I had an incredible music talent from a very young age. Ever since I was two, people referred to me as The Angel of Music. Neighbours abandoned their expensive concert tickets to hear me sing, or play any music instruments. 913Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMgJ4POpJPj
I didn’t know why people loved my music so much. It came to me naturally. When I learned how to form words with my mouth, musical notes escaped. When I sat in front of a piano, my fingers danced across it. It was the same when I picked up any instrument; from flute to violin to trumpet. Instincts drove my arms and hands and fingers.913Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoiF2IKYHIG
I didn’t mind the attention. Loved it, in fact. When I was ten, I started running my own music concerts, each costing more than the last. I had an abundance of friends, money, and fun - everything a child could ever want.913Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfcKwEnKoKi
Almost.913Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡee7TIsmKDc
I didn’t have family support. My grandparents died before I was born. My father died when I was too young to remember. My mother raised me on her own. She’d never encouraged music from the beginning.913Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTYmziq8Xyk
When I was three, she told me I was as good as a crow at singing. That my piccolo music sounded like a three-years-old screeching in pain. That people gave me compliments just to be nice.913Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAqOqVlCWmT
It became crystal when I turned five, that what my mother said was clearly not true. She started to tell me that a musician’s life was a dangerous life. Confiscated all of my instruments and told me to live the way a normal five-years-old was supposed to.913Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡev6gzgc1FE
Over the years, my mother did everything she could to get me away from music. Tennis squads, writing clubs, drawing schools - she tried everything. It didn’t work. Nothing could make my blood run wild, the way music did.
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