Music has always been a big part of my life, so it’s strange to con­sider the fact that I only seri­ously took up an instru­ment the year I’m turn­ing 30, which I gen­er­ally con­sider late to be start­ing any­thing new.

I used to play piano and flute, but that was never really my choice. For the for­mer, it was more of my mom want­ing me to be a good Chinese boy, and me not want­ing to let her down. When it came to the lat­ter, my school had a strong empha­sis on arts, and either visual arts or music were manda­tory. I chose music1, and played the flute; far from ideal for a teenager going through puberty and an iden­tity crisis.

I bought my first ukulele a few months ago, and I don’t think I’ve stopped play­ing since.

Self portrait at 29 9/12

Jammin’ in my jam­mies. With what may pos­si­bly be an erection.

Photo by Jess.

So much of my life has been filled by those four lit­tle strings. It’s an entirely new medium I’m still explor­ing, a mus­cle I’d yet to flex, a way of express­ing myself that’s so unlike any of my other outlets.

I get pains in my fin­gers and wrists from play­ing too much, so I struc­ture my life around the breaks; doing laun­dry, writ­ing, clean­ing my room, sort­ing my paper­work until the tin­gling or pinch­ing goes away. The pads of my fin­gers are dead. I used to fall asleep think­ing of her — now I work out scale pat­terns and chords across the fret­board in my head until I pass out. I even decided to make the ulti­mate com­mit­ment and grow out the nails on my strum­ming hand because the longer they get, the more pleased I am with the sound (and I find both long nails and asym­me­try absolutely dis­gust­ing).

It’s come to the point where I’d rather play ukulele than play games, or go out, or talk to peo­ple. I love play­ing so much that I enjoy it even though I’m still no good at it.

I turn 30 in three months, and music is my hot hot bath, my dead end, and my girlfriend.

The Turning 30 Series

  1. Ironic that I’m so much more of a visual artist now. [↑]