As
I write this, I’m sitting on an iron bench on a grassy mound in Gore Street
Park, a large tree-lined field encircled by a concrete path, just a short walk from
our apartment. In the park with me are a family flying a kite, another family
kicking around a soccer ball, and kids and teenagers on scooters and bicycles. With
the sun out, a clear blue sky, cool air and a brisk breeze, it’s too much of a picture-perfect
spring day to be indoors.
Just
a while ago, I was walking up and down Cambridge St., the main road right
behind our apartment, looking for an open coffee shop where I could write.
Unfortunately, everything was closed, thanks to today’s Memorial Day holiday. I
also tried waiting for the 69 bus to Harvard Square (Cambridge St. leads right
to Harvard), where I supposed there would be a greater chance of finding an coffee
shop. But the bus took forever (presumably also because of the Memorial Day
holiday) so I headed to this park.
Months
ago, I would have simply taken out my car, driven to my favorite Starbucks at
Ortigas Home Depot, and done my writing there.
Earlier,
just before I left the house to look for a coffee shop, I pulled a week’s worth
of laundry out of the drier, folded it, and put it back into my drawers. From
time to time, I would anxiously try on a freshly-laundered shirt; and at the
end of putting everything away, I breathed a huge sigh of relief that my
favorite clothes had survived my first attempt ever at operating a washing machine and drier.
Months
ago, I would have just come home to a closet full of fresh clothes, all dried, pressed,
and folded or hung.
Earlier
still, while my laundry was in the dsrier, I had gone out to Marshall’s, a
store known for discounts on brand name clothes, and rifled through a display
of pillowcases, setting aside the $6.99s and $7.99s, and picking up the ones
costing just $5.99. I also bought a yoga mat, choosing the $19.99 one over the
$24.99 one.
Months
ago, I would have been shopping for pillowcases in Rustans and a yoga mat at
Nike, and disregarding the cheapest options in my suspicion about their
quality, and picking out something mid-priced, at least.
And
even earlier, while the washing machine was chugging with my laundry inside it,
I popped my lunch into the microwave: a bowl of leftover spaghetti made by my housemate
that was a much cheaper option than going out to eat. Come to think of it, it’s
just as well that none of the neighborhood coffee shops were open: coffee and a
sandwich would have set me back around $7, roughly the equivalent of a school
day meal at the Berklee caf.
Months
ago, I would have had no qualms about an impromptu Php300 lunch at Bizu or Cibo,
or a Php400 dinner at Banana Leaf Curry House or Cyma.
Just
over a week after my arrival in Boston, this is how my life is looking. And unless
I suddenly stumble upon a million dollars, it looks like this is how it’s going
to be for the next two year or so as well. Talk about a radical change from
what I was so accustomed to mere months ago!
Am
I complaining though? Not at all. This week has been incredible, exceeding all
my expectations, setting all my misgivings at ease, and sending me surprise
after surprise—so much so that I wouldn’t trade this life in Boston for anything in the world.
Here’s
a handful of reasons why.
* * *
Isn’t
it weird that coffee shops close on Memorial Day? Whoever heard of coffee shops
in Manila closing on Araw ng Kagitingan?
Well, here’s an interesting bit of trivia—those same coffee shops close at 6 PM
on weekdays, and are closed the whole day on Sundays. (The exception is
Starbucks, which is known to close “late”—10 PM.) Even the Prudential, one of
the city’s bigger malls, closes at 6 PM on Sundays.
Yup,
it’s strange. But this strangeness is one reason I’m loving Boston. It’s modern,
busy, and intellectual; but unlike New York and Singapore and other big cities,
it doesn’t alienate or dwarf or intimidate you, or demand that you walk faster,
thanks to its charming quirks, its sense of humor, and its cool, easygoing vibe
that help you settle in and feel right at home.
Old
red brick buildings and churches exist alongside skyscrapers; modern shops are
housed inside centuries-old once-markets; and wide avenues intersect with narrow
cobblestone streets.
One
day, it’s raining cats and dogs all over the city, beneath gray skies and a
low-hanging fog; and the next, it’s bright and sunshiny, too warm for even a
long-sleeved shirt.
