Cadence

Exposition

"I can't do this."

One wouldn't think that I, Son Ye Jin, Korean-born clarinetist who began playing the clarinet at the age of 10, and has already been recognized around the world as the most promising clarinet prodigy for her wondrous and mature playing, would ever make crucial mistake in any given performance.

But this was different. Returning from my studies at Musikhochschule Lübeck with the great living legend, German clarinetist Sabine Meyer, I felt like I was invincible to any errors in playing after all the training I have had for 6 years away from Korea. I have had performances both as a soloist and as an orchestra clarinetist as well. Countless standing ovations, awards and citations.

But it all comes down to this. A homecoming concert in Korea. I must admit, I was surprised when I was contacted by my former orchestra conductor, Maestro Jae Joon Lee, who convinced me to go back and perform for my hometown of Daegu. A benefit concert to raise funds for those affected by COVID19. Maestro Lee has always been like a father figure to me. He was also the first conductor that I have ever performed with during my debut with the Daegu Symphony Orchestra, my first ever standing ovation. How fitting for me to come back to my hometown and perform with Maestro Lee after 6 years of being away.

Today's rehearsal venue, Keimyung University, where I spent 6 grueling years studying Clarinet Performance. Walking through the gates, feeling that familiar breeze as I walked past the grounds. Anxious, yes. I haven't set foot in this university ever since my last performance here. A performance I'd rather forget. A performance that I wished I could redo a million times in my head. A performance that I have gone over and over but still maybe haven't gotten over with.

I remember being in front the mirror in my dressing room, in tears. Flowers in hand, music sheets on the table but in tears. I remember cleaning my custom Buffet Crampon R13, said to be one of the best models in the world, in tears. I remember changing from my black gown and putting it back in the closet, in tears. All the photos taken with me, all the praises for the beautiful playing and almost perfect performance, but I was still in tears.

Maybe it was the fact that it was my last performance in the University. Maybe it was the fact that in less than 24 hours, I would be on a flight to Hamburg. Maybe it was the fact that I was going to miss this university so much.

Or maybe it was the fact that it was our last performance together.

Our last performance. You, who would always go over last minute details from your score to check with me. You, who checked every pause, ritardando and fermata. You, who would always tell me to relax. You, who would always remind me to breathe in sync with the music and with the conductor. You, who would give me one last glance and ask me if I was ready before walking towards the stage. You, who never failed to hold my hand and give it a kiss before passing the last curtain. You, despite being the more established artist would always insist that we enter the stage at the same time, as equals. That familiar feeling I have always had that you always got my back. The excitement of sharing the stage with you. The passion in your eyes whenever you wield the baton and direct the orchestra. The magic that goes with every crescendo and decrescendo that you do with the string section. The mellow pianissimos with the woodwinds. The energy with every fortissimo of the brasswind section.

All in the past tense. Separate dressing rooms this time. Despite being your soloist, the last conversation we had was during the general rehearsal. No going over last minute details. No last minute changes. No checking how long every pause was gonna be, how slow the ritardando was going to last or where to breathe after the fermata. No telling me to relax. No reminding me to breathe in sync with the music and with you. No last glance before entering the stage. No kiss on the hand before passing the last curtain. This time, we were not going to walk the stage as equals. You, entered first, with thunderous applause, taking your bow. For the first time in my life, I was going to walk center, alone. Spotlight, alone. Bow, alone. It was an unfamiliar feeling. For the first time, I was at a loss.

Our last performance. You in your classic tuxedo that brought out every inch of that charm of yours. You, stepping on the podium, putting down your score. You close your eyes and hold the Mollard baton. You internalize the Mozart Clarinet Concerto, you take a deep breath before opening your eyes once more. The orchestra takes the cue and is ready awaiting your downbeat. You take one last look at me before we start. We lock eyes perhaps for the last time.

And then I saw it. The regret. The pain. The heartbreak. If only I could choose not to feel any of it, but everything you felt, mirrored onto me. Your sad eyes pierced into my soul. I gazed into those eyes, those dark brown eyes which have seen both the best and worst parts of me. You returned the gaze, for what seemed like an eternity. You gave me a nod and broke the eye contact. For the first time ever, we did not start the music together as we usually did. For the first time, in all our performances, there was not a smile, but rather, those sad eyes.

Professionalism. One of the first lessons that Maestro Lee, our father figure since we started this journey. The audience and even the orchestra were oblivious as to what was happening. The execution of the concerto was flawless. To me, the longest three movements of my life. In front of the world, the collaboration was perfect. The performance was well received with 2 standing ovations.

I did not just perform the music, I wanted to become a reincarnation of the energetic restless laid-back Mozart. The piece was brilliantly executed with a purity and clarity that seemed to chart new dimensions for the work. And him, as the maestro, every section was well judged, every quiet moment, every fortissimo was given an emotional charge as he wove his playing into the fabric of the orchestral music.

As I played the last note, I closed my eyes. My emotions were overwhelming. The heartbreak, the pain, the longing, the sadness. I did not want to open my eyes. I did not want this moment to be over. I did not want the music the end. I could hear the applause. The bravos and the bravas. But my heart, was broken into a million pieces.

I opened my eyes and I saw yours. The same eyes I have gazed upon for 5 years. For the first time in my life, I did not know what your gaze meant. Were you proud of me? Was this what you always wanted? How did it come to this?

We took our bows, separately. Walked off stage, separately.

No more people watching us. I did not have to pretend that I was okay. That you and I were okay. The music was over. The concerto has run its course. I ran to the dressing room and looked at myself in the mirror. I remember being in front the mirror in my dressing room, in tears, alone. Flowers in hand, music sheets on the table but in tears, alone. I remember cleaning my custom Buffet Crampon R13, said to be one of the best models in the world, in tears, alone. I remember changing from my black gown and putting it back in the closet, in tears, alone. All the photos taken with me, all the praises for the beautiful playing and almost perfect performance, but I was still in tears. I was alone. I closed my eyes, wishing that this was all a bad dream, seconds and minutes, just with my eyes closed, listening to my own heartbeat.

It was until I opened my eyes and saw you. By the mirror, you still seemed perfect to me. I wanted to ask you so many things. I wanted to take it all back. I wanted to go back to the start. But no sound came out. The silence was deafening.

You looked at me, maybe for the last time, and then turned your back. No words. You walked away and never looked back. I wanted to stop you. I wanted to grab your hand. I wanted to lock you in my embrace and never let go. I wanted to kiss you and tell you I love you.

But I stood there and watched you walk away from me.

How could everything change in an instant?
How could everything fall apart so fast?

How could you not choose me?

All these thoughts came rushing as I passed these familiar walkways. I had no idea how but

found my feet in front of our building's entrance. I start walking past the guards whenI start walking past the guards when I suddenly heard a familiar voice call me. A voice I have not heard in 6 years.

"Welcome home, Miss Son."

I gasped. "Maestro."