When I first sat down at the piano, I was three years old. Ten years later, here I am, on stage in front of three thousand people. Maybe I have a gift. It doesn't really matter, does it? Oh, but it does, prompts the voice behind my temple, which is only stilled when my hands caress the ebony and ivory. It matters more than you can ever imagine. And yet I manage to still the voice in the only way I know: I play.