Ace Low Ching Tak, Wang Daijia, Teo Izanne
Drum Major, Band Major (Music), Band Major (Administration), Broadrick Concert Band
Leadership is often defined as simply holding a position of power. However, we soon discovered that leadership goes far beyond just a title.
It was the day we were announced as the next batch of leaders. The moment was charged with anticipation, suspense, and zeal. After a long, draining day of band, the new set of leaders would at last be revealed. The five of us, then understudies, were wrapped in tense silence. As the roles were slowly unveiled — section leaders first, then EXCO members, and finally the Majors — we grew increasingly uneasy. Though we felt confident about the outcome, a creeping sense of self-doubt lingered. In an instant, the roles were announced. Following that, we were invited to say a few words to the Band. As we stood before the members, our hearts gleamed with relief and excitement. This was the start of our journey; one filled with wonder. The three of us looked at the Band, stunned and clueless about how far we’d go.
Typically, newly appointed leaders go through a phase of awkwardness, trying to get to know each other. But that wasn’t the case for us. We clicked instantly, as if we’d been friends for ages. #BestiesForTheRestie! Our energy together was effortlessly bubbly — we played online games, studied, and ate out together. Little did we know how far this journey would take us, or how big the shoes were that we had to fill.
When our new conductor, Mr. Tarun, came on board, he introduced new systems and ways of thinking. Being naturally resistant to change, we were initially fixated on old routines. Even habits that were once the norm were now questioned. We had to adapt quickly, especially as new junior members began joining the main band. Their playful nature made maintaining focus and discipline during rehearsals rather challenging. Moreover, they struggled to grasp the culture and values we held dear, and their disengagement set us back noticeably.
These experiences compelled us to learn about each other’s shortcomings, revealing the gaps in our skills and abilities. Instead of shying away from them, we embraced those weaknesses and learned how to support one another. In doing so, we not only strengthened our leadership qualities but also improved the overall efficiency of the Band.
When the band-building for the then-distant Singapore Youth Festival (SYF) began, we were overwhelmed by a sense of hopelessness. The drastic changes, slow progress, and unfamiliar systems were demoralising. As if all of these setbacks weren’t enough, the cancellation of the Singapore International Band Festival (SIBF) — a biennial competition we usually take part in — was announced by Mr. Tarun. Although we understood that the decision was made with the Band’s best interests in mind, we couldn’t help but feel disheartened. It was a sobering reminder of how far we were falling behind compared to other bands. Could we ever be ready for what lay ahead? A Distinction at SYF felt like a lofty ambition.
Sometimes, things must break down before they can be rebuilt — and that’s exactly what happened. With Mr. Tarun’s guidance, we returned to the basics. Starting from square one, we strengthened our fundamentals and revisited basic music theory. Progress felt slow at first, but gradually, things began to take shape. We had several opportunities to perform at both public and school events, building up our confidence. The music was finally coming together but a new question emerged. How were we going to instill a sense of belonging and ownership into our members?
We began by hosting game days but our efforts fell short. Thankfully, with guidance from one of our alumni, we were advised to organise bonding sessions beyond regular band practices. Taking his advice to heart, we planned a barbeque party. It was simple but meaningful. For the first time, we saw the members connect in a way that was genuine and wholesome. That was the turning point. It finally felt like the members weren’t against us — they were with us, walking this path together.
Just as we were beginning to find our footing again, we were introduced to a new goal — Schools In Concert (SIC). It came as a surprise, and naturally, the Band questioned whether we were truly ready to take on something so significant for once. But over time, something shifted. The members grew more motivated, and day by day, that energy began to ripple through the Band. Before we knew it, SIC was over in a flash. It was truly a milestone; one we’d never forget.
