Ever since I can remember, I have passionately loved music. My first musical experience was with my dad's old guitar, which I started to play by ear when quite young. Later on I studied, for a short period, with the church teacher my father paid for me. This teaching did not take me far along the path of my earnest endeavor. My teacher was a "conservative" player (too conservative for my taste), so I abandoned the guitar lessons for some years during my primary school days. Nevertheless, when I was in high school I decided to continue my musical education as a hobby. Although, at that point I had succeeded in convincing my dad to buy me a better instrument, it proved impossible for me to find a teacher for my adored Spanish guitar. Hence I had to study by myself during intervals between classes. While my comrades rested and played, I would go to my room and sweat over guitar chords and scales.
Every Sunday I would go to church and watch the church's musicians play. They were all kind people and welcomed me among them. I remember people used to tease me about how the guitar was bigger than me. At first, I didn't care; I didn't pay attention to their remarks. However, at some point after too much mocking, I was about to give up my guitar playing. But just as I was thinking about abandoning my precious instrument, my passion for music was re-fired by a concert given by Paco de Lucia (the famous flamenco player).
I remember I didn't have the money to attend his concert. I was heartbroken. I thought there was nothing else I could do about it and I resigned to my destiny. Two days before the concert though, I remember I was coming from church with my dad. He asked me if I was feeling ok. I didn't want to tell him of my great sadness, so I nodded. He looked at me and while smiling he handed me a white envelope. He said it was my birthday present (I thought it was weird, since my birthday was 7 months away). I opened it, and I couldn't believe it. He had managed to buy me a ticket for the concert. That night I was the happiest girl in the universe.
I could never describe the impression this concert made on me. I wept and sobbed, listening to the divine sounds created by the enchanted strings of the magical instrument of that giant of concert music. I came home from the concert walking like a drunken woman. I was so overcome by emotion. I did not sleep all night, still hearing the heavenly sounds created by this modern Orpheus. For several days thereafter I still could hear the music. Finally, I decided to concentrate my attention on the guitar. This gradually became the impassioned hobby of my life, on which all of my feelings and thoughts converged. I began to play long hours every day, trying to master the instrument.
There was a reason for my intense devotion to the instrument -- namely, that almost all my relatives and friends reiterated time and again that I was simply wasting my time -- that mine was a fruitless labor. They said the guitar was not an instrument of any real value, that I would never attain to an artistically superior performance nor, in fact, have the satisfaction of becoming a mediocre player.
For some time they were right. Regular school proved to be too time consuming and little by little I started to practice less and less. Besides all this, the apathy shown towards classical guitar by lovers of music in general was most discouraging to me. I could not understand it. Many times I found myself on the verge of burning my guitar, and forever relinquishing my ardent devotion to the instrument. Fortunately such moments of despair passed and my thoughts turned again to improving the guitar.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
