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Her fingers ran along the white and black keys elegantly as the melodious sound echoed out from the speakers of the keyboard she cherished so much. She was amazed how one note, one pitch, one frequency combined with others created a whole euphonious melody of Comptine D'un Autre Été by Yann Tiersen. She was amazed how composers like Rachminadofff, Tchaikovsky, Bach, Sibelius created such timeless pieces years ago that still make a comeback in her modern society and how modern pianists like Yiruma and Ludovico Einaudi create such emotional, meaningful piano pieces that many can relate to through the simple vibration of string and air. She was amazed how a singer can compose such poetic lyrics to match an emotion-filled melody, that everyone can feel so related to.
It was beautiful.
It was absolutely amazing.
It was something she dreamed about doing, for she too created lyrics and piano melodies but they have something she could never have. They had fans who supported them, people who barely knew them loved them but what did she have.
What did she have?
Who did she have?
Her parents? The two people who are meant to support their children, love them, care for them could barely understand her passion for music but did she blame them? No. Music was an unstable career, for you can be loved for one song and hated for the other. Money wasn't a guarantee but money was something their family needed.
Her family lived in poverty, her parents worked multiple jobs to even have a roof over their head, to have rice on their table, to afford their daughter a uniform. But all she longed for was their support in her passion for music.
Whether it was listening to her small performances, reading her lyrics, helping her play, it was worth more than any uniform. She just wished someone would spend just a few minutes to appreciate what she was passionate about, to listen to her ramble about her fascination of music without the fear that they are disinterested. But she listened to them as she understands that they only wish for her to not end up in poverty like them.
But it came to a point, where it was like she was living someone else's dream. Someone else's desire. Someone else's wish. It felt like she was a pawn in someone's chess game, only existing, not dreaming.
Areum snapped out of her small daze of playing as she heard the clicking sound of the door. She quickly moved her hands, unplugging the wired headphones and turning off the switch to her keyboard. Quickly moving to the kitchen table, she picked up her pen, writing on air, appearing to be busy.
"I'm sorry dear" her mother apologised while running to the kitchen with bags of groceries, "your dad will be home late and I have to rush out to my next job. There are some instant noodles you can make for dinner."
Despite her mothers ranting and apologies, Areum tapped her pen against her desk deep in thought.
Should I ask her? She thought to herself. There's no point she'll say no but there is no harm in trying.
Just go,
Ask her
Go
She watched as her mother quickly packed up the groceries
Go
She watched as her mother hastily walked towards the door
Go.
Just go
"I wrote a song, when you come back can you listen to it."
Her mothers face dropped in disbelief
"Ar-"
Areum cut her off pleading to her, "just think about it"
"Please."
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