Strings of Resilience: My Violin Journey

"A violin isn’t just an instrument—it’s a storyteller. Every note carries a memory, every melody echoes an emotion, and every string vibrates with perseverance."

The spotlight flickered on. A deep breath. The bow met the strings. And then—magic. But my story didn’t begin on a grand stage. 

It began in a quiet home filled with music, Our parents believed that every child should learn an instrument. My brother started with the violin but soon switched to the guitar. My brother, with his effortless guitar skills, basked in compliments, while a neglected violin gathered dust in the corner. I had my sights set on the keyboard until my father threw me an unexpected challenge:

 *"The violin is the hardest instrument to play. I’d love it if you learned it."*

That was all it took. Seven-year-old me wasn’t just picking up an instrument; I was accepting a mission. A mission to master something difficult, something intricate—much like solving a complex mathematical equation. 

And just like that, my fingers wrapped around the bow, my first note trembled into existence, and my journey began. At first, the violin and I were inseparable. I practiced diligently, progressed quickly, and impressed my teacher. But excitement fades, and discipline is tested. I got lazy. 

My performances became sloppy. Criticism replaced encouragement, and my brother’s guitar continued to steal the spotlight. I could’ve quit. But I didn’t. Instead, I fought back. I practiced relentlessly, forcing my fingers to obey the strings. I climbed through the ranks of Trinity College London’s music exams—Grade 4 in Practical, Grade 7 in Theory. 

My violin became my weapon against self-doubt, my answer to every scolding, my proof that I was more than just a shadow. And yet, my biggest lessons weren’t learned in exams or concerts. They were learned in the moments that almost broke me.

 The Concert Catastrophe (Age 9)– My first big performance. I had rehearsed for weeks. But on the big day, I forgot my violin clips. Midway through my piece, my sheet music took flight—right off the stand. For a nine-year-old, it was a horror film in slow motion. I froze, then scrambled to pick up the pages, hands shaking. The crowd waited. The music paused. But then, I played on. And in that moment, I learned: a real musician isn’t the one who never makes mistakes, but the one who doesn’t let mistakes stop them.

The Broken Violin (Last Year) – My brother and I were set to play for mass. We arrived early, practiced well, and everything seemed perfect. But just ten minutes before mass started, a man accidentally ran past and knocked my violin to the ground. I watched in horror as it broke right in front of me. My heart sank, but I refused to let it break my spirit. With only minutes to spare, I rushed to my violin teacher’s house, borrowed her violin, and made it back just in time. That day, despite the heartbreak of losing my violin, I felt an unshakable sense of resilience—I didn’t let an obstacle stop me.

The Tear-Stained Practice Sessions– There were days I came home from practice in tears. The weight of expectations, the sting of comparisons, the frustration of not being “good enough.” But every time I cried, I picked up my violin again. I played through the pain, turning emotions into melodies, struggles into strength.

My violin has given me more than music—it has given me confidence, identity, and belonging. As a child, I was shy and introverted, feeling like an outsider among my peers. My village mates went to a different school, and I often felt isolated. 

But when I performed at concerts, school programs, ward events, cathecism programs,litanies, youth programs and most importantly became part of The Cecilian Voices Choir, everything changed. Suddenly, people noticed me, involved me, and music became my bridge to connection.

Through the years, I have faced both criticism and appreciation, been compared to other musicians, and struggled with self-doubt. But if there’s one thing my violin has taught me, it’s that progress matters more than perfection. 

I don’t claim to be the best violinist. I don’t claim to be better than anyone else. But I am better than the violinist I was yesterday, and that’s what truly counts.

Through it all, the one's who never stopped believing in me— my family .

My mom was my silent supporter, the one who stayed up late when I practiced into the night, my parents and my brother who encouraged me after failed performances, who reminded me that music isn’t about competition—it’s about expression. Their faith in me never wavered, even when mine did.

To my younger self—the girl who practiced until her fingers hurt, who cried after failures, who faced the world through music—your hard work has paid off. And I promise, you’ll always be proud of how far you’ve come.

"Every note I play is a reminder of my journey—the struggles, the triumphs, and the love for music that never fades."

Name-DESTINY DIAS

Roll No.- 2402027