There is not much to know about me. The only facts that you pretty much need to know is that I am sixteen, have skipped a few grades in school, and had an undying passion for the piano. Piano was my life and soul, the only window to the deepest feelings of my heart. Nothing could rid me of my addiction to it. The piano to me was like a book was to a shelf: I would feel rather empty and unfulfilled without it, for the art of playing the piano completed me in a way that would be deemed unimaginable to those who do not understand. While others dreamed of true love and prosperity, I dreamt of becoming a world-class concert pianist.

That explained my ecstatic state of mind when I finally received my acceptance letter from the most prestigious art school in all of Korea.

“Mother!” I jumped up and down in excitement as would a little puppy waiting for its first ever walk in the park. “I was accepted! I can’t believe it! Look at the acceptance letter and tell me that I am not dreaming!”

My mother smiled brightly but her eyes were filled with sorrow. “The acceptance letter is real, love. You are one step closer to your dream!”

“And that’s not it!” There was a glint in my eye. “They also offered me enough scholarship to pay for its tuition and living quarters! Isn’t this just amazing? Oh, I must be dreaming! Quick, book a flight! I must be there by next weekend to meet the professors and my classmates. I mustn’t be late for such an important day!”

“Indeed, Jaejoong,” my mother replied softly. “Indeed. Your flight will be in two days. Is that too early for you?”

“Too early!?!” I widened my eyes. “Too late, I should say. Why, even if my flight was in two minutes, it would seem too late for me! Oh, I am so happy! I am finally going to become a concert pianist!”

Mother’s smile faded and she looked at me with serious loving eyes. “Dear, just promise me that you will never lose sight of what is really important just to become a concert pianist. Remember that the whole family will still be proud of you even if you do not achieve your dream, and that we would support you in any field. Do not hesitate to come back if things do not work well.”

I looked at her, evidently annoyed. “I am becoming a pianist no matter what, Momma. I promised myself that for a long time. I never break my promises.”

“Then promise me that you will be happy.”

“I don’t need to promise you, Momma,” I smiled confidently. “Just as long as I can play the piano, I am automatically happy.”

My mother’s temple beat repentantly on her forehead. “You had better start packing, dear. You do not want to miss your flight.” Without another word, she left my room to leave me to think about my own matters. Later, my sister told me that she left my room with tears pouring down her face.

Those two days seemed like two decades. I did not sleep a wink; I had no appetite, not even for my mother’s five-star restaurant food; and I could not keep my fingers still. Usually I only practiced for four hours a day, but during those two days, I woke up as early as six in order to practice until noon, raising my practice hours up two hours. Many times one of my sisters would bang on the music room door exasperatedly to inform me that the rest of the family was not at all nocturnal, but I paid them no heed. Instead, I switched from the noise-polluted Bartok sonata to a Chopin nocturne. The complaints stopped.

And yet it was not enough. When the time came to say goodbye to my parents and my sisters to board the plane, I still felt something missing in my heart, and the feeling did not subside even when the plane landed.

It was then when I realized that I had no idea of what I was doing beside the fact that I would be working towards becoming a concert pianist. I strutted out of the plane, collected my luggage, and walked out of the airport, expecting nothing from the world and everything from myself.

I found the conservatory soon enough. It was only an hour’s walk away from the airport, and it was quite easy asking for directions. I was startled at its smallness, though. I expected a world-class conservatory to be no less glamorous that the castle of the last Russian queen, and was reluctantly disappointed at the scene. Nevertheless, I entered and, although not as shiny and spotless and grand as I imagined, it was quite comfortable and, well, normal.

Spotting the “RECEPTIONIST” sign on the other side of the chamber, I pulled my luggage along the marble floor and smiled politely at the receptionist lady.

“Excuse me, my name is Kim Jaejoong, I am a newcomer to this school.”

“Ah! Kim Jaejoong, I have heard of you. You are the sixteen-year-old, am I correct? The conservatory is quite delighted to have such a young man attend.”

I blushed. I always forgot that I was always much younger than most people. “Yes, that is I,” I replied shyly.

“You know,” the receptionist said, “You really do not look like a sixteen-year-old. You look almost twenty if you ask me.”

My face fell slightly. “Yah, I get that a lot. Anyways, do you have any directions to my dormitory?”

“Up the stairs, third floor, Room 307,” she responded courtly, handing me the keys and a student card. “Have a nice stay!”

I thanked her and made my way to the elevator (screw the stairs!), pressing the 3 button. I turned around and immediately smiled at a photo of Lang Lang in Carnegie Hall that was taped onto the back of the smooth grey elevator wall. “One day, I will be just like that,” I said to myself. The elevator door opened with a DING and I walked through it, eyes surveying the scene to find Room 307.

I had no such luck.

“Um, excuse me?” I asked a man who was passing by. “Do you know where Room 3—?”

He just pushed past me, shoulder scraping into mine. How rude!

I tried with another guy who seemed much friendlier, but he, too, ignored me. Did I have something on my face?

The results happened with the next people I asked, and eventually I gave up asking for directions. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ I asked myself. ‘Why is everybody ignoring me as if I was not there?’

Looking around the place, I finally spotted Room 307 at the end of the corridor, hidden in a corner where a man with a cell phone stood a moment ago. No wonder I couldn’t find the room!

I unlocked the door and entered, finding myself in a tiny room just big enough to fit a single bed, a small desk and chair, and a closet. There were no windows, but fortunately the air conditioning was put on full blast. I had some difficulty fitting my baggage into it, but finally managed after several pushes. My hopes were not darkened, however. I was as motivated as motivation could possible get! I slumped onto the bed and exhaled slowly, making a mental to-do list.

1. Find out where the practice rooms are. Need I say more?
2. Start looking for a job. I only have fifty dollars at the moment.
3. Become acquainted with the school. I must be able to know the place inside-out.
4. Find out where the cafeteria is. I will be able to get my food free if I bring my student card along.

And so, with absolutely no real schemes set in my mind, I commenced what was going to be the most life-changing experience in my whole life.

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Yay, winglin is back!!!
*throws confetti*
Happy 200th Birthday, Chopin!
*throws more confetti*

Please comment. Criticism is much welcomed =)