Thankfully,
there’s a dearth of fast food (I’ve only counted two McDonald’s since I got
here, and haven’t even seen a Burger King); instead, there are a lot of
neighborhood restaurants and pizza joints and cafés (the same ones that are
closed today, haha). The exception is Dunkin Donuts—practically one on every
corner, since it was born here. (So that’s
why it’s called a Boston Creme…)
The
city’s subway system is far-reaching and reliable, but for sure it has its
quirks. For example, cars on the subway’s green line screech to a halt before
reaching the station, in the middle of a dark tunnel, while waiting for the
cars ahead of it load and unload—leaving first-timers on the subway
entertainingly agitated (“Why are we stopping? Why are we stopping?!?!”).
Pretty
much everywhere I go, people respond to “thank you” with a “you’re welcome” (or
more accurately, “y’ welcome”).
The
city is crazy about their sports teams and stadiums; but just as proud of their
Symphony Hall and Boston Symphony Orchestra (also known as the Boston Pops,
depending on the time of year) and museums and art schools. Just a block away
from the ball park is the city’s conservatory of music.
The
city speaks so many languages and has so many different-colored faces that
you’ll hardly feel like a foreigner in these streets. The people bike, and walk
their dogs, and read on park benches, and work on their laptops on the
riverbank, and jog along busy streets.
And
this is what I’ve seen in my first week alone. I have yet to visit the museums,
people-watch in the park, watch a baseball game (maybe even a basketball game, for the heck of it),
run by the Charles, take a shot at sculling, and strike up an intellectual
conversation in a bar. This city has so much to explore, so much to do, so many
people to meet. At least for the next year, it’s a pretty good place to call home.
* * *
Thankfully,
the reason I’m here in the first place—Berklee College of Music—is pretty
damned awesome, and as far as I’ve seen, worth every cent. Last week was orientation
week, and though classes haven’t started, I’ve already found so much to love.
I
love the approach to music education. Classes are kept small, with only around
12 students per class. Students are required to take ensemble classes, singing
or playing under a teacher’s guidance with other students of a similar
instrumental (or vocal) skill level and preferred musical style. Students also
get weekly one-on-one instruction on their instruments. And, the school
evaluates students’ instrumental skills holistically, factoring in (if I’m not
mistaken) note reading, interpretation, rhythm, and improvisation.
I
love the school’s integration of technology. Everything is online, from class
skeds to tuition dues to registration to computer support to academic
references per department. Every student gets standardized hardware (a standard
MacBook Pro, a MIDI controller, and an audio interface for recording) and software. And the school’s Learning Center gives regular technology
tutorial sessions that anyone can sign up for, anytime.
I
love the library, with its enormous selection of books, CDs, DVDs, and music
scores (including pop, vocal, and Broadway scores).
I
love the school’s support systems, with whole departments assigned to handle
student activities, student wellness, student shows, student employment, and
counseling and advising for international students.
During
orientation week, I especially loved the orientation session on ear training,
where a member of the ear training faculty explained Berklee’s approach to ear
training (with its “movable do”, and individual names assigned to the entire
chromatic scale)—and after briefly explaining a few techniques, actually had
the entire freshman batch of over 200 people sight-singing a score together!
I
am totally looking forward to my classes. For my first semester, I have ear
training, arranging, harmony, ensemble, one-on-one piano instruction, lyric
writing, and songwriting.
And
I love being part of a fantastically diverse student body. In my peer advising
group (i.e., the group you’re assigned to for orientation and support for your
first sem), there are people from the USA, Russia, Brazil, Chile, Korea,
Argentina, Japan, Indonesia, Greece, and Cyprus; and beyond my peer advising
group, I’ve met people from Italy, France, Peru, India, Australia, Canada,
China, Spain, Uruguay, Germany, Slovenia and Nepal. And diversity not only comes
from the “international-ness” of student body, but also their backgrounds. One
fellow student from Russia has Bachelors and Masters degrees in robotics
engineering, and a degree in music
theory, and plays alto saxophone. Another has Bachelors and Masters degrees in
music therapy, used to practice music therapy, and now wants to study
songwriting “to do something for herself”. Another was with the US Navy; and
yet another sings in her church’s gospel choir and aims to perfect “And I Am
Telling You” from Dreamgirls during her stay at Berklee. I look forward to
experiencing musical diversity as well, as I interact more and more with my
fellow students in musical scenarios.
