the arts

I cannot draw worth shit.  My mom is an artist, she does calligraphy and Korean traditional artwork. I grew up appreciating the arts. Sculptures, paintings, literature, music, theater, architecture.  I loved it all.

I dated Zaddy, who made sure I had my dose of the arts whenever we spent time together.  He also drew pictures for me, which I found so fucking endearing.  Le sigh.

I am a musician—a concert pianist.  My fingers flew across the keyboards as I felt the pulse of the music in my veins.  I could play the piano with gusto and passion.  It was hypnotic to watch me, according to the judges.  I participated in concerts, contests, recitals, theory examinations, all of it.  I would practice for hours until I’d perfected the piece.

I also have a knack for writing whether it’s formal or informal.  It’s all because of my penchant for reading.  Early American literature.  British literature.  Trashy romance novels.  Whatever I could get my grubby fingers on,  I’d read to my heart’s content.  My favorite is The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang Goethe.  I felt this in every ounce of me.  Le sigh.