Broken Sound

Under the blaring stage lights, one by one performers basked in the light as they took their turn to shine upon the stage. Playing complex melodies that sounded like flowing rivers, a soft ripple of music resonated and filled the room. Then as the player exited the stage, they were followed by the audience’s endless applause. 10, 9, 8, 7. My stomach is filled with butterflies as my turn was slowly approaching and the light seemed to be growing brighter by the minute. I stood off stage, behind the side curtains and in the shadow casted by the stage light. I took a step back as the blinding stage light forced my eyes closed. I took a step back, wanting to embrace this darkness a little longer. Slowly I lay my eyes on what rested in the center of the stage, the king of all instruments: the piano.

As such, this esteemed king only wished to be played by talented individuals as they are the only ones that can create superior music. A truly cruel instrument, as nothing could be hidden from the king. Whether it be anxiety or the lack of potential, all were shown through the music created by the talentless ones. I knew this best since I possessed all of these things and was deemed as ungifted.

6, 5, 4. My heart raced as I struggled to breathe. My hands were cold and clammy, clutching on to my music sheets until they started to crinkle. The audience’s expectations were growing as they believed that the organizers have left the best for last. In my mind, an endless whirlpool of thoughts and questions started. Can I do this? Why am I here? I can’t take this anymore.

It was only at times like this, that would I wonder, how did things come to this? Where had I gone wrong?

It wasn’t always like this. I too once yearned to stand under the spotlight, to shine. I remember when I was six years old and met my piano teacher for the first time. She was kind and had warm smile, a person I would care to respect deeply and admire. I told her that I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. Then she laughed and said that if I work hard I could be even better than her. How embarrassing and shameless of me to say such a thing. I should have just kept my mouth shut. If I had known what was to come, would I have had the audacity to say that?

At first it just a few mistakes here and there, that made the song sound imperfect, nothing major but unknowingly these were the sounds of the king reevaluating my talent. Soon a few became several and eventually there was not a class where my teacher would not be sighing in frustration and furrowing her eyebrows. She kept on saying that my playing was all over the place and ask whether or not I was practicing. Of all the things she has done, her accusing words stung the most. It soon became a dreadful repeating process of getting my hopes up to have them be beaten down when she rained down her relentless critiques on me.

“I know you can do it.” Back then, I wished that she had said something like this to me instead. Was I asking for too much? For me, a few words of encouragement could have kept me going. I know I am not the only one who would wish for this. No one likes to hear how all their hard work was for nothing. But I guess for my teacher, she would have never thought of it that way. She didn’t understand how her lack of encouragement was slowly breaking me down.

I thought that I could get her pity and sympathy if I told her that I had no confidence in myself, that I was trying my very best by practicing a few hours a day. What was I thinking? Was I that desperate? No, just foolish. Not only did my teacher get angry for my “excuses” but soon her words became true to me. My “excuses” were no more than the mask I created for myself to hide my lack of skill, potential, and talent. I was getting tired of this endless cycle of failure.

Without any warning, the worst came, “compared to her sister, she can’t play at all...” The rest of the conversation flew past me, her lips were moving but they made no sound; I had stopped listening. Traumatized? Devastated? Mortified? No words could have expressed that crushing feeling I had.

After that, no matter how much I practiced I only seemed to get worse. Whether I practiced for an hour or three it didn’t matter, the end result was the same. My teacher was unsatisfied and her yelling only got worse. It was all for nothing. I would not have been able to go anywhere with my playing. Nothing was going to change so why bother. The king has already made his verdict, that I am unworthy, talentless. This continued until I eventually quit piano. I was so damaged by her words that I had given up. Her words were like scars that never closed because she would not let them close. She only created new ones.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breathe. 3, 2, 1, 0. My mind was blank once more because I already knew what was to come next. Nothing was going to change, so why fear now? Slowly, I walked into light that did not suit me. I walked across the stage that I did not deserve and I sat in front of the piano that was silently gauging my worthlessness, my lack of talent. My fingers shook as I started to play the melody I know best, Failure.

Even now, it doesn’t matter how long it has been, I’m still reliving this hopelessness, this dejection whenever I lay my eyes on a piano.