But wait, there’s more! Just when you thought everything I’ll be learning from
formal schooling and my fellow students is hella amazing, there’s loads to
experience and learn outside of school as well.
For
one, there’s the Boston Symphony Orchestra College Card. A “scavenger hunt”
game during orientation week had freshmen going to different non-academic
departments around school to collect stamps from these departments to qualify
for a raffle. It was this game that brought me to the Student Activities
Center; but unlike most freshmen who just asked for their stamps, I took a
while to look around the SAC. And I’m glad I did, because that’s where I saw a
sign advertising “Boston Symphony Orchestra College Cards, $2”—and was amazed
to know that with this card, for only $2 each season, you could watch as many
performances of the Boston Symphony Orchestra or Boston Pops Orchestra as you
liked. Naturally, I bought one, and am itching to use it.
For
another, Berklee students get free admission to the Boston Museum of Fine
Arts—home to the works of some big name artists including Monet, Rembrandt and
Degas—and the Boston Institute of Contemporary Art. Pretty damned exciting for
a museum lover like me.
* * *
To
tell the truth, I applied for Berklee not really knowing what to major in, and more
importantly, what to do after Berklee.
My big fabulous mega-dream was to write a
Broadway hit (or at least be musical director for a Broadway, or even
off-Broadway, production); or write an Oscar-winning film score.
My not-mega-but-still-a-dream-dream, toned
down to better resemble what I’ve been doing all along with Hangad and hence
presumably more realistic, had me becoming an inspirational singer-songwriter
like Berklee alumna Corrinne May.
My practical option was to return to the
Philippines and become a professional songwriter, maybe for singers or jingles.
And
my safety net was to return to my old
comfortable corporate life in the Philippines, with Hangad in the evenings and
on weekends, but this time with more confidence and capability in music performance,
writing, and production.
(Just
in case you’re wondering, as some friends have: “Why not major in Music
Business? You’ll have an advantage, having spent 12 years doing corporate
work.” My answer has invariably
been: “Nah. I’m through with measured my success by how much money I can
make—especially how much money I can make for other people.” And this is probably also why I'm not too thrilled about the safety net option.)
So
none of these options really called out to me—some seemed too far-fetched, some
seemed too time-consuming, some made me wonder about fulfillment. At the time I
applied for Berklee, all I knew was that I wanted to learn more about music and
have more of it in my life; hence I simply told myself, just go to Berklee and figure out the specifics when you get there.
(In retrospect, this lack of vision for my musical future might have been a
point against me in my scholarship applications.)
However,
a few weeks before leaving for Boston, a new option started to surface: Music
Therapy. I had previously glossed over this option, thinking it would be such a
joke if I tried out for it, considering my impatience with repetitive,
problematic friends; and factoring in my general critical, demanding nature
(misunderstood by most as nastiness and bitchiness).
But
this time, I started to consider Music Therapy seriously. After all, the most
fulfilling part of working with my ISAs and BCs during my last stint in P&G
was seeing these individuals improve beyond their limitations and exceed their
own expectations. After all, it would integrate the thinking, discipline,
professionalism and people skills I had gained throughout my corporate
experience. After all, during my retreat at the Cenacle in early May, I
recalled, rekindled and recommitted to my college “man for others” idealism.
And after all, I realized that my greatest fulfillment from all these years of
making music has not been from completing an arrangement, playing the piano,
singing a solo, getting a standing ovation, receiving commission, or seeing my
name on a published score or recording—but in being told by listeners that my
music helped them pray, saw them through tough times, gave them hope, or
inspired them. Not music for music’s sake, that is, but music that touches
others.
