I entered the grand ballroom of time, witnessing musical notes dressed in shimmering robes of sound, gracefully waltzing in a harmonious choreography, expressing sorrow when needed, anger when necessary, and happiness when possible–each with their own individuality.
That is what I picture as I press each piano key with my fingers, expressing their individuality one by one. But it wasn’t always like that. In fact, what even is the purpose of a piano? I perceived the piano as nothing more than a simple hassle that my parents forced upon me. I put in hours of practice, all to no avail. The “fix your posture!” and “find the rhythm!” statements and the music sheet that would put me down every time I messed up didn’t help my case at all. I felt suppressed, the opposite of what I was promised when I first began music.
One evening, I sat in front of the piano to practice my piece. The sheet music stared down my soul, causing me to look away and focus on the keyboard. Thus I put my fingers on the keyboard and began to play. One note at a time, combining each note to form chords, then adding timing to these chords, and then arpeggios. Different patterns and different notes. A series of infinite possibilities with just the change of one note.
Unfortunately, not every note will like each other; some notes refuse to dance with one another. To solve this problem I find myself spending hours matching the scales, harmonics and bass, fixing the conflict between the notes just so they can produce that final ballroom dance. I ultimately allow the pieces I create to articulate what my words alone can’t express.
In the end of it all, when I have a horrid day at school, I seek refuge with my keyboard. When I have a conflict with friends and family, I see myself running to my piano. But greatest of all, I find comfort when writing music; I ultimately discover myself when writing music, as it helps me reflect on my life thus far.