Special

The music of the piano is a magnet. Whenever I hear it, my feet lead me to where it is. I listen in awe and observe in amazement as the musician’s fingers skate through the keys. Playing the piano is something I want to do. I have dreamed of being in a recital and playing a fast-tempo piece, with my fingers flying. Though I have a toy keyboard at home and have memorized the notes of a few songs, these are kiddie songs. I learned how to play them through the song book of my keyboard. Whenever I play, I only use my right fingers. I have difficulty controlling my left.

Although I learned to read notes in school, I don’t know how to play a piece with a single sharp continuously. I might be able to play the piece, but very slowly. Once when I played a piece in the key of G (single sharp), I ended up fuming because of the 6/8 time signature and its many flags.

I have a hard time discerning the correct keys to press whenever I meet chords like Am7, B7 or the like. Though my music teacher said it is the first finger that should adjust whenever a “7” appears, I haven’t got the hang of it. The piece he gave me to practice was “so basic that the guitar group of the school could play it with their eyes closed,” but I haven’t played half of it correctly yet.

When I hear my church mate Jude playing a lively tune, I wish I were in his shoes. I observe intently as he slows down his playing so that I might get the notes right, but it’s all in vain.I asked Jonima, another friend, to teach me how to play “A Prayer” (not Andrea Boccelli’s). She did, but I was able to memorize only a bit of it.

In the dorm where I stay, there are two excellent pianists. Every time they play, I watch and listen in wonder. And I ask myself, “Why am I not as skilled as they are?”

But I suppose I cannot have everything I want. If I had every skill—playing all musical instruments, writing songs, playing all sorts of games, or doing math—I won’t have to depend on someone else. I’d live and let others live, without a care about what’s going on around me. But there are things others can do that I can’t. I need their help, and so I have to establish a fellowship with them.

Whenever I commend a friend for her brilliant piano playing, she smiles and says, “Huh? And you’re mentally sharp. You can crack up compositions in a short period of time, and doing that takes me days. Can you lend me your brain?” Whenever she says this, I smile, look up and say, “Lord, it’s OK that I’m not skilled with the piano. The musician is asking me to teach her to write!”

When somebody asks me that, she is telling me indirectly that she has confidence in me and that I should appreciate my gift because it makes me special in my own way.

(Published 31 July 2007, Philippine Daily Inquirer's Youngblood)