strum... pluck... strum

Strum…strum…strum…strum…strum…

That’s one thing I could do. With my left hand clasped tight at the arm of the guitar, I tried to make “music” out of the senseless way I brushed the strings with the fingers of my right hand. I tried to make myself believe that I was able to produce music and not just a “sound.”

Pluck…pluck…pluck…pluck…pluck…

That’s another thing I could do. But do not be deceived. I didn’t mean like I could play like Eric Clapton. I didn’t mean that I could do those “finger acrobatics” with the strings. What I meant was I could pluck. Yes, a string. Like what you would do when you pluck your eyebrows.
Strum…pluck…strum…pluck…strum…

That’s the last thing I could do. I would brush my fingers on the strings as I would do if I’d see a cockroach crawling up my legs. I would then try to get one string between my forefinger and my thumb, then let it loose as I would do if I’d pinch a cute baby’s cheek.

I couldn’t play the well guitar. I am FRUSTRATED.