Music notes

I recall undergoing very Spartan-like training for my piano when I was younger. 

The teacher was a perfectionist. She was hot-tempered, strict, and had a sharp tongue. I still recall her phoning up my parents, complaining to them about my delinquent-like behavior. I remember myself talking back to her angrily when she had falsely accused me of not practicing, when in reality, I just wasn't that quick of a learner. And of course - she had thrown me out - the first student to be ever dismissed. Nasty days indeed. From that point onward, I was labelled as a problematic child.

I have no idea how I managed to make it to Grade Eight - all I recall was hour after hour of grueling practice, forcing emotions into pieces that I could barely feel at all. 

But somehow, after finishing the exams, I find myself enjoying the feel of playing the piano more and more. I wonder why. Is it because I can play my favorite pieces leisurely whenever I wish to? Is it because that playing the piano has become such a nice way of...relaxing? 

I knew my neighbors liked my playing. Sometimes they'd text my dad and praise me for the music, or they'd tell me when I somehow met them on the streets. I never thought it was something to be proud about, but I smiled whenever I heard those praises - for many years ago, I thought the piano must have been a curse to haunt me for my entire life. And now, it has turned out to be a blessing.

Just a few more days to go.

I was going all out on the piano today. I hadn't played Richard Clayderman for a long time - almost two years, I believe, and so my sudden decision to play some songs by him today shocked myself, too. And what surprised me was the sudden hug from my maid who had taken care of me for eighteen years while I was doing the octaves on Lettre A Ma Mere, or whatever that title of the song was. She was crying, and God forbid, I hated it whenever people cried over me. I didn't feel like it was worth it - which was one of the reasons why I dismissed any ideas of a farewell party, despite the insistent efforts of some friends. 

Yeah. 

I won't get to play the piano for a long, long time. And somehow that idea saddens me more than the idea of leaving Malaysian food behind.

Then, I received the news from my mum - that my ex-piano teacher, the one I hated and had thrown me out of her doorstep, was bedridden due to stroke - or something that involved the brain - I forgot what it was. When I had told my brother about it, he had gasped in shock. What an overreaction of his part, I thought.

"You're smiling," he accused.

I arranged my face back into a frown, angry at myself that I had let a smile slip out on my face without being aware of it. I hated to say it, but the sadistic part in me was rejoicing for the fact that she had gotten what she had deserved. She had put me through hell for so many years - it only made sense that she got choked up, too.

Noticing my parents observing me, I decided to opt for the truth instead of letting them label me as "emotionally unstable" behind my back. 

"You know, I really hated her," I said, going back to the smile.

Nothing else was said on that matter, because my parents knew, too, that they had been on her side during those times. It was only after that when they had acknowledged the fact that she had been too hard on me that things become better for me, piano-wise.

But for now, all I really wanted to do was just to play what I wanted to play - and that was it. I made it a point to play the favorite songs of the people around me nowadays - Marriage d'Amour and Souvenir d'Enfance for my mum, YMCA for my dad, and of course my own favorite anime pieces.

No matter what kind of crappy experience I had with piano-learning, I would never regret being able to play now.