“Music
Therapy is the major suited to people who are interested in using music to
improve the quality of other people’s lives,” said a school official talking
about different majors during orientation. It struck a chord. Thinking about it,
isn’t that exactly what I was talking about when I wrote the lyric, “Through
this song, let me rest the weary, soothe the restless, cause the blind to see;
through this song, let me stir the hardened, heal the wounded, lead the lost to
Thee”—but potentially with more system and science, once integrated with the formal
Music Therapy?
With
this, and all my recent realizations, pursuing Music Therapy seems to be a logical
option. And the more I think about it, the more it also becomes the most solid
vision of my future self: complete Music Therapy at Berklee, maybe practice in
the US for a while to gain experience, and then move back to the Philippines
where Music Therapy hasn’t really been established as a field, and more
importantly, where I’m needed more.
Reality
check: I’ve heard that Music Therapy is one of Berklee’s most demanding, most
study-intensive, most serious majors. It involves heavy reading, lots of
terminology, and internships in institutions for children with mental disabilities,
individuals with psychological and physical conditions, juvenile delinquents,
the aged, and more. I read on the website that the application process is quite
long and rigorous, with a minimum grade requirement for Intro to Music Therapy
(yes, you have to take the class even before you become a Music Therapy major),
and a required audition, interview, and
essay. But if you know me well, you’ll know that all this work and rigor
actually appeals to me—even calls to
me.
Realistically,
though, it will take some time before I am able to finalize and formalize this
decision. It won’t be until the Fall semester that I can take the Intro class, and
I won’t be until I complete that when I am able to formally enter Music
Therapy. In the meantime though, I’m planning to talk to the department chair
about the program (and maybe get some help discerning, while I’m at it); talk
to as many Music Therapy majors as I can, and read as many books on it; and find
volunteer work in Berklee that would resemble Music Therapy work, to determine
if this is just blind idealism, or the way to go for me. Who knows, this might
just be a passing thing—I might just find along the way that writing Broadway
or becoming the next Corrinne May is the path for me after all.
Eyes
open, chin up, and fingers crossed as my future materializes.
* * *
I
was warned more than once before leaving the Philippines that rooming with
people I had never met before would be a challenge—especially since my “room”
would be the living room of the two-bedroom apartment, separated by a divider from
the dining-room-turned-common-area.
Could I handle shared housework, shared food, shared bathroom, shared dues,
simply getting along, limited privacy?
The
good news is—if my first week here was so amazing, it’s a lot because of my
housemates, Jett, Saunder and Sherwin.
I
met Jett years back when she helped record an album for Hangad as one of JesCom’s
sound engineers. She graduated from Ateneo with a degree in AB Psychology in
2005, and graduated last month from Berklee with a degree in Music Production
and Engineering—Summa Cum Laude, no less. In February 2011 when I flew to
Boston to audition, she showed me around the school, got me a piano practice
room, and took me to lunch at the Berklee cafeteria. Months ago, she offered to
pass on her space at the apartment to me, since she was graduating and moving
to Colorado for work at the same time I was coming to Berklee. In the one week
we’ve shared the living-room-turned-bedroom, she’s been as generous, good-natured,
and down-to-earth as ever, lending me her key, explaining how to get discounts
and deals in this expensive city, offering to record my arrangements, and even patiently
coaching me until 2 AM for the test-out (exam for exemption in a subject) for
Introduction to Music Technology. As happy as I am for her with her upcoming
work at the Aspen Music Festival (with the likes of Renee Fleming and Chris
Botti!), I’ll hate to see her go.
