A Love Letter to July

I’ve never gone through heartbreak before - until this July. It was a Romeo and Juliet-style tragedy, the tragic loss of the love of my life. At music camp this year, the orchestra played some selections from Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet suites. But they were so much more than just a collection of movements - they told the story of what was actually going on in our lives.

With “Montagues and Capulets,” the dark storminess and intensity reflected upon the first few days - anxiety and struggles in making new friends, being away from home, principal auditions, and first rehearsals. That first day when I was reunited with a childhood friend as roommates, where I met my suitemate from Utah, when I started to get closer with people I had only heard of, was a whirlwind of rehearsal stress, trying to impress the conductor, trying to make friends, trying to be accepted. A rainstorm of rehearsals, frantic practice sessions, getting lost, and awkwardness. I want to go back to this time, this stage of happy frenzy.

“The Young Juliet” correlated with our youthful excitement at the same time to be with each other, to be making music together. When I got to lead the viola section, I started to get to know each violist better, getting closer with the mentor as well. Like confetti thrown in the air, we floated from each day to the next, our love for the repertoire growing, the connection between all of us stronger. I want to go back to this time, this honeymoon stage between the music and us.

As time passed, playing and being together became more of a dance - like a “Minuet!” We let ourselves be silly, showing our true crazy sides, through deep talks and rants, through breakfasts, lunches, and dinners together, through late night hangouts, through making TikToks, through geeking out over our love for music, through peaceful walks, through crazy Doordash experiences, through choreographing silly dances, through singing our hearts out, through playing around with accents. Sitting on the hardwood floor, eating candy, our steady stream of chatter, a big endless cycle. Breakfast. Rehearsal. Lunch. Sectionals. Rehearsal. Dinner. Talk. Sleep. Repeat. Playing these beautiful pieces constantly, we laughed in rehearsals, cheered each other on, formed into a big, warm family. I want to go back to this time, this sit-com style of living, this comfortable routine.

Finally, Carnegie day had the same “Balcony Scene” magic, that same spark as the first interaction and kiss between Romeo and Juliet on the balcony on a humid summer night. It was during that warm, damp night that we truly felt sparks crackle between the music and us. We felt that delicate, decadent kiss that music placed on our plump cheeks, we felt the butterflies that music gives us like a blooming crush, we felt the hearty-soup contentedness in our stomachs from playing such beautiful, invigorating pieces, we felt the magnetic attraction that keeps us all together in one big friendship, we felt the Midas touch of music, turning everyone’s hearts into melty gold, and we let ourselves fall in love with music. Getting ready together in a huge Carnegie Hall dressing room, putting on our classic red pants and Converse, singing and dancing to Lana Del Ray and Rihanna as we do our hair and makeup altered our brain chemistry, bringing us closer than ever before.

Our performance that night was jaw-droppingly good, making the audience scream and clap in all the right places and sob in all the others. I’ll never forget that shock, that silence after we finished playing, where the audience was just left motionless, in a coma of awe. There’s nothing quite like our youthful energy that we taint our music with, each note filled with Romeo and Juliet’s exciting passion. I want to go back to this time, the best night of my life.

Just as the Antillies maids tiptoed closer to Juliet’s grave, we danced around the idea that this was almost over, acknowledging that it was ahead, but too scared to truly accept it. Saying goodbye to our dorm at SUNY Purchase’s beautiful campus, to our huge breakfasts, to the bathrooms we got ready in, to the rooms we revealed our true selves to each other to, the dressing rooms where we became sisters for life, to the rehearsal spaces where we grew as musicians and fell in love with music all over again. I want to go back to this time, this time where we were together in reflection.

At the very end, as we allowed for Romeo to kneel at Juliet’s grave, his heart torn, the love of his life gone, in anguish over the family feud that pulled them apart, we ourselves had to be forcefully pried apart from each other, from the music, from the memories, from the family we created. We let the sorrowful, heart wrenching sound of the oboe soar throughout the hall in the last section of “Juliet’s Death” be a goodbye as well as a flickering fairy light of hope for next year in the last stages of camp. These were the people I spent my whole days with, doing what I love, laughing, talking, and making music. Tiff, Grace, and I were never close before, but after being attached at the hip 24/7, I became closer to these girls than any friend I have known all my life. Going back was no easy feat - being away from my “sisters” and “family” will be hard - not having a friend to rant to, to talk to, to laugh to, to cry to at all times will be an adjustment. I was spoiled with joy here, and facing the brutality of the world after this period of constant happiness will be tough. I packed away a cookie with the camp logo on it, so fragile that I wrapped it in my clothes before placing it into my suitcase - it’s pathetic, I know; Just as I’m desperately trying to hold onto any of the last bits of camp and prevent them from cracking, I’m trying to hold onto these good times and protect my heart from shattering too. Just as Romeo said goodbye to Juliet, I’m saying goodbye to my family, to the fun we had, to the music we played, to the memories we made. Just as Romeo was torn from the love of his life, I’m being torn from my favorite people, the times we had, the masterpieces of music that we created. Just as Romeo’s heart was broken, mine is too.

Whenever people would say “all I need are the memories,” I wouldn’t believe them. I was the kid who always insisted on a new ornament, bracelet, keychain from all of the places that I went to, to remind me of the fun I had during the time. As the material girl I was, I never truly understood the meaningfulness of memories and how much value they hold. However, this summer, I took the merch that the camp gave us, hoping that it would remind me of all the fun that I had. But as I have it all scattered throughout my room, they don’t make me feel anything. What truly moves me and warms my heart are the memories that I made. When I think back to my journey throughout camp, I remember all of the fun I had and the music that I made, and I know that I will keep these moments, locked in my heart, forever. The music also holds so much memory, love, and laughter - it is what evokes my feelings of sadness to part with camp, to remember all of the good times that I had. Everytime I hear a section of a piece, I remember my friends’ words, the conductor’s guidance, my orchestra-mates playing, the movement of the orchestra in unison that occurred while we were playing that particular passage.

As the Eb Clarinet starts its bouncy melody, I remember the smile of the soloist, the laugh of the orchestra, pinching and squeezing my stomach. These are the things that make me smile and long to go back - more so than any of the little goodies that I brought home.

And as I sit here, writing this in my room right now, my face wet, eyes filled with unspilled tears, the concert program by my side, giving me chills and making my heart beat faster every time I look at it, the camp repertoire playlist in the background, on FaceTime with Grace and Tiff, my suitcase and clothes sprawled all over my bedroom floor, I’m going to tuck my concert uniform, those red pants, black tee, and Converse, into my closet, just as I am putting away this chapter of my life with it. I’ll always carry you in my heart with all of the memories you have granted me with forever. I can’t wait for the day I can embrace you again. I love you, July.