The sweltering heat made my sweaty skin stick to the leather couch like glue. We were all corralled in the living room, my mother and father opposite from us, and my siblings and I sandwiched between decorative pillows. The heat hung over us like a death sentence. My father would leave within a week's time to find a job away from home.
He asked me to play the piano before he left. Letting the trapped air escape, I opened the slick black lid, brushing my fingertips against the foreign keys. I struggled to finish songs I had half learned. Stuttering chords and brief moments of silence filled the room while I mauled over pieces. I swallowed fiery knots as my family gave me celebratory claps for my poor performance.
After my father left, my siblings left for college. My mother got a third job to compensate for my father's absence. The pressure of being a single parent affected my mother's emotional and physical being. What were once soft, jovial eyes were now dark circles as if someone took a knife to etch the youth out of her. She got sick more often. Sometimes she would throw up after a meal due to the stress. Sleeping less, she was more prone to catch colds. Her health was deteriorating rapidly. She was a husk of her former self. Reality hit me like a train. I didn't know how long my father would be away, my mother was barely living through each day. I had to do something quick.
Through trial and error, I realized playing the piano gained me an attentive audience member, with a warm cup of coffee in hand, seated quietly on the couch. Through the next year and a half I slaved away. Instead of starting my homework when I came home from school, I used the three hour window alone to myself to practice the nasty runs in pieces. Practice, homework, perform, sleep, school. Practice, homework, perform, sleep, school. Practice. Practice. Practice. I would get my mother back for at least thirty minutes, an hour if I was lucky.
I hated my life. I was angry money was the cause of our suffering. Jealous of my friends because their parents could pay for their education, where I have to pay for mine. Scared because I haven't the slightest idea how I am going to pay for college. Bitter because the price for a higher education and a better life is not hard work, but money.
My heart turned to stone to shield myself from my emotions. I became numb to life. Numb to my mom. Numb to myself. I boxed myself in my room, my safe haven, my little cocoon of fantasies. In my room, everything was okay. The outside world didn't exist, and I didn't exist in the outside world. I smiled less. I ate less. I slept less, but I starved for composers such as Chopin or Debussy.
I grew selfish. I realized playing wasn't for my mother anymore. I began to get greedy. Something about those fast paced notes in Lebaunstraum pulsed life into me. A decorative trill made my heart flutter like a butterfly. A sad song would swell my heart with emotions, pumping somberness from my soul to my fingertips. Soon my heart began to soften with songs such as Chopin's Raindrop, each musical metaphor making up for my own unsheathed tears. I began to feel again.
And then I began to see it. While seated next to the piano, I allowed myself a brief moment to collect my thoughts. I saw my parent's perseverance and determination to continue even though it was hard. It was hard to face my reality. It was hard to accept the fact because we are first generation immigrants, I have to work even harder than most people. It was hard to accept that life isn't fair. Life didn't owe me anything. I just happened to be a part of the unlucky batch. And I cried. I cried because I was lonely too. I cried because I felt society only valued my opinions if I had money. I cried for my mother and her quiet suffering, for my father who had to accept being underemployed, for my siblings who shared the same fate as I did. Crying is never easy, but somehow it feels easier in private. No one is judging you or seeing you at your weakest moments. No one is trying to understand you, or trying to give you advice, or sitting there awkwardly not knowing what to say. You are your greatest comfort.
At the end, I wiped my sticky tears away. I looked into the mirror. I too had the same look as my mother. Tired, battered, beaten, angry, frustrated. I took a deep breath and imagined all my negativity, all of my problems from within being breathed away. I no longer let anger or sadness control me anymore. Instead, my anger and frustrations turned into determination. They were my fuel to persevere; my fire to fight for my future. I would no longer let anger or sadness control me anymore.
Despite my ethnicity, my skin color, my gender, and my insecurities, I choose to educate myself to be someone. My dream to become a mechanical engineer will not be stopped because of my financial disadvantages. I choose this field to challenge my strengths. I've learned nothing is ever easy. Nothing comes to those who wait for someone to save them. You have to do your own saving. I choose to continue not because it is easy, but because it is hard.
And at the end of the day, piano wasn't a chore anymore. Piano had become like breathing to me. Notes would break away the flakes of armor I had used to protect my heart. I made music, a sweet medicine which kept my mother sane. I made music, a sweet honey which pulled me out of my rancor. If it weren't for music, I'm not sure how my mother and I could have survived everything. Some might say their greatest accomplishment is getting into their dream college, getting a good score on their SAT, or saving enough money for their first car, but for me, it's helping my mom through the tough times and saving myself from the hatred. I am no longer angry at my circumstances, instead my upbringing and my passions have shaped me into the person I am today and I wouldn't have it any other way.