Saunder,
a tenor for the Philippine Madrigal Singers, a veteran choral conductor at 23,
and a prolific songwriter, composer, and arranger, messaged me on Facebook
months back to say he was entering Berklee in spring 2012, the same semester as
me. I eventually moved my entry to Berklee to the next semester, and because he
started ahead he was still extremely helpful (I would even say, eager) in answering mundane questions I
had about moving: what to do with my credit card, my mobile phone line, my bank
account, my tuition payment, and my luggage. When I arrived at the apartment at
3:25 AM (three hours later than expected, thanks to crazy flight delays in
Chicago), he had a bowl of pasta waiting for me; the next morning, he took me
around the shopping center across the street from the apartment, where he
helped me get a T-Mobile SIM and showed me where best to buy what; and on the first
morning of freshman orientation, he might have well been my dad on the first
day of school, accompanying me on the train and dropping me off at the
orientation venue. And at the apartment in the evenings, I am just amazed by
how much music is a part of his life, as he arranges in a wide range of styles,
swoons over performances on Facebook and YouTube, and does lip trills in the
shower. And I love that, like me, he’s a big fan of showtunes, and idolizes
Alan Menken.
Sherwin,
a baritone for the Philippine Madrigal Singers and an advocate for
nation-building and social change via communication, transferred from UP
Diliman where he was taking Broadcast Communication, to Emerson College in Boston
to finish with a degree in Marketing Communication. Common friends had been
telling me about him while I was still in Manila, using words such as magaling and mabait; nevertheless, I was unprepared for the person I was about
to meet the night I arrived. On one hand, he’s deadpan, sarcastic, and has a
knack for impressions (I can’t wait to hear his impression of me); on the
other, he’s idealistic, a lover of debate, and a self-professed fighter (simply
being a non-music major, non-note reader and non-instrumentalist who earned a
seat with the Madz speaks volumes about his fighting spirit). Oh, and he’s into
musical theater too.
Over
the week I’ve been here, these new friends and I have sat around the dining
table until 2 AM sharing stories and craziness and laughs; rehearsed music and
jammed together; eaten out together; and picnicked by Charles River. It feels
like I’ve been around them for much longer than a week; and with Jett, I’m
thankful I got to spend some time with her before she leaves for Colorado; and
for Saunder and Sherwin, I’m definitely looking forward to the months ahead.
* * *
And
what of the people back home—Inay, Tatay, Jo-Ed and family, Kenneth, Hangad, and
friends from P&G? Does it seem
like I’m having so much fun here in Boston that I’ve forgotten all about them?
Not at all—especially with how things have changed over the past decade or so.
The
last time I was in a long-distance relationship, in 1999, things were radically
different. Sure, Manila and Cebu aren’t that far apart—but consider that Globe’s
text service was screwed up, few people had email, YM didn’t exist (ICQ would
emerge in a few years), there was no such thing as unlimited calling on either
cellphone or landline, and Cebu Pacific had yet to introduce budget fares (the
only options were PAL and GrandAir). Back then, we had to get by on Aboitiz
Express (now known as 2GO) for weekly handwritten letters, and two-hour calls
on Sundays that sent our landline bills at home soaring.
But
now, in 2012, a handful of social media sites help me stay abreast of what’s
happening with my family and friends, and lets me share pretty much everything
that happens to me with them, in real time. More than that, it turns out that
getting an iPhone was one of the best decisions I made before leaving the
Philippines. When I bought my iPhone online, my only thought was, I want to have a powerful phone when I get
to the US. But now that I’m here, and I know about iMessage, FaceTime, WhatsApp
and Viber (thanks to Kenneth and Brian, who introduced me to these functionalities
and apps!), and mobile surfing is waaay better
than it ever was on my last Nokia, I would recommend investing in an iPhone to anyone.
I’m
able to text my parents through Viber; Hangad and P&G friends are on
Facebook, Plurk, and WhatsApp; and Kenneth and I are constantly iMessaging and
FaceTiming. In fact, through FaceTime, I’ve been able to show Kenneth bits of the
Berklee campus, and he’s been able to join conversations with me and my crazy
housemates too, almost as if he were also sitting with us around the table.
Some
critics might say that social media and technology have made relationships less
personal; whatever they say, I’m still a fan.
* * *
My
first year in high school was a struggle for me. Year after year in grade
school, I had been among my section’s top students, a star writer and artist,
and one of the teacher’s favorites; but entering the honor’s class in high
school, I was suddenly grouped with everyone else who had been their sections’
top students, star writers and artists, and teachers’ favorites. In short, all
of a sudden, I wasn’t that special.
