When I returned from the 28th World Championships of Performing Arts (WCOPA) in Las Vegas, the United States, last month, the first question almost everyone asked was, “How many medals did you win?”
I get it. Medals are often how success is measured.
But I found myself reminiscing about that little boy sitting at the dining table with two pens in his hands, trying to copy the drummers he had seen online, instead of thinking about the medals.
As a child, I was fascinated by drums long before I ever owned one. When I asked my parents for drum lessons, they said no, so I kept watching, listening and learning from what was available online.
Everything changed when my music teacher at school told my parents she saw potential in me and urged them to sign me up for drum lessons.
Then, Covid-19 struck and the lessons stopped. I found myself back online, spending countless hours experimenting with different ideas and teaching myself as much as I could.
As a child who lacked confidence, playing the drums for an audience drew me out of my shell. My confidence grew quietly, one performance at a time.
As I gained more experience, competitions became an important part of my learning. These weren’t just opportunities to win medals. Every performance taught me something different about myself.
These experiences showed me that performing is as much about communicating with an audience as it is about mastering a skill.
Usually, when I am walking off the stage after a performance, there is only one thing on my mind: did the performance meet my personal standards? Every competition leaves me with the same question: How can I become a better musician?
Looking back now, I realise my musical journey has not really been about collecting medals. It’s about discovering myself.
The shy boy who hid behind his classmates gradually found the confidence to perform. The child who copied rhythms with two pens discovered a love for creating music.
And somewhere along the way, I learnt that I’m not always the best judge of my own potential. Sometimes, the performances I worry about surprise me. Sometimes, the ones I feel most confident about remind me that I still have more to learn. Both experiences are equally valuable.
My parents, my teacher and I never knew that the quiet child who struggled with confidence would one day find his rhythm on stage.
Sometimes, a hobby – in my case drumming – is more than “just a phase” or a pastime. It can turn out to be something much more meaningful and rewarding than anyone could have imagined.
ETHAN SIOW
Seremban
