The sponge earplugs are the awkward azure in my trumpet case. Apparently they do not fit with the trumpet gold. But by contrasting, they do shimmer the gold.
I took out the two of my small blue sponge earplugs from the case. I squeezed the sponges as hard as I could, plugged one into my left ear, and spun it until it was perfectly fitted in. Then I plugged the other, and did the same to it. That was what the doctor asked me to do.
I walked into the classroom, sit down, opened my music folder. The sponges soon expanded, filling up every minute space in my external auditory canal, almost strong enough to make my ears explode. The instruments’ sound volume was then turned down; less music flew into my ears. The earplugs, as though the physical and psychological walls, blocking my communication with music; they were also the substantial obstacles, persuading me to give up on trumpet, on music. It was not a simple battle. I can’t remember exactly when I started music. But I do remember that when I was 5 I kept playing music even when my mother advised me to stop and said I had too much going on. And I do remember the night when I pasted my butt on the stool for six hours, and the excessive joy when I finally worked out the first double-hand twinkle twinkle little star song on myself. This simple but unforgettable song has remained steadily deep inside my mind, drove me through these 14 years of music, and fuelled me with energy and inspiration across the stuffed staffs. Daring to make a brave confession of my body, I went to hospital and did a hearing detection test for times. …show more content…
The earplugs, however, this time, were much tighter and could release harsh high-pitch sound waves. “You left ear is sensitive of sounds of high decibels. A few hair cells in your external ear canal are already damaged.” Those blazing music subsequently seemed to be pale, and as though a steel-built wall isolating me and music, the glaring doctor-coat white was unwippable.
As daily routine, this time I practiced slowly, without earplugs. I kept reminding myself the stories of Ludwig Van Beethoven, Hellen Keller, and Malala Yosafazai, that wherever there is a will, there is a way. The real battle had started. I knew that giving up trumpet is not an option, as I opted to believe that that must be a way to work it out. I started buzzing, practicing between gentleness to crescendo, eyes-closed to eyes-opened, stomach-tight to stomach-relaxed, as well as tongue roll-up and flattened. Things didn’t work out one day, I then tried another day. I struggled back and forth, both internally, and externally. I even dreamed of nightmares and fairytales regarding my success and failures in finding the alternative way. And for once, I found myself could not play the high notes as easy as before, that I’ve actually been got used to close up my internal ear canal a …show more content…
The alternative, my surviving zone, actually facilitated better tone quality. I’ve learnt to practice amnesty to the physical unfairness, that it had taught me patience, and self-actualisation of my inherent risk-taking and determined qualities which have kept me going. Now with more perfect practice which made perfectness, and when preparation meets opportunity, I’ve jumped to the 1st trumpet and played solo in the Ensemble, that is not supposed to be in my
I took out the two of my small blue sponge earplugs from the case. I squeezed the sponges as hard as I could, plugged one into my left ear, and spun it until it was perfectly fitted in. Then I plugged the other, and did the same to it. That was what the doctor asked me to do.
I walked into the classroom, sit down, opened my music folder. The sponges soon expanded, filling up every minute space in my external auditory canal, almost strong enough to make my ears explode. The instruments’ sound volume was then turned down; less music flew into my ears. The earplugs, as though the physical and psychological walls, blocking my communication with music; they were also the substantial obstacles, persuading me to give up on trumpet, on music. It was not a simple battle. I can’t remember exactly when I started music. But I do remember that when I was 5 I kept playing music even when my mother advised me to stop and said I had too much going on. And I do remember the night when I pasted my butt on the stool for six hours, and the excessive joy when I finally worked out the first double-hand twinkle twinkle little star song on myself. This simple but unforgettable song has remained steadily deep inside my mind, drove me through these 14 years of music, and fuelled me with energy and inspiration across the stuffed staffs. Daring to make a brave confession of my body, I went to hospital and did a hearing detection test for times. …show more content…
The earplugs, however, this time, were much tighter and could release harsh high-pitch sound waves. “You left ear is sensitive of sounds of high decibels. A few hair cells in your external ear canal are already damaged.” Those blazing music subsequently seemed to be pale, and as though a steel-built wall isolating me and music, the glaring doctor-coat white was unwippable.
As daily routine, this time I practiced slowly, without earplugs. I kept reminding myself the stories of Ludwig Van Beethoven, Hellen Keller, and Malala Yosafazai, that wherever there is a will, there is a way. The real battle had started. I knew that giving up trumpet is not an option, as I opted to believe that that must be a way to work it out. I started buzzing, practicing between gentleness to crescendo, eyes-closed to eyes-opened, stomach-tight to stomach-relaxed, as well as tongue roll-up and flattened. Things didn’t work out one day, I then tried another day. I struggled back and forth, both internally, and externally. I even dreamed of nightmares and fairytales regarding my success and failures in finding the alternative way. And for once, I found myself could not play the high notes as easy as before, that I’ve actually been got used to close up my internal ear canal a …show more content…
The alternative, my surviving zone, actually facilitated better tone quality. I’ve learnt to practice amnesty to the physical unfairness, that it had taught me patience, and self-actualisation of my inherent risk-taking and determined qualities which have kept me going. Now with more perfect practice which made perfectness, and when preparation meets opportunity, I’ve jumped to the 1st trumpet and played solo in the Ensemble, that is not supposed to be in my