Allegro non Troppo

After conning myself of my final exam for my “Health Systems in Society” class, I’ve felt that sudden onset of nostalgia again. It was more like nostalgia of what I was able to do when I was in high school, and what freedom in interests I had when I was a teenager. Then after hearing some stranger practicing what sounded like an etude on a piano, in a music room, I began to remember what my passions were as a musician. Never would I have thought such thirst would be reawakened again.

I’ve begun to think about getting lessons for horn again. I’ve never actually had private lessons before, but I did try to search for a teacher – that, however, never took flight. I was never quite sure why, though, and maybe this time it’ll turn out a flop too. But to think that I would have the capabilities of producing organic music, although under-appreciated in these times of artificial bass and electronic riffs, would be like a kiss from a seraph; you never really know what it’d feel like until it killed you.

At the same time, what about the other things I could try to learn? What exactly is my innate “talent”, or so people like to call them, and why can’t I see any? Perhaps I don’t have any, or perhaps I just don’t realise any of them. I think I’m more prone to believing the former.

At the very least, I suppose, I should just appreciate that such things are out there to create what separates us from other animals – manufactured art. Instead of creating art out of what nature gives us, we can create art with our minds. That is the only anthropological ability that we have which surpasses nature, yet it’s the same reason that destroys our own kind.

If, say, we didn’t have art, would we have the capabilities of disrupting the peace of mind, or mastering the “art of manipulation”? The ability for us to create and design new things can really push us forward, but it can also be the same thing that decimates us: we have the art of descriptive literature, but yet the art of serial murdering. It’s like a societal tumour – you know it will kill you one day, but it reawakens appreciation for what life offers and tunes your mind to the delicacies of varying emotion and melancholy. The most beautiful paintings and compositions come from the masochistic pain of humans, and the sadistic mind of the audience.

‘To take pleasure from others’ pain – hah, that sounds just about right. Humans are sadists and masochists alike, whether or not they admit it – it’s what keeps us alive.