For this one-off, Octavia reflects on her life from the start to the point where she gets her cutie mark in cello playing, to the present day. She will grace us today alongside the Canterlot Philharmonic with a famous piece called Kol Nidrei by Max Bruch, representing her discipline and perseverance in her dreams of becoming a world-class cellist.
My name is Octavia Melody. I am a world class cellist. I perform at the greatest stages all across Equestria, from Manehattan to Canterlot. The stage and I… we share a mutual bond that has blossomed since I first received my cutie mark in classical music.
As I hear the violins play their half notes to introduce me to centre stage, I recall all that I endured through my piece that is life. I sit on my soloist’s seat, with the conductor counting the beats for the first and second violins. The flutes are now playing their whole notes. As they play, I prepare for my entrance. It’s time for me to play Mare Bruch’s Kol Nidrei.
I was born into a poor family in Manehattan. My father was a smaill-time chef, while my mother left my father for another stallion, desiring to leave a life of poverty. We lived in the city’s slums, with up to ten ponies huddled up in a single dilapidated tenement each day. I never knew the names of many of those ponies, for they had either been pushed out of our resting place or had passed away of disease and fatigue. Even so, their sickly, saddened faces had always put me off from talking to them.
Even in those conditions, my father had spent all of what he could afford for me. My father also had a deep love for classical music. So when I was still a filly, my father purchased a cello for my fifth birthday. Its sound still resonates deeply into my soul. To this day, I still play on his cello, for it was he who pushed me to where I am today, playing on the stage.
“My Octavia… My dream is to see you grow into a world-class cellist. I want you to promise me that you will cherish this cello with all your heart. My hope is that someday, you will perform with the best orchestras across Equestria and live a much more prosperous life than we do now,” my father’s weeping words still ring in my ears as I reach the F major section.
When I first played on my new cello, I had to use a stool to reach high enough to hold my bow and learn my first notes. I still remember the shrill laughter my neighbours gave me when I held my bow. The elder ponies with their grey beards mocked me for my miniscule build, saying that my father was silly for even considering trying me out for a career as a cellist. The young fillies who visited our home would do the same, teasing me for playing such a ‘refined’ instrument when I was destined to a life of poverty, hopelessness, and isolation from the rest of Equestria.
“You’ll end up just like all the olden ponies ‘ere! No life for you!” The foals would always say.
I can still hear the ponies laughing at me as the orchestra plays its interlude. Even as I pick up my bow to re-enter into the piece, I still find difficulty in making ends meet. How affluent am I in society? I perform in front of others but receive little praise, even as a soloist. Nowadays, ponies want the more modern types of music, like my housemate’s “Mubstep”, or whatever you call it. Don’t get me started on that pink-frilled maned pony’s eye-twitching polkas either! Making matters worse, I have few cellists to compare myself to, so the questions concerning my skills were frequently raised by critics.
All my life, I had to constantly fight reproach for what I loved to do. It wasn’t just that either. My father worked so hard to keep our family afloat even with what little we had. My cello is my life. I live and breathe with the cello. I speak my soul with my cello, expressing things that words could never express. My cello teacher always said that music expresses the unexpressible, that it touches a part of our soul that nothing else in the world could ever do.
I was also soft-spoken in school; my interests never matched those I encountered. Day by day, I kept myself away from the others, toiling and sweating to make sure that every note I played sounded just right with the music. But no pony ever understood that in those days. For them, a single note was just a note, even when one plays it loud or soft.
Even with the constant negativity and mockery bombarding my soul, I trudged onward with tears, finally receiving my treble clef cutie mark after performing Kol Nidrei for the very first time at my school’s end of year assembly. It was a cutie mark that signified my calling to cello playing and just that. My cutie mark never told me of the unending strife I had to endure even after receiving my cutie mark. It never told me about all the ponies who would bring me down because of what I loved to do and who I was. It never improved my life in an instant as I had hoped.
Even now, I still grunt at my cutie mark. All it gave me was disappointment. For me, a cutie mark was supposed to bring me immediate hope. An instant source of relief and happiness at finding my calling and knowing that what I would do led to success and a wealthier, more prosperous life with the upper echelons of society.
