CLASSICAL MUSIC has always been a staple in my life. As a child, my mother often played the piano at different times of the day. In the mornings she preferred church songs, in the afternoons she favored OPM tunes, and in the evenings she leaned towards classical music. Through time, in one way or another, I have become attached to the classical genre that my mother used to lull me to sleep. 

There has always been an expectation that I, too, would play the piano. At the young age of six, it was easy for me to read notes and play scales and pieces. My teacher would often praise me for being able to pick up the lessons quickly, and I relished the fact that I was good in at least one aspect of my life.

However, perhaps it was the built-up stress and frustration, but as the years passed by, a realization dawned on me that playing the piano no longer offered the same satisfaction that six-year-old me felt.

While waiting for my turn in taking lessons at the music academy, I heard a reverberating sound that shook my being. Slowly walking through the hall, I took a peek from the crook between the door and the wall and saw a massive bowed string instrument.

I had no idea what it was called. I fondly remember calling it the “big violin,” but I had no opportunity to formally ask its name because my professor suddenly called me. After all, we had to start our lessons. During the entirety of that hour, my mind was elsewhere and I could only think about that soulful melody.

A couple of months later, I no longer played the piano and finally switched to this beautiful instrument called the cello. Unlike my earlier days in learning the piano, it was not a smooth-sailing experience. Bruised fingertips and sore muscles were common after an arduous lesson.

There is also the need to be aware of your posture—a vital part of good playing. As someone who has always had bad posture, it took a lot of time to break this bad habit. Scales and etudes were difficult and exhausting to execute due to my frail fingers.

Despite the multiple stumbling blocks, I chose to stay—I showed up to every lesson and practiced every chance I got. Fortunately, with enough patience and determination, things got better. The strenuous etudes and exercises became more bearable. Pieces by Johann Sebastian Bach that I only then admired while silently listening to other students practice were now part of my lessons.

There are times when I ask myself why I put up with all the hardships brought about by playing the cello when being a student is already exhausting enough. It took a while for me to ponder and come up with an answer, and it ends up being so simple—playing the cello makes my heart dance in a way that emotionally moves me, and with that, I want to touch the heart of at least one person through my work.

Eventually, I knew I would not pursue music once I entered university. Although classical music gave me immense happiness throughout my life, nothing compares to the love I have for studying medicine. Instead of spending hours practicing etudes and repeating specific passages to project the right emotions in that part of the piece, I find myself studying chemical reactions and analyzing case studies for hours on end. There is something about being able to change the trajectory of someone’s life through a diagnosis or surgical operation that excites me.

Being part of a community that strives to aid in improving the well-being of people and be of service regardless of circumstance continues to inspire me. All of these factors combined reignited the flame within me, urging me to let my heart dance once again, but now with newfound reasons.

I may be in a completely different field from my first love, but they are not that far from each other. Music taught me tenacity, discipline, and patience that I can carry with me as I navigate this new chapter of my life. The most significant lesson that I have learned in music, however, is pouring your all into your craft. In the same way that I have dedicated myself to music, I aspire to do the same in medicine.