The Music Journey
From lycée corridors to stage lights, I learned to hold time, to listen to bandmates, and to tell stories through sound. Music was never just performance—it was conversation. Each rehearsal taught me patience; each concert, courage. In the quiet moments, when chords fell into place, I realized that harmony was more than notes aligned—it was people aligning. Playing guitar with classmates showed me how rhythm binds individuals into a whole, how stories can be carried without words, and how shared creativity can turn fleeting hours into lasting memory.
I never planned on becoming the lead guitarist, but somehow the stage kept pulling me forward. Over the course of five consecutive performance seasons, each lasting three months, I found myself evolving—almost without noticing—from the quiet stability of a rhythm guitarist into someone trusted to carry the weight of solos.
In Season 1, I learned discipline in the pounding heartbeat of Classic Thrash Metal, where every riff demanded steadiness. By Season 2, with Clash and Ramones, I was no longer hiding in the background—I was stepping out, experimenting with timing, improvisation, and daring to let mistakes become part of the music. Then came Season 3, and the raw intensity of Metallica. “One” and “Sad But True” tested not just my fingers but my focus, teaching me what it meant to lead a sound. Season 4 sank deeper with Black Sabbath, where heavy riffs like “Into the Void” demanded both grit and endurance. And finally, Season 5—the sweep of Power Ballads. Playing “November Rain” and “Home Sweet Home,” I learned that a solo is more than skill—it is voice, breath, and emotion translated into sound.
By the end, I had stood under stage lights 22 times, playing for nearly 2,000 people. And in those moments, I understood something simple but lasting: music wasn’t just about perfect notes or fast fingers. It was about carrying a story across the stage, so that strangers in the audience might walk away feeling it as their own.