A tear descends upon my face as the orchestra pauses to let me play my cadenza. Death approaches ever closer to me. All around me is a blanket of black. What room does Equestria have for me? What use am I to this world if few ponies gave second thoughts to my playing?!
As the harp strums its strings, I feel as though my life means nothing to anypony now.
But I am wrong. My cutie mark had given me a calling. That I was meant to be a cellist. That the celestial beings from up above are looking down proudly at me for doing what few ponies could ever or want to do. As I await to play once again, I look up towards the ornamental ceiling, listening intently to the woodwinds as they play their heavenly song. Up above, my father too is looking down at me with a warm smile. I have come a long way to be playing my favourite piece in front of Canterlot’s biggest stage with a world-renowned conductor once again. I place my bow onto the middle string.
I now play a new melody. One that sings of the hope that is to come for my life. Even as I trudged in the Manehattan schoolhouse alone, my father befriended my cello teacher at his restaurant, who had kindly offered to give me cello lessons without payment. My father expressed his delight and surprise at such an offer, but my cello teacher refused to take no for an answer.
It was not only my father, but also my cello teacher who encouraged me to apply to Manehattan’s most prestigious music school as I grew. They all saw the potential in me to rise upwards and become the finest cellist Equestria has seen and will ever see. As I reach towards the higher notes on the upper strings, I recall how anxious I was when I performed this piece in front of a panel of judges.
I still remember their words to me after I completed my performance. They descended into tears, instantly accepting me into their ranks to study for a major in cello performance. My father and teacher were so elated, they too broke out in happy tears.
But soon after my success, my father contracted an incurable cancer. I was without anypony to support me, not even my father, for he was bed-ridden. At that moment, I thought I was truly alone. That my career as a cellist was over just as it was about to start. I had to not only perform, but also take care of my father as a young adult. I also had to move into the dormitories, which formed the bulk of my expenses.
I thought my life was over at that moment. I thought my future was set back into the slums, just as everypony else said to me ever since I was a young filly. What did my cutie mark mean then?! For me to have come so close, only to be forced to withdraw! I thought my hopes were dashed to the side, never to return!
That was until the very first day of orientation, when I suddenly stumbled upon a pony by the name of Vinyl Scratch. I remember bursting into tears as I sat on a cafeteria table alone. It was the mare with the frazzled blue mane and purple glasses who noticed my tears and trotted to my side. She said that she had an extra place for her at her dorm, and that she would help me pay for my expenses and support my father!
That type of kindness… As I continue to play my drawn out notes and return to the hopeful melody that hovers over the second half of the heavenly piece one last time, I felt my tears descend from my watery eyes and onto the wooden stage. If it wasn’t for Vinyl’s deep kindness and charity, I would not be here today. Even today, I still ask myself why Vinyl supported me over those four long years, for she would always say to me,
“Aww, it’s nothing!” whenever I mentioned her kindest deed to me.
I now play the final melody of Kol Nidrei. My father passed away by the time I reached second year at the University of Manehattan. My father’s last words to me were one of pride and fullness. He knew he lived out his life to the fullest when he saw me enter Manehattan’s music school. Even when I descended into anger and depression, Vinyl too was there for me. It was those acts of love and friendship that made me see that I wasn’t alone, and that I could be loved. That a true friend lays down their life for their fellow equines.
Of those three ponies, only Vinyl Scratch remains. But as I play the final notes of this long, meditative piece, I look back at my life and see hope for the future. My cutie mark did mean something, even if I don’t see that future now. Vinyl and I now live together as best friends and housemates, like two flutes playing in harmony as they do now. The orchestra continues to play its notes as I sit, recalling all that others have given me.
I press my bow to play an escalating scale. The piece is now about to reach its heavenly end. I reach the middle D alongside the strings. I play the escalation once again towards a higher note. The flutes play alongside with me this time instead of the strings. I stretch my hooves to play the final notes… So drawn about… but at the A enharmonic, I’ve reached my goal. The piece reaches the final chord, fading away into the darkness.
The audience stands up and gives a standing ovation. I can see the tears descending from their faces, just as they did in mine as I played this piece. My orchestra members cheer along with me as well, the conductor reaching his hooves to me for a hug.
This is classical music. This is my life. And I’ll never leave it, even if few understand.
THE END