I don’t pick up my guitar very often, and certainly not as often as I would in my fantasy image of myself (in which I also fearlessly climb hard things outdoors, have more reliable hair, and tend a successful vegetable garden), but I go through phases where I really enjoy playing. I enjoy the feeling of the strings under my fingers, I enjoy the size of the instrument between my arms, and I enjoy being able to make something beautiful.

I can tell it’s been a while since I’ve played when my fingers are sore and the strings rub in places not calloused by climbing. And I can tell that my hands remember how to play when I realize I’m playing without thinking. I’ve had a guitar for over 20 years, though nothing about how I can make it sound would suggest that.

An aspect of making music that never ceases to amaze me is how quickly the time goes. When I’m in the mood to play, I sit there until my fingers are too tired to continue, or until my neck is sore from bending over the strings to look at the chord charts on the phone in my lap. I spent my high school years performing in chorus concerts and musicals, and the times when I play guitar have become the times when I sing aloud, voice wavering in ranges that used to come easily. I’m always surprised when I check my watch – an hour already gone?

Talking about treasured items with friends many years ago, one looked at the guitar case sitting in my childhood bedroom and said, “That’s a good example – you’d never go anywhere without your guitar.” But even then, I knew that I would. I took lessons in high school and dismayed my teacher with my avoidance of practice, and I’m sure I didn’t take my guitar with me to university. I may have wanted to be that chill person who sat back and played (see above fantasy self), but I never was, and never actually tried to be. (There’s want and there’s want.) I’m fairly confident my guitar stayed at my parents’ place even when I shared an apartment in my last year of university, but it definitely moved with me to my first apartment after university. And then I moved to Malaysia with two suitcases and no guitar as a carry-on – again, I wasn’t that cool.

But the world spun around a little, and after a subsequent year in Singapore with two suitcases (still no guitar), I decided I wanted it again. I took that long-neglected guitar to New York, and then to Singapore, and then to Germany. It certainly has travelled, and having it makes me feel settled. Taking it out to play puts me in a place that I used to know well, and there aren’t so many places like that in my life anymore.

I’ve never taught anyone to play guitar, but I’ve shown people how to hold it, how to strum the strings, how to form simple chords. It’s easy, I always say, give it a try. And that’s another thing I love about playing guitar – it is easy to play, though, like anything, the room for complexity and beauty is not to be underestimated. I am by no means good or even decent at playing guitar, but I can read music, strum some chords, and sing along and that works for me. I don’t have to start from the beginning when I pick it up after a long while; I just have to take a few big steps back and slow down, which is not a bad thing for me. Just like at the climbing hall, I don’t mind the reminder of how far I have yet to go.

Playing guitar has not been the place where I frequently spend my spare time, but it’s always been there as something I enjoy. I am glad that I learned to read music, to understand chords, and to take care of my hands from a young age. I’m not an artist, but I know there’s something really special about creation, and it gives me a warm feeling. It’s something to get lost in and there are times when all I want to be is lost. I’ve never played often and I’ve never played well, but I’ve always been willing to start from wherever it is that I am.

And with that, it’s time to play.