... pianoforte ...

The other day, right after exams, HL went to place an order for her new piano. And I can't help but tag along.

She had her eye on this beauty of a Yamaha Modus H01. A digital piano. And given my high prejudice against them (Clavinovas especially), I'm quite ready to forgive this exquisite model for being digital. Just one look at it and it's hard to maintain one's stand for the good old solid black-n-white stringed pianos.
*well, can't deny that one can just plug some headphones on a digital and you'll never get a neighbour complaining ever again*


I envy her decision to get it, a course of action that will never cross my mind.


Today, SZ is going to get a piano. A digital one too, the instalments of which will cost a lot less than her monthly gym subscriptions.



And here I am, craving for some piano scores.


And as someone reminded me quite accurately today, I don't even have a piano to play with.


No offense, but though he may know how to play one, he is no piano player.
*those who are wouldn't question someone's craving for scores to a musical instrument that one doesn't have*



If only...



Truth be told, I do miss my piano.


Not in the way of one who was ever any good or had any hope of a talent.

Not like those who've been deprived for long, of the pleasure of playing everyday, which was taken for granted before.

Not even with any hint of a sentimental note.



But rather, tempted by the delusional belief that I can actually make a bit of music.




Despite having started at the age of 3 *still remember when my mum took me to my first music class*, I only finished Grade 8 about the same time I finished secondary school. Missed a couple of exams *one due to a delayed flight and the other because I simply forgot -_-* and wasted some years *and money -_-;* along the way. And despite my apparent flair for musicality and rhythm, I was no good at the piano *or any other musical instrument for that matter*.

I was *and still am* horrible in Practical, but was pretty good at Theory. For most people, it's the other way round. In fact, I often score higher in aural than for the practised pieces (those which you get to select and practise your hands off before going for the exams). Just goes to show that starting early doesn't help, especially for someone as lazy and forgetful as me.


But I love playing the piano - even with my lack of talent, small pudgy hands and short stubby fingers. Never mind the infliction of noise on nearby ears. Besides, a piano's about the easiest instrument one can coax out some semblance of sound that isn't noise.

Music.

Ever notice how it's often harder to learn to do something one loves? Perhaps it's the struggle and the effort involved that makes one yearn for it more. Or perhaps if it's easy, one tends to treasure it not. I get absolutely jealous of people with beautifully long fingers who can naturally play by ear, but dislikes playing the piano or often had to be forced to. Waste!


But I'm more than digressing here. *see what happens when no piano?*


Playing the piano is my way to think things over, to while away time in wait of the right decision or inspiration to struck, to support the self-delusional belief that I can make music, to unwind my tension, to release my grief, to appease my anger, to weather through my resentment, to wallow in my depression, to remember short-lived broken dreams.


Since I'm never much good at playing pieces, sight-reading, improvising or playing by ear, I mostly stuck to unchallenging fare like simplified renditions of pop songs or transcribed versions of background music. Soundtracks are my favourite, because they have such substance *doesn't even matter if one has never heard of their stories - good scores speak for themselves*. Classicals were never an option, their allure and beauty would never shine in my hands. So somehow, the more sad / sorrowful / depressed / resentful / angry / lost that I am, the more technical the pieces I chose to attempt.


And at the worst, I would play hours after hours of painfully slow purely sight-read never-played-before classical pieces punctuated by jarringly wrong notes and no attempt at rhythm whatsoever.

*and by classical, I do mean classical*

Because when I do, it takes my mind off. Devoid of all thoughts. Just pure torture. Struggling to figure out how to play the next beat. And the bit after that. On and on. Not even caring if it's right.


Just, not caring. At all.


No matter how long it takes.


To empty myself.




... pf.