Stargazing
by Sabrina Kim The stars here in Sunnyvale, California, appear different than they did in Westport, New York, where I spent seven weeks of my summer studying violin. I resided among nearly two hundred avid musicians at Meadowmount School of Music. In the Bay Area, constellations are bashful and hide behind light pollution. Alas, three thousand miles separate me from precious memories of stargazing and meteor showers. Three thousand miles separate me from picturesque snapshots of rose-colored clouds blanketing the Adirondack mountains, dank practice rooms where the schemes of Beethoven humbled me, and whispered promises of friends I’d never see again. Westport was an intersection where I crossed paths with some of the most disciplined, artistic, and compassionate people I have ever met. I breathed in nature and saw music more vibrantly than ever before. When I went back to the West Coast, everything changed so fast. My intricately detailed recollection of the summer faded to a hazy portrait of the Adirondacks. In the summer, words of mentors and peers demanded colonization in my mind, but now they are only soft melodies visiting me every so often to serenade me with summer flashbacks. Faces I used to see every morning diminuendo into Facebook profiles with occasional updates. No matter how deeply you want to hold onto memories, life finds a way to bury the staccato details of exuberance. Instead I remember the magnitude of my feelings: how my heart stirred in awe of my passionate peers, insecurity that stemmed from the same elite musicians, and the connection with dorm-mates that transcended thousands of miles. The repercussions of my summer have shaped me into a more driven and creative individual. Poignant memories, however fleeting, can be turned into virtues, preserved forever in the mosaic of a heart. |