The Withnos family and Me

My life is full of ironies. The biggest one is that I come from a very musically talented family. There is a wide range of abilities portrayed. From my brother, who never had a music tutor and hardly touches a musical instrument, but upon hearing an interesting piece of music, will start playing it on his keyboard without a scoresheet. To a cousin, who is studying in the Philippines Conservatory of Music and is one of the top bass players in the country.

The former ability is what I find absolutely fascinating. My mother has a term for them: "Withnos". It means "with no notes". This ability is found in every generation of our family. Each of them have their own ability and strengths. My brother and his keyboard. My aunt, who would hear a song on the radio for the first time and play it perfectly at the first attempt on the piano. And the extreme case of a cousin who can play any piece of music with almost any instrument you give him, after hearing the piece for the first time.

When you are surrounded by so much of this talent and find yourself lacking, you cannot help but wonder if you were adopted. It's not that they didn't try to nurture my musical talents. I had two piano tutors and a voice tutor. My mom tried to teach me the guitar. My grandmother and aunts tried to teach me the piano as well. I had a mountain of books and videos. I studied music theory in formal education since I was five years old.

When I try to think back of those times. I remember failing my piano exams with my piano tutors trying to soften the blow. I remember being criticised by my voice tutor. I remember my mom having a hard time explaining how to play certain chords. Worst of all, I remember my grandmother cutting me short during my piano pieces and in a steely drill-sergeant voice saying, "That's wrong. Start again." For hours and hours on end after I came home from school.

As for those lessons of music theory which I had from five years old until I was 16, I couldn't tell you what the difference was between a minim and a crotchet. I remember feeling that I was expected to know something. We would have music sessions where I would have to name all the notes or even compose a short piece. And all the time wondering, did we learn this?

I am not a stupid person. I excelled academically on all other subjects and was top of my class all the way through high school. Yet I remember music class leaving a bad taste in my mouth. Always expected to know something I did not. And if I told the teacher that I didn't understand, they would just brush it under the carpet and continue or would try and explain over and over again...until I would just nod and say, "Okay, I understand now." just because the teacher looked like he/she was at the breaking point.

With all the time spent on teaching me, I can never remember listening to the music. Or even enjoying the music. I only remember the scoresheets, the theory, the technical drills, the warm ups. I can't remember listening to the music I played and wonder did I actually play a piece at all. I know I must have, because my dad fondly talks about listening to me play Swan Lake. I must've played a decent rendition of it, because my dad is a big music lover and critic. Yet I can't remember hearing myself play.

I used to tell myself that when I was born, God ran out of musical talents to give my family, that He decided to make me an artist.

It was an excuse I used...until now. Now at 23, because I want to and because I feel the obsession to, I will find my musical talent or beat it the hell into me.