We think we understand a song's lyrics, but what makes us believe in them, or not, is the music.* And that is the power of music. It flows through our veins, penetrates our soul, and touches the most bottoms of our hearts. It is a subliminal force which never fails to enchant us with its bewitching magic. Music, to me, is my life. Or rather, more than my life. It is what makes me complete; without it, I am only a blank piece of paper: hollow and empty. Music to me is like words to a writer.

For as long as my memory served, I had been a practitioner of music, especially on the piano. My burning passion for music gave me the ability to teach myself the piano, in which I took a fervid pleasure for almost my entire life. Yet, my natural talent in music - which I have always believed to be hereditary - had been a curse disguised in blessings, and more often than not it showered me with luxurious hopes which were too good to be real.

I still remember the day my adoptive father took me and my brother out of our orphanage. It was the early winter of 1998, and the ashen skies were wrapped in a wreath of liquid copper. He appeared in the hall of our orphanage one morning, covered with an aura of expensive taste and superior gravity. My brother, in the innocence of those who can still count their age on their ten fingers, was remarkably thrilled at the arrival of a visitor.

"Hyung, do you think this ajeossi is here to adopt us?" I remember my brother asking me in a tone dipped in hope, "Will it be our lucky day today?"

"Well," I paused as I looked down to my brother from the piano, "this ajeossi might just be the one ap-ba and uhm-ma has sent for us." I patted his head lovingly as an older brother, smiling mildly, not wanting to crash his hopes.

"But hyung, why didn't ap-ba and uhm-ma want us? Is it because Chul Yong was too naughty?"

I sighed, hiding behind the sadness which followed me like a shadow over all these years.

"No, ap-ba and uhm-ma loved Chul Yong," I lied with great conviction, "it was painful for them to have left us here too."

Chul Yong and I were raised among insecurities and a profound sense of dejection that were characteristic of all orphans. As children we were forced to come to terms with the harsh reality at an early age, and we learned to not expect anything from the world other than hopelessness and abandonment. We lived in the absence of parental love and care, and at the same time in the stifling competition among the desperate orphans who pinned their lives on getting out of the orphanage. I was hated among the bunch, because to them my extraordinary flair for music was a threat: it would make me appeal to the adopters more than them. But Chul Yong was not among them, he was different, he was special to me.

As a dongsaeng, he had always looked up to me as a trustful older brother. He was the only one who truly admired my musical talent, and my only audience who had never left his seat. It was his little applause that warmed my heart, and encouraged me to be lost in the reveries of music. Bang Chul Yong, though not related to me in blood, was another part of me which I could never forsake in my life. And so as a hyung I wanted to protect him with all I could, even at the expense of the truth that I was never his biological brother. It would pain me to see him covered in even more emotional wounds than he already had. Sometimes, in the depths of silence, I would hear him crying in his sleep.

"Hyung, will you abandon me one day, like how ap-ba and uhm-ma did?" He would mutter in the pale glow of dawn, breathless from his nightmare.

"Don't be silly, Chul Yong," I would then comfort him in my embrace, "hyung will never leave you alone."

On that October morning, in the half-light, I carried Chul Yong out of our bunk and sat him down on a small chair beside the piano in the hall. As usual, I played his favorite piece - Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 23. At the soft touch by my fingers, the piano liberated an amiable sound of sweet melancholy, which slowly grew into a tempestuous sonance. I was soon immersed in the wild fantasy of Beethoven's Appassionata, oblivious to the silhouette that dissolved into the streaks of twilight. He was right there, listening, all ready to devour every note that filled the hall. At last, as I breezed through the final notes of the sonata, a loud, monotonous clap resonated through the hall and broke the peacefulness of the morning.

"That was marvelous," the man in silhouette began as he unhurriedly stepped out of his shadows, "what is your name, boy?"

I could tell Chol Yong was startled by the unannounced intrusion of the visitor as he jumped in his seat. I, too, was surprised at the new voice, but still managed to keep my composure as I replied in a tone of indifference, "Yang Seung Ho."

---

Dawn still lingered in the snow-splattered streets when we stepped out of the orphanage. Chul Yong held tightly onto my hand as the man led us into the back of a black limousine. The cushioned seats smelled strongly of expensive leather and the leftover stench of wine and cigarette. Throughout the ride, we maintained a plastic silence which seemed only normal to our new adopter. He did not ask a single question regarding our backgrounds, but occupied his mind with something else which we didn't know about. The ride to his home seemed like years.

Finally as we disappeared into the back of an alley, a magnificent building grew in sight. We were greeted by the grandeur of the Lee's mansion as we stepped out of the limousine. As much to my dismay, we couldn't help but be awed by the loftiness of the building. It was even grander than those that appeared on televisions.

A smallish man with vulturine features attended to us immediately the moment we entered the mansion. Bowing in excess, he greeted his master with great respect, "Master Lee, I've followed your instructions and brought Young Master and Miss to the hall." The man being addressed as Master Lee nodded and his housekeeper invited us in. We were led through a palatial corridor and a labyrinth of passageways before arriving at a sprawling round hall of seemingly impossible geometry. Chul Yong looked at me, stunned.

"Welcome to the Lee mansion," the dwarfish housekeeper said, his impenetrable aquiline gaze rested on mine. "Please meet our Young Master and Miss."

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* extracted from The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, 2004