My Fused Violin, My Musical Body

Music has always been my way of expression, whether it be through an instrument, a song I sing, or even a dance. Music became a part of my body. Music has always been there for me when I needed to be creative, when I needed to think. As I’m writing this I’m listening to music. Since elementary school I have been enveloped in the love of music. I started to learn how to play violin. My teacher was such a passionate person when it came to teaching music. I think that’s why I began to fall in love more with my music. She always motivated us to keep supporting music and to never let it fade from our hearts. My mom loved hearing me play, she was also in love with music. Her hearing me practice made her joyful that her daughter was carrying on the musical tradition. She was in chorus when she lived in her village and she always came back with awards and trophies because of how beautiful her voice is. My mom’s voice is amazing, she always brings me comfort when she sings to me, I think that also fueled my passion for music. Throughout elementary school, to middle school where I became first chair in my orchestra class, to high-school, the violin was my best friend, my safe space.

When I played my violin, it blurred out all the noise, the voices, the creaking sounds of that music room. I felt my hands connect with my bow, my chinrest melt into the violin. The bow grazing against the string and my fingers pressed on the fingerboard of the violin, creating such beautiful music. I never really told anyone about how connected I am about my violin until this class. I wouldn’t let anyone touch it unless it was the Lashof violin manager repairing my bridge and my strings. When I was sad, I could play my heart out with such balance and heavy energy. When I was happy I would be so quick with my bowing hand and my finger placement. I had the ability to hear a song and mimic it on my violin after two minutes of hearing the song. I would catch every vibrato, every rest, every pitch change. Music was in me, music became me.

When we spoke about music embodiment, the first thing I could think of was my connection to my instruments that I have learned to play over the years. Violin, guitar, bass, cello, and etc. I feel like my parents gave me that musical gene. My dad played trumpet and trombone when he was younger, my mom was so good with her vocal skills, and because of them I became the connection to them for music to live on. I miss playing sometimes since I have not much time to play or take a course in music. But I still play my violin when I am home on break. I still play for myself, my parents here and there. I played for my grandma who also played when she was younger, and she passed, but that’s how I connect to her.

Music is so freeing. I can’t explain how much music saved my life. It saved my body. Music has the power to do so much to a person. Music can move people, it can cause so many different emotions. It can bring different people together. It can help you think. It can help you breathe. It can help you remember your loved ones who aren’t there anymore. It can even create so many memories. Even those who are unable to hear, are able to find music vibrations so powerful. I love music, with all my heart I do. I don’t know where I would be without it in my life. I probably wouldn’t have been able to write this blog post right now without it. As a musician, music is something so powerful, for those who play instruments as well I know you would understand how indescribable music can be. I feel like those who even listen to music understand it too. Music, whether it is being played, being created, being heard, it will always have some sort of embodiment to that person. I would never regret my choice in trying to play the violin, because it wouldn’t have brought me here, where I am able to share my story of how music embodies me.

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Existential Ballet

Black and White Stock Photo of busy pedestrians in an urban city.

Bent, Bashed, Broken… I am nursing my own wounds.

I am stretched out wide but still I am shrunken & overlooked.

Sitting on a throne above the heads of many yet I look each of them in the eye.

I wipe their tears & I hear their cries.

They all want to know the secret of my dances.

Why choose to survive when oppression’s vice grip breaks my bones?

Why does my heart continue its dances?

How do I keep up when the earth never stops spinning while dancing rewinds the clock on my face?

The dances that define my divinity burn within a soul that sings the songs & rule the time.

In that time, wherever I stand that space is mine.

It’s there where the dances are done, & in that space my soul’s songs are sung.

Spinning and Swirling I reach high with hopes of experiencing a new feel & don’t worry, I will.

A remarkable existence if I must say.

An adaptive sway for the intimate encounters that pass by my way.

These are the same dances done by the fire’s flames.

I waltz the same waltz that puddles waltz when it rains.

My tears are called resilience & my beads of sweat are named endurance.

You can master the secret of my dances. Watch me give you reassurance.

The messages might escape you but it’s not of your choosing.

The secret to my dance, is to just keep moving.

The Unspoken Truth about Working Out

Growing up as an Asian American, I always had a fast metabolism and never weighed above 100 pounds. No matter how much I tried to eat, I could never gain the weight. If I lost any weight for any reason, it was hard to gain it back. Medical professionals would tell me that I needed to “eat a cheeseburger” because my weight was not considered ‘healthy.’ I was not allowed to donate blood because I did not reach the weight minimum. I was tired of being told how ‘weak and small’ I looked, envying anyone with more noticeable curves or physical strength. I refused to take pictures for months, archiving my entire feed on Instagram and hiding my body as much as I could. I was sick of the body I was in. So in 2019, I began to research ways I can transform the way I look as quickly as possible. 

When Failure is Radical.

Affirmations from an unreliable drop out –

I have failed to work with a system that prioritizes productivity over personhood.

I have chosen moving forward over suffering

I will accept myself to spite a value system that does not want acceptance – but always striving for “better”. If I internalize it, that I am always striving for “better”, then I build a comfortable place for the belief that I will never be enough, to rest upon. Instead, I will build space within myself to be less than ideal. 

I shouldn’t have to suffer in silence

You want to know what growing up with depression taught me?

FYI: My uterus does not determine my strength.

I’m carrying a relatively heavy box, but its weight is nothing I can’t handle. However, perhaps I showed some sign of strain that would cause this man to come over to me and take the box.

Balancing Happiness With Acceptance

Every child, for the most part, growing up, regardless of race, religion, ethnicity, social hierarchy, or where they are raised, are wished success, wealth, and health from their parental units. Only in the F-ed up situations, where the parents are really scummy people, do they not want the best for their offspring, or their adopts. But focusing primarily on the “good parents” or the parents who desire to see their children succeed, it is a unanimous trait to want a better life for their children versus the life that they had. This becomes possible through sacrifice, determination, and patience. With all of this being said, it is a responsibility for the child to achieve so much because of  what their parents are giving up in order for them to accomplish the dreams they have for themselves and the dreams that the parents have for them.

Gymtimidation.

One of my favorite things to talk about is gyms. Not because I’m a hardcore “gym rat” or that I consider it a hobby

No indictment.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read it. No indictment? No charges? Part of me wasn’t surprised, but the other part of me, the optimistic part, was crushed.