Overture

ABOUT ME:

My name is Faith. I'm a 21-year-old reporting major/creative writing minor. I'd also consider myself a Holocaust minor, but UNC probably wouldn’t.

After a nasty divorce fragmented my home-life, my older sister and I were raised in Salisbury, NC, by our single mother. I went to a Catholic school until seventh grade when our tuition money ran dry.  I switched to a public school. After learning how to use a combination lock and several four letter words, I was well-adjusted.

In high school, I was a co-anchor for the morning news, a proud member of chess club and was elected student body president my senior year.

Now days, when I'm not procrastinating by making lists of things I'd rather be doing than homework, I can be found: reading metaphysical  books I've promised high school teachers I would get to eventually, dumping ingredients into a crock pot, writing for pleasure, writing for the DTH, writing for class, or attempting to think philosophically.

ABOUT THE BLOG:

Thirteen years ago, I stared at the thick mustache of the man sitting beside me in my basement. On a weekly basis. As we sat on the miniscule piano bench, he corrected my hand position on the keys. I wondered what he would sound like with a French accent.

As a chronic day-dreamer in my youth, my mind tended to sort out any useless information, like the order of the months, how to read an analog clock, which direction is left, and why exactly Every Good Boy Does Fine.

I wasn't particularly bad at piano, I learned what I needed to know to pull off a modest din at recital--and not much else. When my mustached mentor became too expensive, I was left on my own with the piano in the basement. Which means it sat untouched, collecting dust for the next decade or so.

Since those days, I've always considered music a language I can comprehend but not speak. When I listen to instrumentals, my soul becomes an eavesdropping mute, taking in the musician's sentiments but unable to articulate anything in response.

Eventually, 'learn an instrument' kept ascending the queue of my bucket list and the guilt of not acting towards it began to grow. My best friend, a guitar virtuoso and maven of all things musical, didn't mind augmenting the guilt in hopes of finding someone to play with.

I casually began surfing Craigslist, looking for a keyboard under $50. After a few rejection emails, winter break came into view and the search was abandoned. After making the trip home for December, I spent most of my time helping Mom box up her belongings to move to a smaller place a few roads away.

One fateful afternoon of moving ended my Craigslist scanning for good. Up against the new house's garage wall leaned a dingy keyboard left by the last inhabitants. The landlord happened to be at the house when I saw the dismal instrument. Luckily, he honored my call of "dibs."

So now there's no excuse. I'm going to learn on my own, or possibly with the help of a few friends, how to make music, the language of the world. The purpose of this blog is to document my progress as well as hold me accountable for following through with this project.