I grew up with all kinds of dreams. Today I want to share two of them. They both have to do with playing musical instruments.
When I was four, Mom bought me an electric piano. The black instrument standing in the middle of the house scared me. Day after day, I had to practice with my piano teacher. I never liked her, and all I could remember about her was her impatient words, “Wrong,” “Wrong” and “Wrong” again. And Mom was always on her side, saying I was not smart enough or I did not practice hard enough.
I did this for a year, but I never developed any interest. I practiced everyday simply because I had to. Many times in my dreams, I saw the long faces of Mom and the teacher and heard their stern words. Really, the dream should be more appropriately called a nightmare. Then one day, I saw Mom talk with the piano teacher softly, and afterwards, that teacher never showed up again, and the piano disappeared, too. Mom was unhappy, but I was glad because now I could watch cartoon shows on TV after dinner, never again any piano.
In a few years’ time, the dream of another instrument started, and it started during an urheen or erhu concert given by a distinguished musician. The melodious tune carried me away, and I felt I was lying on the grassland, indulging myself with mild sunshine and sweet flowers. As the music stopped, I realized this had been a beautiful dream, and I would like to continue this dream. That musician later on became my urheen teacher. For two years, he made me practice one hour every day, and the objective was to have me play urheen with him on the same stage. Whenever I made a mistake, he would also be quite harsh and made me practice even more. The pressure was indeed unbearable, but at the same time, the dream that started during that concert continued. When I was practicing, the dream seemed to carry me away, and moreover, my parents seemed to be in the dream too. They sat and listened quietly, as if they were also lying on the grassland, enjoying the sunshine and flowers. Anyhow, pressure was mingled with passion, and they worked together in pushing me forward. Each step of progress came from hard work but also brought immense pleasure.
I admit that in the world of urheen, I was lucky in finding a balance between pressure and passion. In real life, however, there is often too much pressure, but too little passion, just like my piano nightmare. From primary school on, we have been forced to study day and night, to take tests every day, to copy vocabulary items five times and to recite every lesson in front of the teacher. All the dreams pupils have are the long faces of their teachers and parents, but not dreams with sunshine and flowers.
I hope all teachers will realize that learning cannot go on without passion. I still remember my first urheen performance with my teacher. I was under much stress and didn’t sleep much the night before because I knew if I screwed up, it would also affect his reputation. When I walked onto the stage, I was so nervous that I almost held the urheen upside down. When the lights went on, to my great surprise, I saw my parents, fellow students and other teachers sitting on the first few rows, with big smile on their faces. It was just like the time when I was practicing. Passion suddenly overwhelmed me, and I played so well that night that even my urheen teacher didn’t know why. Of course I knew it, and I know my dream of playing urheen will continue.
I grew up with all kinds of dreams. Today I want to share two of them. They both have to do with playing musical instruments.
When I was four, Mom bought me an electric piano. The black instrument standing in the middle of the house scared me. Day after day, I had to practice with my piano teacher. I never liked her, and all I could remember about her was her impatient words, “Wrong,” “Wrong” and “Wrong” again. And Mom was always on her side, saying I was not smart enough or I did not practice hard enough.
I did this for a year, but I never developed any interest. I practiced everyday simply because I had to. Many times in my dreams, I saw the long faces of Mom and the teacher and heard their stern words. Really, the dream should be more appropriately called a nightmare. Then one day, I saw Mom talk with the piano teacher softly, and afterwards, that teacher never showed up again, and the piano disappeared, too. Mom was unhappy, but I was glad because now I could watch cartoon shows on TV after dinner, never again any piano.
In a few years’ time, the dream of another instrument started, and it started during an urheen or erhu concert given by a distinguished musician. The melodious tune carried me away, and I felt I was lying on the grassland, indulging myself with mild sunshine and sweet flowers. As the music stopped, I realized this had been a beautiful dream, and I would like to continue this dream. That musician later on became my urheen teacher. For two years, he made me practice one hour every day, and the objective was to have me play urheen with him on the same stage. Whenever I made a mistake, he would also be quite harsh and made me practice even more. The pressure was indeed unbearable, but at the same time, the dream that started during that concert continued. When I was practicing, the dream seemed to carry me away, and moreover, my parents seemed to be in the dream too. They sat and listened quietly, as if they were also lying on the grassland, enjoying the sunshine and flowers. Anyhow, pressure was mingled with passion, and they worked together in pushing me forward. Each step of progress came from hard work but also brought immense pleasure.
I admit that in the world of urheen, I was lucky in finding a balance between pressure and passion. In real life, however, there is often too much pressure, but too little passion, just like my piano nightmare. From primary school on, we have been forced to study day and night, to take tests every day, to copy vocabulary items five times and to recite every lesson in front of the teacher. All the dreams pupils have are the long faces of their teachers and parents, but not dreams with sunshine and flowers.
I hope all teachers will realize that learning cannot go on without passion. I still remember my first urheen performance with my teacher. I was under much stress and didn’t sleep much the night before because I knew if I screwed up, it would also affect his reputation. When I walked onto the stage, I was so nervous that I almost held the urheen upside down. When the lights went on, to my great surprise, I saw my parents, fellow students and other teachers sitting on the first few rows, with big smile on their faces. It was just like the time when I was practicing. Passion suddenly overwhelmed me, and I played so well that night that even my urheen teacher didn’t know why. Of course I knew it, and I know my dream of playing urheen will continue.