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For people who have seen piano playing or for those who have dreamed of touching the keys, the piano seems to be a beautiful instrument from which comes out melodic songs. But for me, it was a nightmare. I could not understand why every song that I played did not sound like it was supposed to. They were just trite, disordered and without feeling, even though I had tried hard. He let my father play at an early age. My father wanted my older sister to play, and finally me. I did not blame my father for making my sister to play the piano because she was very talented at it. She had what my piano teacher called “the feeling”. However, for me, that did not make sense at all. I was hopeless. I started to play piano when I was four, and for almost four years, I could not even read the whole piece of music correctly. My dad thought that I was lazy. For a boy who could not sit down calmly for even ten minutes, it was torture. “Keep practicing and you’ll get better someday”-my mom encouraged me. To please my mom, I reluctantly kept playing piano. Sometimes, I found myself falling asleep on the chair while my fingers were still running over and over the same keys, or I let my hands beat the keys when I felt frustrated about my inability. I had told my mom more than a thousand times: “I want to quit”. However, my mom was clear. She would never let me give up the piano.Things changed when I turned eight. I was still the talkative I'm still a student, but I started to “feel” the music from the piano. It did not suddenly come after one night; instead, gradually I caught myself letting my fingers run with the melody and my soul sang common songs whenever my mom or my sister played them. I was shocked, but I liked that feeling. After all, I did have a piano talent. It was just hiding for many years, waiting for me to mature my passion. I finally recognized that without a passion for the piano, my fingers ran hopelessly. The songs were then just pieces of notes. Now every time I sit down on the chair, I let my passion direct my sentiment, which in turn makes my fingers play. Playing piano is not anymore an unwilling practice, but a voluntary and pleasant walk for me. I have found that in the world of piano exist not only “old, boring, sleepy” pieces of song like I used to think, but also rhythmic and lively songs. My piano time is now a relaxing moment. I use the piano as a way to free my mind from all sadness and worries that I inevidently encounter in my life. Whenever a song starts, my soul is calm and I just let my feelings go with the music.

In the end, I am grateful that my mom did not allow me to quit piano because if she had, it would have been a big mistake. I’m glad that I had tried hard, but working hard was not enough. I needed a passion, a love for what I was looking for. It was a long time for an impatient girl like me to carry on piano lessons, but I realized that what I gained outweighed my endurance.
My life is just like a piece of music, with rhythmic and slow paragraphs. being famous generation after generation, and I would then be a One Big Nothing, blending in with other people. My song has to be an interesting piece. It may not sound smooth, like Paul de Senneville and Jean Baudlot’s “Le premier chagrin d’Elsa”, as life may fill with challenges and sadness, but it is particular and hopeful, like Mozart’s “Turque March”, hiding unexpected opportunities and happiness. I am now playing the song of my life- I choose a goal, and go for it… But now, I just know play some songs. But I think that is enough with me.

This is me