However, our smiles didn’t last long. The following practices felt flat and stagnant. It was as if we hit our peak too early and lost momentum. As SYF neared, the members started to fizzle out. Members grew less focused during rehearsals, and interest in the pieces began to fade. The pieces that once excited us now felt repetitive, and our drive slowly diminished. With each exchange we had with other schools, the quality of our performances seemed to decline. Through all of this, we found ourselves at our nadir. Two months dragged by, marked by dwindling motivation and stagnant progress.
Then came the start of Saturday practices — a wake-up call that SYF was just four weeks away. There was a spike in the members’ focus, and they began to approach practices seriously. The pressure of limited time had begun to sink in, and the urgency to make those Saturday practices count became evident. But as the weeks went by, some practices were productive; others, frustrating. We oscillated between being fully energised and feeling utterly burnt out. There was no in-between.
The week before SYF marked our final push. While the music was starting to come together, there were constant ups and downs. Some days, we played exceptionally well, but on others, new mistakes surfaced. It was unsettling to see such fluctuations so close to SYF. With no time for inconsistency, the uncertainty weighed heavily on us. As the final week unfolded, there was a shift. Everyone became focused and motivated to work their hardest. Then, in an unexpected turn, Mr. Tarun announced that the final Saturday practice would be cancelled because he believed we were ready. This caught many members off guard, we weren’t sure if we were prepared enough. Yet, he remained confident. He told us he didn’t often say this, but in his eyes, we were prepared. With SYF approaching on a Thursday, the final two practices felt rushed. It seemed like there wasn’t enough time left to perfect everything, and many members still felt uncertain. But once again, Mr Tarun reassured us.
The morning of SYF passed by quickly. Our commute felt numb, clouded by a mix of confidence, fear, and uncertainty. Deep down, the members knew that we weren’t perfect — not everything had fallen into place — but this was the day we had to put our doubts aside and give it our all to the judges. In the tuning room, as we were waiting for the cue to begin, time seemed to slip away. Then, just like that, we were on stage. Everything happened so fast, and before we knew it, it was over. The final note echoed into the stillness. There was a beat of silence, the kind that makes your heart stop. Then the hall erupted into applause, marking the end of our SYF journey. It had taken months to build, yet only ten minutes to bring it all to life. After the performance, the joy and exhilaration still lingered. The energy remained high, but as we boarded the bus back to school, a quiet, bittersweet feeling settled in. SYF was finally over — a milestone we had worked so hard for — but reality hit. This marked the end of the journey for the graduating Secondary Four batch.
This bittersweet atmosphere lingered all the way to our final debrief back in the band room. It felt like déjà vu — just like the very first time we stood before the members, back when we were newly appointed as Majors. But this time, it was different. We weren’t frozen by fear but stood proud. With pride in our stance and confidence in our voices, we expressed our heartfelt gratitude for everyone’s remarkable effort. In that moment, we saw just how far we had come in our leadership. As we spoke our final words, we dismissed the Band for the last time.
The band room door stood open, but to our surprise, no one rushed out. Instead, the room was filled with tears. Some juniors cried, heartbroken that the Secondary Four members were leaving. Some seniors wept too, faced with the weight of their final time playing in Band. Around the room, juniors and seniors embraced one another — offering hugs that were meant to console, but only made the tears flow harder. It was then we realised what Band had become. It was more than a co-curricular activity, more than just a place for music. It had become a family — one built on shared growth, memories, and connection. A place we would carry with us, long after the last note faded.
Among the tears, a vivid memory came flooding back — a moment in the tuning room where a junior had broken down, stressed and scared that she was going to mess up. This was someone who once seemed indifferent, even detached during practices. But in that moment, her tears spoke volumes. It showed us how much she truly cared, and just how far she had come. Band was never just about music or performing. It was a space for growth, a place where deep bonds formed, and where unspoken understanding thrived. A place that tested us with hardship, struggle and adversity — but one that ultimately transformed us, and brought out a version of ourselves we didn’t know existed. For everything we’ve been through, one truth remains: Broadrick Band will always be our second home.