Tan Jyun Yu
Maris Stella Symphonic Band
Through this SYF journey, I have learned the importance of dispelling self-doubt and persevering through hardship. Our SYF experience was not just about playing well; it was also months of hard work, countless hours of sectionals, and moments when I doubted myself and felt unmotivated to push through. There were days when my grip felt weak, my rhythm was off, or I just couldn’t seem to get that one bar right, no matter how many times I played it. But looking back now, those were the days that taught me the most.
SYF showed me that the end result of each performance is not the most valuable reward. Instead, it is the bonds we forge with one another—the shared struggles and triumphs—and the process of learning and understanding the music together that become the real treasures we carry with us. These are the memories that linger—not the awards or the results, but the people and the journey.
In the months leading up to SYF, I saw my bandmates more often than I saw anyone else. School days blurred into rehearsals that stretched into late evenings. We would rush to the band room, drained from a full day of classes. But once warm-ups began, the atmosphere changed. It was as though the fatigue had gone away, and we were all refreshed, mentally stepping into a different world—a world where our only focus was to create music together.
In that band room, we learned to keep pulse, to listen deeply and tune to each other, to breathe as one, and to embody the music beyond the notes on the score. Each session brought new lessons, and even though they were physically and mentally demanding, I always left feeling like the effort would, in some way, be worth it.
To me, the SYF experience is more than just preparation for a performance. It is an experience of bittersweet hardship. The bitter, of course, being the blood, sweat, and tears that each of us poured into our parts—countless hours of practicing the same phrases, refining articulation, and making sure dynamics were just right. It was staying back late, juggling homework, WAs, or EYEs, and still choosing to give our all at every rehearsal.
But then there was the sweet—the inside jokes during breaks, the shared sense of progress after a good practice, the unspoken understanding that we were all in this together. That sense of solidarity was something especially touching. I never thought I would feel such a deep sense of nostalgia once it was over. But I do. And I think that is the clearest sign of how much this journey meant to me.
Being in band has also taught me that mistakes are an integral part of life and the journey to success. In the past, I used to let my mistakes get to me. A single wrong note, a bad day, or a moment of doubt could throw me off completely. I’d carry the weight of those small failures with me for the rest of the day. But band has helped change that mindset.
Through music, I’ve come to realize that mistakes are not the end of the world. They’re part of the process. They’re signs that we’re learning, pushing ourselves, trying new things. Even in full band, when mistakes happened—wrong entrances, missed rhythms—we didn’t stop and give up. We circled back, tried again, and improved. That lesson now follows me outside of the band room. Whether it’s disappointing test results, personal setbacks, or just a tough day, I remind myself to press forward: to take the lesson, apply it, and try again. Mistakes, I now believe, are not the cause of failure—but the ingredients of success.
I will miss the experience of learning music as one—the thrill of figuring out a difficult passage as a section, the satisfying feeling of playing a clean run-through, the subtle but powerful moments of musical connection between us. I will miss the warmth and kindness of my conductors and teachers, who pushed us when we needed it and encouraged us when we doubted ourselves.
But perhaps most of all, I will miss my bandmates. The friendships we’ve built over the years, the laughter in the band room, the silent encouragement we gave each other during intense rehearsals—these are the things I’ll carry with me long after graduation. Having stepped down, I now realize how much of a privilege it was to share that time and space with such a passionate, determined group of people. What made band enjoyable was not just the music—it was the people. And that memory is what I will always hold most dearly.
In my life, I’ve begun to apply this newfound resilience to more than just music. Band has taught me not to allow mistakes to define me. When I fall short, I no longer let the disappointment consume me. Whether it’s not doing well in a test, struggling with time management, or facing personal doubts, I take the lessons from band and remind myself: pick yourself up, take a breath, and keep going. Progress may not always be obvious, but it is there.
As this chapter of my life closes, I am filled with a quiet sense of gratitude. Band was never easy—but it was always worth it. And I wouldn’t trade this journey for anything.