Recital: Guitars, Teachers, and Respect

So.

Today was my recital. Yeah, the one where I play Canon in D?

Good news: I managed to play it better. Miss got me a slower version of the minus one, and it was great! I actually felt hopeful the first time I played with it, because that was also the first time I managed to finish the whole piece in one go!

Bad news: My guitar was out of tune when I played.

****.               

I tuned it three times before going onstage! One of those was right before I got up to play.

And then I accidentally hit the backstage manager in the head. Oops.

The thing was, I was too nervous to remember: electric guitars go out of tune at the smallest impact. The moment I plucked at the D string, the note fa, I knew it was out of tune. It felt like something stabbed me in the heart. I played the next note, sol, and then the next, mi. I died a little inside each time I touched the D string. By the end of the piece, I managed to give a smile, bow, walk backstage – and break down crying.

I spent at least five minutes crying in a metal bench behind the mini-auditorium our recital was in, hugging my guitar – whatever happens, I just can’t blame my little baby for it – and driving my poor little brother nuts trying to awkwardly comfort me.

The worst part was, I could have done it. A few mistakes, sure, but I would’ve recovered and kept on playing.

I managed to pull myself together before snot completely clogged up my nose at least. I still had a singing performance afterwards. Plus I recover quickly from stuff like this. (More on that when I have time.)

Later I watched the video of my performance with my parents. And one thing I can congratulate myself for is that my expression never changed when I played the guitar. My inner distress never showed, not once. I even smiled at the audience in the end, like I said.

I’ve had quite a lot of practice hiding my inner distress.

But more on that later, when I actually have free time. (Meaning summer.)

So besides my guitar, I sang two songs and one group chorus. I sang The First Time I Loved Forever, written by Holdridge – Beauty and the Beast fans ought to know this. I also sang Being Alive by Sondheim, and Kay Ganda ng Ating Musika by Ryan Cayabyab for the chorus group. That means “How Beautiful Our Music Is”, for you English speakers :)

But that’s not what I want to write about. I want to write about my friend. I’ll call her Claire.

I was ecstatic when I found out earlier this year she was taking voice lessons as well, though a bit disappointed when she told me we wouldn’t be studying with the same teacher. But ecstatic all the same.

When I arrived at the recital and saw her, there was the usual ‘omg, hi’ ‘hey’ ‘see you later, wink, wink’ greetings. Then I went to the back, coz my solos were early. I was 11^th for my two solos, and 16^th for my guitar solo. After that was a bit of space until our group chorus (it was the 31^st ^^; )

During that ‘bit of space’, I went back to the hallway where the entrance to the hall was on my right and the music center office was to my left. I caught Claire coming out of the office with her Ipod on and her earphones in… you guessed it, in her ears.

“Hey… so you’ve been in here the whole time?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m just lurking, heh.”

She must have known I would be performing before she would. There was a program, after all. In fact, I performed twice before she did.

My heart fell. I ignored it, used to it somewhat. Claire can be somewhat cold and thoughtless at times. It’s just her, I told myself. She’s like that. Friends accept friends for who they are.

Later, when it was her turn, I ran all the way from backstage, to outside the hall then back through the front entrance. I waited through four violin players before her turn, and when she walked in, I leaned forward excitedly.

Unfortunately, her performance wasn’t good. Making allowances that it was her first year, it… well, still wasn’t good. I’m the kind of person who sugarcoats what she says, but this is my blog and I promised myself I would write here with no masks, no personas. Just me. So her performance was, quite regrettably, horrible.

It wasn’t her fault, though. Mom told me this, and I totally agree. It has to do with the teacher. I mean, really, her teacher didn’t even teach her how to round her tones, project, breathe properly, not even how to stand properly, things I learned in my first year at voice. For Pete's sake, she kept swaying. And her face was blank! And she did a fail hand-on-hip once or twice. Personally, I hope she changes teachers. Just coz her teacher's husband is famous... and not even in singing!

Then my group mates came to find me, coz it was nearly our turn. I turned and left, giving Claire a parting thumbs-up.

After her performance, I came up to her and gave her a hug, congratulating her enthusiastically. Claire doesn’t usually give hugs, so you know she’s really distressed when she asks for one. (And she did.) So I became the great friend I am and told her her performance was amazing. I’ll save the tips for later, I decided.

Two performances after that was our group song. Then we went back to the hall through the front entrance to watch with the audience before the awarding. Then Claire came in through the door, and whispered to me:

“Is this the last performance?”

She had her freaking Ipod in her ears again!!

That’s when I got annoyed. Didn’t she even have the littlest bit of respect to listen to the other performers? Let along me, her best friend for four years?! I listened to her! I’m always nice, and loyal, and showering her with praises, while her every good action towards me is like giving a queen giving a small gift to her servant, smiling condescendingly. I don’t mind Claire being a bit spoiled. What I want is that she show me some appreciation as a friend. Or even some respect, at least. That girl certainly needs to learn how to show it.

I’m just glad the recital’s over, though. I can concentrate on my studies now. Exams are in two weeks, so

See ya in March,

Belle

Ps. Now I remember why I don't want my friends to see this.