People tell their stories in various fashions. Some individuals express themselves verbally, while others keep a diary. There is no wrong way to release your feelings. I, myself, say what I need to say through song. Although I don’t often share my music, the impact it has had on my life remains powerful. As I play the keys of a piano today, it takes me back to the day I was first introduced to the beauty of creating sound.
   

Natural sunlight bursted through the single window in my childhood bedroom on backcountry Woods Road. Looking outside, I could see tiny snowflakes drifting through the late November sky. It was a typical afternoon, filled with the sound of illegally streamed television shows booming through my laptop, heaps of salty popcorn, and exercising my thumb with endless scrolling through Instagram, all between the tiny four walls of my room. That was the norm for me coming home from middle school everyday. That particular day, though, I grew bored, particularly because routine was never my thing. My options were limited, and after scoping my bedroom, I figured I could mess around with the aged dusty keyboard in the corner of my room. I received it for Christmas a few years prior, along with an acoustic guitar. It was evident that my mom really wanted me to get a hobby. Seeing my gifts that Christmas morning delighted me. All I could do was envision myself being a musical genius. Yet, not knowing how to actually play the instruments seemed to keep me away from them for years. That day, the sudden choice to pay attention to that lonely keyboard immeasurably altered my everyday routine.
   

I had always been a musical person. I was a dedicated choir student and I would sing in my school’s talent show each year. I also, from time to time, would write lyrics growing up. They were tremendous disasters, but they were lyrics nonetheless. That being said, instruments were never my forte. I always wanted to know how to play various instruments, but it just never came about. After having my guitar for quite some time, I took lessons for two weeks. Other than that, I didn’t put much effort into figuring out how to play them. So, it was a surprise that a keyboard that had been sitting in the same place for years finally reeled me in.
 

 I hauled the instrument to the edge of my bed where I was seated. I turned it on and cringed as a scratching noise blew through the speakers before it finally leveled out. I quickly wiped off the very visible dust and traced my fingers along the keys. After playing some very ugly chords, I began to feel discouraged and bored. It was difficult for me to enjoy something when I had zero clue as to what I was doing. Countless unnattractive notes took place before I suddenly pressed my fingers down on a combination of keys that sounded considerably pleasant. That is the memory that forever sticks to my brain because that very moment is when I fell in love with creating.
 

For hours, I would play. I’d memorize each combination of keys until I had a whole song down. I eventually paired lyrics to each song and recorded them on my phone. Finishing a song always gave me a unique feeling of pride. I have felt proud about multiple things in life, but nothing ever felt like that. It was a newly discovered feeling and I was all for it.
 

As time progressed, songwriting became something that was apart of me. There were, of course, periods where I would stop, but I invariably made my way back to it. I knew I was passionate about music when I realized I could never let myself stop engaging in it forever.
   

It is years later now. More matured, I am less hesitant sitting at my piano. The smooth keys take me home as they come in contact with my fingers. Though I’m more comfortable, the intense feeling of excitement as I continue to create new melodies never escaped me. My songs are my stories and each one is very important to me. I know that even when I’m old and gray, I’ll never forget how I felt playing my first chords in that tiny bedroom on Woods Road.