Deciding
to go to Berklee, I had had to steel myself to go through that all over again.
In the companies I joined, I was known as the music guy; even in Hangad, I was
one of the few pianists and arrangers. But in Berklee, everyone would be a music guy, and I would be just another pianist
and arranger. Add to that all the pressure I placed on myself, thanks to the
mindset ingrained in me by 12 years in the corporate world, most particularly
my last five years as a Proctoid: you just have
to believe you’re awesome; you have to show
you’re better than everyone else; otherwise, you’re weak, and you’re eaten
up.
I
wondered: was I ready?
Just
imagine how it felt on my first day, when I overheard new schoolmates
exchanging notes about who their favorite musicians were—and I didn’t know any of the names they were mentioning.
Or when
I told a fellow student that I didn’t know what a certain musical term meant,
and he would casually respond, “That’s easy, man, it’s a secondary dominant
leading to bla bla bla with a bla bla bla tension.”
Or when
I found out that some fellow students already held degrees in music theory, or
classical composition, or had studied their instruments for years.
Or when
I walked along the corridor with piano practice rooms on each side, and heard Rachmaninoff
from one and insane jazz improv from another—and wondered what people passing my door would think, hearing some pathetic
renditions of showtunes.
Or when
I sat in one of those piano practice rooms, agonizing and inching measure by
measure through a set of sight-reading exercises given to us for our piano
placement exams—and from the next practice room, another pianist just breezed
through each exercise, playing them as perfectly as if she had been practicing them
forever.
Or when
I waited for my turn at the piano placement audition, and heard those before me
play stuff that might well have come out of a Bill Evans or Dave Brubeck record—and
was just thankful that I was the last in line, so no one would have to hear my sorry
attempt at blues improvisation.
Or
even at home, when I was learning a vocal piece with my Madz and the Ateneo
Chamber Singers housemates, plus a friend of ours who has been singing
classical choral pieces for over a decade—and for once, being the slowest
learner (and as always, being the one whose voice doesn’t blend).
With
all this, and my core belief that I
should be awesome, I was stressing out about my ensemble rating (i.e., an
instrumental proficiency rating for each student, anywhere from 1 to 8, that is
used to group students of similarly skill levels for ensemble classes), and my
ability to test out (i.e., get exempted) from some music subjects. Would my ego be able to take it when I find
out I’m not really that good?
All
this, until right before my piano audition on day three of orientation, when a
voice came and whispered to me: You’re
not here for people to tell you you’re awesome. You’re here to learn to be
awesome.
Followed
by: You’re not here to be better than
everyone else. You’re here to learn from everyone else.
And
lastly: That’s why you came to Berklee in
the first place, right? To LEARN.
These
three whispers quickly changed my mindset. Not pressure and competitiveness,
but openness and eagerness. This new mindset actually enabled me to tell my
piano auditioners up front: “My background as a pianist is mostly accompanying a
choir, and my favorite style is musical theater. I’ve never had extensive formal
instruction in piano. I can hardly play jazz. But I do want to learn how to
play jazz, and that’s one thing I’m looking forward to coming to Berklee.”
This
new mindset helped me swallow my pride when I realized I didn’t know what in
the world I was doing during the Traditional Harmony test out, and hand my unfinished
paper to the exam proctor, say with a smile, “I’ve decided not to test out of
Traditional Harmony,” and walk out.
And
this new mindset helped me be totally okay with my audition landing me in Piano
2 (thanks to my weak jazz improv and sight-reading), and my Entering Student
Proficiency Assessment exam results placing me in Harmony 2 (since I didn’t
know my jazz chords), Ear Training 2 (since I had problems with minor scales), and
Arranging 1 (since I’m clueless about notating drums). Definitely, there is a
lot to learn, and I’m okay with that; that’s why I’m here. And while I’m not the
best at what I do, and might never be—by God, by the time I leave here, I will
be one of the most improved.
I’m not here to be told I’m
awesome; I’m here to learn to be awesome.
I’m not here to be better
than everyone else; I’m here to learn from everyone else.
