june 09, 2025
Ten thousand hours
Colin leung
Over ten years of intense concentration
With every tick I hit the plastic
Ten thousand hours put into the practice
for what I could never develop.
Now I’m scared of its deterioration.
I stay quiet, embarrassed that someone might be passing
I’ll let it echo once the quality reaches the bare minimum I set.
But some force always intervenes,
or maybe it's my mind's processing malfunction,
that leads to a mistake that I'm bound to repeat.
I want to stay, the passion is still there.
There’s potential to create something that could move me to tears.
This feeling isn't registered in this performance.
The beauty isn’t there when I’m put into practice.
My embouchure is messy, and my jaw hangs open tired.
The tempo is erratic, dynamic, unstable.
My pauses are hesitations I thought I would’ve overcome by now.
Repetitions using every single key,
back when I thought at least one would be compatible.