Music

It was something that gave life a kind of color that seemed to be always lacking. It was something that almost every relied upon to accompany them through this seemingly dull life. But to me, it’s simply life itself. It’s something I believed I was born to do – to make music. And to have it taken away from me would be like ripping up half of who I am. Music was a part of me, the part that doesn’t take any shape nor does it make itself known to people. It’s just inevitably there… always.

But it wasn’t always like that. I never planned to love music as much as I did. I grew up just like any other kid – fond of games and hated studying. My turning point was when my mother decided to take me to her friend's piano recital. That was when my view on music changed.

I remembered myself whining to my mother just until the lights around the theater turned off. I was begging her to take me home, but she only hushed me down much to my dismay. When the spotlight was to where the piano and the pianist stood proudly on the stage, as the melodic playing of the pianist begun and echoed around the hall, it was as if I was mesmerized... The gentle notes coming from the piano keys were gracefully seducing me. The piece was a familiar one, yet the way the pianist played it gave another feel. At such a raw age of seven, I was able to feel love… the kind of love the pianist was giving with each note played on each key, the love the pianist wanted to share with the listeners, the love behind the story of the piece itself.

And I thought it was magical… because I hear the music speak despite it not being lyrical.

That was how I first fell in love.

I fell in love with music.

And right then I knew what my purpose in life was, and that was to create and play music – to let people experience and feel what I just felt at that recital, because something as magical as that is meant to be shared. It would be a selfish act to just bury it in one’s memories.

I studied for years to be able to play the piano, much to my mother’s joy and to my father’s disapproval – he’s never been a fan of music, he wanted me to be a teacher and follow in his footsteps. But despite how the rift between me and my father grew, I was beyond happy whenever my fingers were able to dance around the piano keys and play different pieces. I found myself looking forward to every lesson I had, and was excited to learn a new piece – because It felt like getting to know someone so delicately crafted from different sets of emotions that made it so beautifully hard to understand.

For me, each piece was art – a beautifully created art made by people who wanted to share stories they weren’t able to with words, because sometimes there are just not enough words to describe one’s true feelings. These stories, I believe, are something that can only be understood once you hear the piece’s entirety by heart, and not by ears – because this kind of beauty is not simply heard nor is it seen… it is only felt.

“Do you like music?” a classmate asked. I was busy studying my sheet music and his question caught my attention. I gave a nod, and I received a smile – and that just might be the brightest smile I have ever seen.

“Really, what instrument do you play?”

“The piano.”

“I play the piano too!” the man said and extended his hand out to me. “My name’s Lee Sungmin, a music major.”

I shook his hand and nodded, “Cho Kyuhyun, music major.”

From those simple introductions, we ended up talking about the piano, and eventually lost ourselves as we talked about music. The magic music seemed to have that bewitched us to want to play it, the exhilarating kind of music the piano could produce at each press of the keys, and how simple notes written on paper could hold such stories and feelings. And it was refreshing to talk these things with someone; someone who understands, someone who doesn’t seem to be too obliged to be talking about it because he’s trying to teach a student. Just a simple talk. A different point of view of things.

It was calming.

Sungmin was there.

===============

Being the son of a musician, I grew up on an environment filled with the soothing melody the grand piano sings whenever my mom would play it. She was a pianist – one I look up to and dreamed to be someday, because I believed there wasn’t anyone else who could play the piano like she does.

It was a weekend and as usual, my sleep was gently interrupted by the sweetest melody the piano was singing. I rolled over on the bed, smiling, and got up. I walked over to where the beautiful melody was coming from and saw my mom sitting by the piano, softly swaying along to the music she was playing, my father by her side, humming along. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, allowing the wonderful music wash the rest of the sleep away and basking at the love the music was offering me. The sweet melody kissed my ears and tickled my heart; it was a melody that gave a nostalgic feeling – though it only brought back happy memories, no sad ones.

I couldn’t remember why or when I started to love the piano, but it must have something to do with how I would try and climb up the seat by the piano way back when I still couldn’t form decent sentences. The moment I wake up, I would wobble my way to the piano room, tug on my mom’s skirt and she would lift me up and sit me down her lap as she continued to play. I remember myself trying to follow her fingers across the instrument's keys with my own smaller ones, pressing onto the white keys where she last pressed on and I would automatically smile in delight at the sound it would produce. I would look up to my mom whenever she finished playing, asking her to teach me and she would smile down at me before holding both my hands and play the piano using my hands in a slow manner. At such a young age, and the amount of time I spent in front of the piano – be to play it or to simply admire its beauty – it was inevitable for me to fall in love with the instrument. And the way my mother would play it only made my desire to play it like the way she does grow stronger.

I was taught by the best tutor I could have – my mom. And though the person I idolized the most was the one who taught me to play, I still couldn’t play the way she does. The way she would shed her emotions from the very first note she pressed up to the last one she plays, the way her beauty seemed to melt and merge into the music itself and seemed to take me on a journey as she played, the way I always end up awed and trapped in another world where the story behind the music starts to unfold, slowly narrating the words behind each note as I listened more and lose my way in the melody. It was beyond magical, a feeling I seem to only experience whenever my mother played. It must have been because my mom was a great pianist.

“No son, I’m no great pianist,” I remembered my mom saying with a smile.

“You are!” I said with a permanent pout and a frown. She chuckled and hugged me.

“It’s because the piece itself is great, I’m only here to share them.”

My frown only deepened then because I wasn’t able to understand. And years later, here I am leaning against the piano room’s doorframe and still clueless of what my mother had said. Sure all the pieces she had played were great – it was already given since the composers were great themselves – but I was talking about her playing, the way she played them. But everytime I want to let my point across, she would hush me with a smile and would start to play again.

Then I remembered the guy from school, the one that was too serious whenever a music sheet is presented in front of him and his expression changes the moment he sits in front of the piano. It was interesting to see, because he looked older than his actual age whenever he frowns, and he would look like a kid when he smiled. But there was something about him that changes whenever he plays the piano. There was a sense of freedom whenever he played, pure happiness emanating from his very being when his fingers started dancing on the keys. But the moment the music ends, and the last note has been pressed and delivered, his expression changes back into total blankness that was almost scary to see after witnessing how beautiful his smile was.

“Do you like music?” I asked him after the second class ended, and there he was again, so into his sheet music that his brows were furrowed and a deep frown seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, I smiled at the thought. He only nodded in response, and I couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled up in me. The happiness I felt only deepened when he said that he plays the piano – of course I already knew that, but out of courtesy, I asked anyway.

“My name’s Lee Sungmin, a music major.” I said and offered my hand for a shake.

“Cho Kyuhyun, music major.” He answered as he shook my hand, and I immediately grabbed a random chair from the table next to his and talked with him. Though the talk ended up with only me blabbing away and Kyuhyun staring blankly at me, occasionally nodding at something I said, and giving short lived answers from my question, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to talk to him. There was this silent energy around Kyuhyun that seemed to pull at me and was asking me to talk to him more, to make him smile, to make him laugh – though I have no idea how.

“Sungmin?” my mother’s voice snapped me back to present. I looked at her, and only just then realized that the playing had stopped. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said and walked over to where she was.

“Do you have any problems at school?” she asked as she grabbed onto my hand, I gave a smile and shook my head. Kyuhyun is kind of a trouble, but not a problem… yet.