My Side Of The Story: Art and Music

I had been drawing for a while by then; but I didn't get any actual recognition until the end of that year.

There was a nationwide arts competition called Reflections; every year, there would be a prompt, and you'd submit your piece. They had categories for visual art, literature, music composition, and dance (video tapes would be submitted). The 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners from each school would go onto the county level, where they'd be judged against the winners from the other schools. The county-level winners would go on to compete at the state-level against the other counties, and the state-level winners would go onto the finals to compete for the national title.

During my seventh grade year the prompt was "I hold in my hand...". I submitted a drawing that won for Neelsville Middle School, but it never got past the county level. When the "Courage" promt came in 8th grade, I submitted a painting and a short story inspired by 9/11.

A few months after I submitted my pieces, me, Jessica and Amanda (this was before we started arguing) were randomly walking the hallways. I happened to look at the art studio's window when we were about to pass it, and the first thing I saw was the painting I had submitted for Reflections.

"Whoa! Wait, wait." I stopped in my tracks, wanting to see what this was about.

The window had a display up that advertised the Reflections competition; and it had a bunch of information about the contest, its history, and of course, this year's current status.

Both my painting and short story had taken first place in their categories for Neelsville Middle School.

"Oh my God...oh my God!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, making people stare at me. After they understood the reason behind my excitement, some congratulated me; some didn't care. Others just rolled their eyes because being into the arts was just so uncool.

I was happy, but I didn't expect for either of my submissions to make it past county level.

Imagine my surprise a month later when I got a letter in the mail informing me that my story actually did make it to state level.

This was a shock; I thought my painting had a higher chance of getting farther, but apparently, the judges liked my story better. It was representing Montgomery County in the Literature category and it was going to compete against the other regions of Maryland.

Not even my stepmother could brush that off lightly. They were beaming.

I never made it past the semi-finals. I didn't win for Maryland. But the sheer fact that I had managed to get even that far was something big to me. When it was all over, they held a reception in each area that participated in the competition. My parents actually came. Even my stepmom, who, regardless of insisting that I MUST take violin never once came to see a recital, came to the reception.

Two months later, I saw an ad on TV for a mail-based art school. I signed up for it randomly and they sent me a test. A test of artistic skill. A few weeks later, I got a call from a representative saying that I had scored 95% on the test and that I was ready for the second portion of it.

The second portion of the "test" included having him come to my house, take a look at various samples of my artwork and ask me questions. My parents didn't look too happy, but I was ecstatic.

The program worked like this: each month, they'd send you two workbooks, your materials, and the assignment you were to complete after you've finished the workbook. You'd mail them your finished assignment and study the other workbook they had sent you while waiting for the grade to come back. You had to get at least a B- on the assignment in order to "pass" and qualify for the next lesson. If your grade was lower, you'd have to repeat that assignment until you got a satisfactory mark. There were countless lessons-so many, I can't even remember them all.

The course took an average of two years to complete; though it varied from person to person. And get this-the course gave you two years of college credit.

So when he approved and said I was qualified to be a student, I was overjoyed. This program was incredible; and it was cheaper than the violin lessons they were enforcing on me.

It took a while for my parents to make a decision. I think I was on my knees, shaking and nervous (like I always was when we'd "talk") for three hours or so; but finally, they came around and approved of it, albeit grudgingly.

They, of course, thought I was getting too serious about this. They wanted me to go to a magnet school for science or something along that line, which is what Asian parents usually push on their children. And here I was, drawing clothes and into the arts, most of which would never make that much money.

I had pretty much made up my mind to be a fashion designer by the end of eighth grade. I'd always known I wanted to do something related to art, but couldn't decide on a specific area. After a bit of studying, I thought I knew what I wanted.

Until that day.

Jessica and a few of her friends were performing for the talent show the school held at the end of each year. Since I could sing a bit, I decided to join in. It was just fun at first. Like choir, except there was more moving around and motions. But then she sat down and shared her songs with us.

Jess wrote songs. We didn't know about that-well, I didn't. I was fascinated and intrigued, and she ended up teaching me the process of songwriting. She didn't expect me to pick it up so quickly, but soon, I was writing a song every night. I wouldn't call all of them good, and many I wouldn't even share...but I did sing them for a few select people.

Let me tell you this; there is nothing in the entire world like having people listen to you perform a song you composed from your own heart, lyrics stemming from your own experiences, and pouring out your soul from your mouth.

And then later, listening to someone sing your words.

I became obsessed. I was so insistant I finally got my parents to allow me to quit the violin. Playing instruments does not do for me what this did. When playing violin or piano, I was caged; I had to abide by the instrument's rules. I had to confine myself to the sheet music...the specific sheet music that would order you to put crescendo where it does not belong, force you to accent a note that doesn't feel right when accented.

My singing was mediocre at best and though I loved dancing, I sucked at it; but I didn't care. I've been carried out of this world and into a completely different dimension. I had to write songs. There was no other option.

I'd see successful artists, and people would cry at their words. Millions of people would cry. When they'd make statements in songs, millions and millions of people actually listen. These songs start movements, change lives, and the performer becomes someone that actually has a voice in the world.

Whether you want to or not, these are the people you hear.

Afterwards, I lost respect for performers that did not even write their own lyrics. They are not artists; certainly not musicians. They're performers...only that.

A pretty voice is pleasing to the ear, but has no meaning. Great dancing is fun to look at, but there is nothing to think about.

After the talent show (it was not a competition), I rounded up Jessica and some others to start a musical group. It was called QT Angels (Angel for short)-who the fuck came up with that name? I don't remember! It definitely wasn't me. Seriously, what the fuck-QT Angels?!

We wrote together, but never performed our material. We usually just performed locally anywhere where there was room for performance.

It didn't last.

After we graduated middle school, my parents broke the news to me. We were moving. Again. We weren't moving to another country, or even to another state. It was only a couple miles away to another district, but come on; everybody knows that when kids graduate middle school, they usually all go on together to the nearest high school and start the year together. It looked like I was destined to never be able to do that.