When I was starting out living independently and securing a place of my own, the first piece of home appliance I owned after I got myself a laptop, is not a television, nor a refrigerator. It's a piano. To others, that would seem impractical. Why a piano? I used to ask myself that question too.
I didn't need a refrigerator back then. I usually went out for lunch and dinner and I didn't mind drinking warm water off of a jug. I still don't own a TV though. My mom gave their old TV to me after I bought them a new one but I never got to use the old TV in my place so I'm giving it back. I was never a TV person, I guess. I've lived through much of high school and all of college until now without a TV.
But it seemed to me that I cannot live without music. So just when I had enough savings to buy a
new piano to replace the old one in my parents' home, I bought one. That was followed by a
Yamaha Clavinova that is sitting in my living room in my place. But even before those keyboards, I had over 30G of music files in my laptop's hard disk that I listen to. And it's true that I can't seem to live without music.
That doesn't answer the question, why piano? Can't I be contented with just listening to my music files day and night? Why would someone buy one piano for her parents' home and buy another piano for her place? I had a hard time justifying the expense to myself. Why bother? Am I really gonna play? Am I gonna be a better person for it? But I'm not really good at playing the piano. Heck, I even forgot how to read notes.
The answer, I would later find out, is that I need to play the piano. I need to play like I need to write on my journal. I need to play like I need to read beautiful compositions. I need to play like I need to experience art. I need to play like I need to gaze at the stars. I need to play like I need to be inspired. I need to play like I need to cry. I need to play like I need to pray. It's not a luxury, it's a necessity. And it doesn't matter where I am, in my parents' house or my place. I need to play the piano.
All my sisters are receiving formal piano lessons. I like coming home and asking my sisters play beautiful music. I also like coming home on weekends and play the piano. But there are days, weekdays and ordinary ones, sometimes even bad days when I would come home to my place and play on my Clavinova.
I would play Beethoven's Sonata Quasi Una Fantasia which I finished just last month. I would try other pieces from memory. I would do my own juvenile rendition of pop songs. I would play original pieces and made up ones over and over until I'm tired and sleepy. Hammering on the keys until midnight, I would wonder how a simple "la" or "mi" could evoke one kind of emotion or another. Moving my fingers through the keys, I would ask myself why, why the whole business of playing altogether? Playing doesn't change anything.
Playing the piano doesn't solve your personal problems. It doesn't change that you are alone and lonely. It doesn't magically bring back to life someone you lost forever and loved so dearly. But it makes everything alright and it's all that matters to help you get through the day. That's when I understand that I need to play to get through the day.
This goes out to my beloved aunt whose life has changed because the man of her life has gone to meet his Creator. I wish I could play for her. But more than anything, I wish I could hear her play, and maybe while at it, she could sing a new tune that's happy once again
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