Play it again, Sam

the piano. my home away from home. (ironically, this piano is in my home. ) growing up, i played the piano like a good little Asian boy from when i was four to eighteen. it was either the piano or violin, how stereotypical. countless hours were spent at the bench playing, replaying, and after replaying, more replaying.

the piano and i have had a love/hate relationship. it has brought me pleasure and pain, success and sorrow. i sacrificed many afternoons and evenings with friends for it. i remember the late nights and early mornings of practice, the lessons on the weekends, the competitions and recitals. tears of happiness and tears of heartache.

i become another person, so i've been told. when i sit down at that bench, close my eyes, and place my hands on the keys, a metamorphosis occurs. it's funny, i've always said that i can't hear myself when i play the piano. i don't hear the melodies, crescendos, descendos, etc. i just play, as if the piano is not an instrument, but rather an extension of my arms and fingers.

i miss it, i do. it's weird how things are sometimes (that's a generic sentence, if i ever heard one). i wanted to stop when i was young, and now i want it back. you always want what you can't have, right? well, that's what i think.

thanks for stopping by. this was one of my favorite pieces to play... the middle, slower part being my absolute favorite. enjoy!

like a good piano, stay tuned.

-jdv