“Be more expressive!” my music teacher enunciates, waving his violin bow around wildly. “Put yourself into the music. This is not Massenet’s ‘Méditation’ anymore. This is you – this is your music!”

I shift my gaze away from my phone screen, from which my teacher’s face looks at mine in an almost despairing sort of way, to the worn sheet music resting lightly on my battered music stand. The papers are covered with messy scribbles reminding my past self to focus on “INTONATION!” on a certain passage, “Vibrato” on another, and to “Keep [the] bow close to [the] bridge!” on yet others. Ordinarily, the haphazard messages would distract and fluster me. But now, that is not what occupies my attention. Now, it is the simple question, “Why can’t I put my emotions into this piece?”

I know the answer. It is because I am scared. I am terrified of letting other people see the part of me which I keep concealed at all times, the part of me which is not the perfect image I always try to portray to the world. It is the part of me which is broken and torn, tired and worn, angry and hurt. It is the part of me which I hide even from myself – and now my teacher wants me to let him see it.

My eyes turn back to the phone screen.

“I need you to give me more than just the notes!”

I nod silently, take a deep breath, and try to steady my shaky arms as I raise my violin to my shoulder. Although my teacher does not know it, he is making me face my greatest fear.

As soon as the hairs of my bow make the slightest contact with the string, my trepidation dissipates. In its place comes memories of being hurt, stressed, angry, tired, and despondent. I remember with vivid clarity the emotions which sometimes seem to overwhelm me, the tears which have streaked down my cheeks in the silence of night. I no longer feel anxious, just exhausted.

I move the bow and make the first sound: a clear, bittersweet F sharp.

Suddenly the weariness transforms into emotion. I am no longer simply remembering the past and the tears. I am the frustration, sorrow, and disappointment which I have faced throughout the years. I am the anger. I am the loneliness.

As I finish the first phrase, the sheet music becomes blurry. I realize that there are tears in my eyes – blue moons of pure emotion.

I reach the climax of the piece, and play with a maturity I do not know I possess – with a gravelly, fierce, dark, intensely emotional tone. It is the first time I have played it in this way, as it is meant to be played, with my soul in the music. It is the first time I allow another person to hear my deepest secrets, my cries of desperation.

The climax calms down, and there is a single measure of soft, sweet surrender. “Just let it go”, my teacher has said in the past regarding this measure. So I do. I let all the frustration, sorrow, and disappointment drift away. It is nothing more than a passing mist. The sound which I produce reflects a complete submission to the universe, to fate, to God, to the music.

The main theme comes back. As I play the F sharp, my tears lessen. After this magnificent surrender, the anguish of painful emotion has been replaced with peace. Although the beginning of the work is sorrowful, filled with tears and heartache, the returning theme is now filled with understanding, love, hope, and joy. I use more bow and a lighter vibrato, longing with all my heart to convey this sense of harmony which has washed over me. I think I succeed – I can feel my emotions through the music.

I play the final note, the harmonic ringing out clear and pure. I pause for a moment before lowering the violin, reveling at the wonder of playing such beautiful music. As I bring my instrument down from my shoulder, I take a short, wobbly breath. I can’t help but wonder if my teacher will criticize me, and if the emotion I felt was solely in my head.

We stand in silence for several moments. I do not look at the phone screen. I cannot – I am petrified with terror that my vulnerability will be rejected.

After several minutes, which seem like an eternity to my trembling heart, my teacher murmurs softly, “Yes… yes, that’s it.”

The thankfulness which envelopes me is overwhelming, and I gasp in relief. My heart begins to regain strength, and before I can help it I am crying again.

He didn’t reject me, I think. He saw all the brokenness, all the pain… and he isn’t angry.

I do not care anymore if he sees my tears. After all, my music tells more than tears ever could.