The
Proctoid is dead.
* * *
Oh,
fine. The Proctoid in me isn’t really dead. Not all of him, anyway.
Though
it might not be evident with some Proctoids (sorry guys, hehe), there’s more to
a P&Ger than simply proving his awesomeness, and trying to outshine everyone
else. There’s a reason for P&G’s being one of the world’s most admired
corporations, and the five years I spent there were certainly not for naught—not
when I walk into this new adventure with the proactiveness, thoroughness,
questioning mindset, argumentation, confidence to deal with people, and passion
for learning that I got from P&G.
I
already talked about how my fulfilling work with ISAs and BCs might just steer
me towards Music Therapy; and mentioned that I took time to talk to the people
in every office I went to for the orientation “scavenger hunt”, thereby finding
goodies (like the Boston Symphony Orchestra card, as well as the discovery of
free yoga classes in school thrice a week) and also starting to build my
Berklee network.
Beyond
that, I didn’t wait for the Student Employment session on day three of
orientation week; as early as day one of orientation week, I went to the
student employment office, asked about the process, and was submitted my
application days before everybody else.
I
saved $1,600 by getting my laptop fee waived (by showing that I already had a
similar machine, except with a smaller monitor)—an option that you’ll know
about only if you ask. (Thanks to Saunder for telling me it was possible—although
his laptop met the exact specs, so I wasn’t totally confident at first.)
During
a game at the library orientation, I won a $25 gift certificate from a CD shop
just by thinking ahead and being quick with the online card catalog.
When
choosing electives at registration, an academic advisor told me there weren’t
any classes that fulfilled both of two conditions that I had in mind for
classes I wanted to take, and that I had to choose only one or the other of my conditions.
I answered back (diplomatically, that is), “Yes,
there are such classes; see, I
checked them on the online class catalog and here they are.”
And
I was able to get into these two very electives, Songwriting and Lyric Writing,
though their slots were already filled up. From my unpleasant encounter with the
academic advisor, I rushed to the Writing department on the other side of
campus to ask the department head to let me into the classes. According to a
somewhat rude East Asian girl at the department’s reception desk, the department
head was known to refuse such requests.
But I talked to him anyway (“He’s busy,” they said; “I’ll wait,” I said,
and I did for five minutes). Finally with the depatment head, I breathlessly related
how I had given up my comfortable corporate life and come to Berklee in
fulfillment of a dream many years running; how I pretty much learned to write songs
and notate music on my own (and showed him a sample of a score I made), and said
I really want to learn more; how I didn’t get a scholarship and hence needed to
make every credit count; and how these two classes were the only two that would
be credited to both Songwriting or Music Therapy, my remaining choices for a
major. “I feel for you and I see your passion,” he told me, after listening smilingly
to my entire story—and with that, he not only enrolled me into the two classes,
but also waived the Harmony 2 prerequisite for Songwriting (I’m also taking
Harmony 2 this sem), AND invited me to come by once a week, to talk about
songwriting, and let him hear whatever songs I was working on. I was so happy
that I could have hugged him then and there.
So
maybe I’m not as much of a nobody as I thought I would be when I started out on
this whole adventure. Sure, I might not be the most awesome musician. Sure, people
don’t know (or care) about Hangad, Ateneo de Manila, 4A, Procter and Gamble, Boracay,
or any other labels I could once easily attach to myself. Sure, around campus, I’ll
probably be the short, stocky gay guy with the funny hairline and the funnier
English. But where one might see handicap, I see thrill, as I start over, establishing
myself from scratch in a gigantic new milieu, without whatever labels were so
easy to attach to myself before, but purely on the merits I have developed over
the years—my own proactiveness, thoroughness, questioning mindset, argumentation,
confidence to deal with people, and passion for learning. What. A. Thrill.
* * *
This
writeup has gone on much longer than I planned. Thanks for reading until the
end. All I wanted to say is what I said at the start (and I supposed you get it
by now): this week has been incredible, exceeding
all my expectations and setting all my misgivings at ease—so much so that I
wouldn’t trade this life in Boston for anything in the world.
