Somebody should have warned me that high school theater would be a lost cause. Had I known, I wouldn’t have quit piano to pursue it.

On more than one occasion over break, I’ve found myself in front of pages of music, pages which once inspired my fingers to dance effortlessly over the keys. While I would hardly use the word “effortless” to describe my playing now, I am surprised at how quickly I recall those accidentals, melodies, harmonies, pedal movements, accents, dynamics, chords and runs (oh how I loved those runs).

Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, Fibich, Chopin, Mozart, Kabelevsky, Schumann, Khatchaturian… Like old friends you lose touch with, and upon reuniting years later, stumble through awkward, stilted conversation at first, but gradually forget that you’d ever been apart.

If only these reunions weren’t so few and far between.


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