Unplayed piano

"She sits alone in her silent song. Somebody bring her home." - Lisa Hannigan

It is one of the two or three things I quit in my life so far. I was in college when I announced to my parents over dinner that I would like to quit piano lessons with tears in my eyes and hair in my mouth. I was already preparing for the Grade 8 examination. I have only one final grade to go and I will not need to deal with the piano anymore. I still get the same reactions now from fellow friends who have completed their eighth grade. But you have one more grade left. Oh what a waste. Yeah. Maybe it was a waste, jumping off the train when I was so close to home. But playing the piano has turned to be more of a task than a volunteer. I found myself dragging towards the piano reluctantly just to practise for the lesson a couple of hours later. I was merely playing for examinations and not pleasure. I have to go. I have been like that since Grade 6 or Grade 7. I remember limping to piano lessons on Saturdays after long morning hours of band practices. Sometimes I was so emotional I teared up when I could not play up to my teacher's standards. One can only put on a mask for so long. One can only pretend everything is alright for so long. I have to go. So I left. I have never touched the piano ever since. I never sought for this closure.

When I was younger, I would like to believe I am destined to join the school band when I hit high school and that somewhere down the line, I will go study Music in University and become some artsy musician with wages to boot. I will be honest with you that I got into the school band in Standard 4 because I was attracted to the uniform. It was shitty, looking back right now. But you know how uniforms are. There is confidence weaved in the lanyards and stripes. With that I brought myself to the high school military band. The first two and a half years were crap because seniors were snobbish like that. But I was oh so fortunately chosen to make the transition. I blended in with the seniors and eventually, I was put on the committee list as the Woodwinds Senior Leader when I was in Form 4. There was not much competition, to be frank. I was just at the right place and the right time. We were already starting to run low on talents.

Every day of my life in the band was the best. Skipping classes legally for hours of band practice under the sun. Face it, every one of us (even the leaders, save maybe the conductor and the drum majors) faked nauseats to have a longer break of an extra hour or two. Having special threatments from the big shots of high school. Our principal loved us to bits and every other uniformed societies fucking hated us. The incentives. Never in the life of me I would be so active to get incentives. I was never a smart student to go on national speaking competitions or a sporty athelete going places rubbing gold medals on my school walls. Getting ready for performances will always be something I hold dear to my heart. Something vain and cocky no other people will understand. Getting our uniforms from the Quartermasters, double checking the lanyards and sleeves and badges (making sure my double rank badge is included to boast about my position), polishing the instruments. There were National Day parade marches, State and National level formation competitions, in which we fail to win the latter every time. There were tears, there were sweat (and a hell lot of it). I screamed my head out, I cried my eyes out. I was disappointed, I was proud. I was happy.

School bands in Penang were never high on orchestra symphonies. Every day I craved to someday play in the Penang Symphony Orchestra and every day I find a reason to procrastinate myself. But I had an opportunity to be involved in something close to an orchestra. It was the PESS Band. We have to admit being merely a "band" because an "orchestra" includes string instruments and in PESS we do not have string instruments. It was a combination of probably four of the best high school bands in Penang. But when the performance date nears, a few members from the PSO team jumped on the wagon. The conductors had connections, you see.

It was a good few months. The songs chosen were nice to hear and I paid so close attention hoping that when it ends, I will still remember some pointers. I always forget things too easily. Sometimes, I go through life thinking I did not learn much but when really, I just forget. The conductors were encouraging. I was given a solo only to be taken away from me. I had to bite my tongue because he was a star flutist and an apple in the eyes of Penang's most sought after conductor. He eventually became my friend-cum-drum-major's boyfriend. Still is. He is a year younger than me and studies Psychology in HELP Institute. A fucking smartass. How could I protest? It did not affect me till I was in shambles. But there was always a small hint of disappointment that the solo part was so matter-of-factly passed on without even a polite "is it alright that he plays the solo now?" But I understand. Symphony orchestras are business. There are bureaucratic politics. It is a dog-eat-dog world. It is cut throat. Besides, I was more than happy to be a part of it. I was never really properly borned a musician.

I reminisced much of those days after I have left. I bought Gustav Holst's The Planets - in which three of its suites were performed in PESS. Back in my older house in Tanjung Bungah, there was a swing outside. I would listen to the songs under the dark starry sky and imagine a different world above and beyond. It was a nice escape. It was a nice remembrance.

I remember the Swan Lake Suite vividly. His name is Eric and he is an oboeist. He has given us a few workshops during the PESS practices. He is quite a cocky fellow. Everybody hates him at one point or another despite his good looks and charming smile. One can never be certain how many devils hid behind that smile. He plays the flute good but plays the oboe better. It was a few hours before showtime for the PESS performance. It was dark backstage and everyone was hogging the tuner and frantically searching for the neutral wavelength. He was wandering around and playing the memorised solo from the suite. Like a dawn breaking on crashing oceans. Like a beautiful creature emerging from the dark confinements. Like a flower sprouting from cold white snow. I will always remember the way his tune slices into my head. I will always remember the way I quench my thirtsy heart with the song. I always thought of him whenever I listen to the opening oboe solo in A Storm is Coming from the Return of the King soundtrack.

It hurts. It does. Whenever I listen to instrumental songs with crystal clear flute solos. It kills. It murders. When I hear piano solos calming my heart in ways I can never achieve if I were to play it myself. How I wish I am able to do something about it. To be a part of something so big once again. But despite all that I have lost, it brings comfort on days when songs with lyrics are too much to swallow and every sung words are too heartbreaking to cry one more time. It brings back older memories. Once upon a time I belonged to something I loved. Once upon a time I was a part of an evolution, a symphony, a music. Once upon a time, I was there. Like a graffiti attendance on a clean wall that cannot be erased.

Maybe I can have the chance to proceed this life of a classical musician if I have another me. Pick up the flute again. Try harder to play the piccolo and eventually settle for the former instrument. Learn the oboe. Learn the clarinet. I love woodwinds instrument. Learn the violin, an instrument that takes up most of your life to shape and mold to perfection. But alas. I was borned a single unique form. These fingers will now only try to speak of a world not able to be captured in three by fives. Something intangible and invisible to the naked eyes. It will be forever lost once it has come to past.

When did I let it slip through my fingers, I am not certain. Is it when I begged to stop playing the piano? Is it when I retired from my position and handed the flute I have been playing for three years to the next protege? But whenever the soothing keys of the piano start playing and the vibrating sounds of the flute start blowing, I can feel like I belong once again. If only to pretend. If only for a while. To a life of thick scores and majestic symphonies. To a life I will forever wish to be a part of.