first love. My keyboard. But, alas, this is but the build-up for what was to come.

The next day, in class, we were doing a few exercises. It was at this moment that I had caught a glimpse of the shell of an instrument my keyboard now was, all the while I was grazing the screen of my device. Without my undying and devoted love and attention, it no longer shined as it used to. 

Tragic, truly tragic.

And here is where we reach the climax of our little incident.

My keyboard was no longer willing to make eye contact with me, and at that moment, I felt truly annoyed at myself. Instead of playing beautiful melodies on my guitar app, I rammed across the strings with my fingers, creating noise pollution that not even my keyboard could ignore.

As I was about to turn over to look at the aforementioned instrument, to apologize for my insolence, I suddenly heard my name called. In a rush I quickly turned back around and unmuted, answering the question that was asked of me. And as quickly as I had answered, I turned to look at my keyboard again. It was once again no longer paying attention to me, so I did the tried and tested.

As I rammed my fingers across the strings, I smiled at my old friend. As I was about to apologize, I heard my name being called yet again.

 

This time, it wasn’t for answering a question, but to mute me.

Tragic, truly tragic.

In the rush, I had forgotten to mute myself and had in turn let the whole class listen to my beautifully constructed melodies designed only for the ears of my keyboard.

Embarrassed, I apologized to the class and muted myself. Words really could not describe the mortification that I felt at that very moment; but as I glanced over at my keyboard, watching as it smiled softly at my little escapade, that moment was well worth it.

Tragic, truly tragic.