The guzheng was the warmth and nourishment of my Chinese heritage. It allowed me to develop a deeper understanding of my roots and showed me how even on a subconscious level, my life revolved around my culture. At eleven years old, I learned that seemingly endless rows of numbers, dots, and lines on a page could translate into the understanding of my ancestors. I realized that in each pluck of a string was a story, a history that dates back thousands of years and permeates everything around me. This newfound awareness swung open the door of my mind, and the sunlight of Chinese culture was allowed to trickle in. This sunlight allowed me to grow even further as a person; it let me truly feel and understand the warmth embracing my heritage could bring me. Seeing my grandmother’s pride when she heard the cascading waterfalls of the guzheng brought me inexplicable warmth; it was like the poignant taste of piping hot soup on a dreary winter day. Everything from the traditional engravings on the side of the guzheng to the calluses I received from trying to vibrate the metallic strings nourished the seed of my character and allowed me to flourish as an individual. The etchings made me aware of the nuances of Chinese history and the toughened areas of skin on my fingertips taught me that perseverance is essential to growth. This traditional …show more content…
The clarinet never meant much to me until this point in time when I started high school, but when I was forced to spend hours on end with those polished silver keys on ebony wood, I began to feel the true extent of music’s gravitational pull. Marching band has been and will continue to be quite an intense time commitment with after school practices, sectionals during tutorial, and weekend competitions. It is so time consuming that everything I plan revolves around it, much like the sun and the planets in our solar system. I only schedule doctor appointments on Tuesdays and Thursdays when I do not have practice and I only spend quality time with my friends and family on weekends I do not have competitions. Despite how marching band seems to limit the number of hours in my day though, it allows me to grow in extraordinary amounts. Marching band teaches me that the aching in my calves and soles of my feet is the price of a strong work ethic and constant desire to improve. The smell of perspiration and sunscreen has become the pungent odor of dedication and ambition. Not only does marching band teach me these important characteristics, but it also teaches me to treasure the warmth that I receive from the steel bonds of friendship I forge. The camaraderie that I build with my fellow band members is the kind that will last decades, and that genuinely