Written by Elizabeth Khor
She had the same routine every day.
No matter how late she was from an event, competition, or school, there was no altering the routine. She’d come home and shower, before throwing herself into her work. There was something to do for everything, for Chemistry, Maths, English, Economics, Chinese, Human Biology . . . her to-do list never ended. Next came dinner, but it didn’t take long. She still had music. She would practice the piano for hours until the keys became a blur of black and white in front of her. The notes merged together as she drilled the same passage over and over again, perfecting it for her next competition. Her mind sometimes went blank, and her thoughts would drift to another place, because God, it was tedious. However, it wasn’t always like this. She used to love the piano.
Amelia was only fifteen. She used to dream of learning countless languages and traveling the world through her twenties. She dreamt of changing the world through the art of music. Of performing in giant venues with the crowd cheering for her. Of playing music that was personal, expressive, and important to her.
Her thoughts drifted back into the present as she gazed around her surroundings.
Amelia watched as the competitor before her walked onto the stage. The girl on stage showed no emotion, her lips pressed into a straight line as she bowed towards the audience. Amelia’s stomach turned as the girl sat down and placed her fingers onto the keyboard. She knew who the girl was. Everyone knew.
Hannah Lee had never lost a competition, or so Amelia had heard. The two girls had never competed against each other, and both of them were known for the never-ending trophies that they won. When the competitor list came out, Amelia’s parents stressed over the importance of her winning, of making a claim as the best pianist in the state, of coming out on top. The house she lived in was either filled with the repetitive music she played, or their criticism and comments and yelling. They wouldn’t ever stop. If she closed her eyes, she could hear them lecturing her still.
You have to win, Amelia. You’ve practiced so much for this.
If you don’t, imagine how embarrassing it would be.
Come on, Amelia. Just focus. You wouldn’t want to lose now, would you?
Amelia shook her head and focused on Hannah’s performance, and the longer she listened to the music, her heart dropped even further. They were playing the same piece: Debussy’s Reflects Dans L’eau. She wanted to be supportive of Hannah, but she couldn’t help but think about how hard it would be to win towards her as a competitor. Every note was played perfectly, every phrase was shaped musically, and every section was executed immaculately. The melodies of the music cocooned and surrounded the audience in a warm bubble. The cascading passages of notes were reminiscent of waterfalls, and Hannah left the audience hungry for more music, more emotion. The worst part? Hannah looked effortless even when attempting the hardest techniques that Amelia would never try, let alone master.
“Don’t mess up, Amelia. “ Her mother hissed into her ear.
“I’ll try,” Amelia managed with a weak smile.
“There is no such thing as ‘try’, you must,” she snapped. “You cannot win if you mess up.”
Amelia exhaled as Hannah finished her performance. She walked down the stage daintily as Amelia walked up. Their eyes met, and there was a glint in the other girl’s eye. Hannah knew she’d won before Amelia even began.
“No messing up,” Amelia whispered to herself. “You can do it.”
She plopped herself down onto the piano seat, her brows knitting together in concentration. She didn’t begin instantly but instead took a few moments to think about her piece. Somedays, she was able to feel the music and the way she wanted it to sound. Most days, she couldn’t. It used to be something that would come to life and flow through the music. It used to be in her, but as her love for music dimmed, so did her creativity.
Amelia couldn’t feel anything, which was understandable. She hated these pieces. They were boring and repetitive and she’d played them too many times. But it didn’t matter, in order to succeed, she just needed to play it the way she was taught.
So she did. She played it the way that she was taught, taking special care with the difficult sections that laced her pieces. She played every note perfectly and effortlessly.
Her touch was light. Her fingers danced over the keyboards. The hours of practice had come in handy after all. The music sounded beautiful, but it didn’t sound like a cascading waterfall. It didn’t have any life. It was merely a cumulation of the countless YouTube videos her parents had made her watch and endless comments made by her teacher. It didn’t sound like it came from her heart.
She wasn’t listening to the music properly, and that was her downfall.
Suddenly, her fingers were too fast, too light, too rushed. Her heart was pounding too much, too fast, too rushed. Her body was too nervous, too tense, too shaky. Her hands missed the ending chord and slammed onto random keys that echoed across the concert hall. The audience flinched visibly, and Amelia’s heart.
Just.
Dropped.
She made sure to plaster on the biggest smile as she stood up. It hurt her lips as she bowed to the audience, a mask that was forced onto her for every event she attended. Her hands shook by her side. She didn’t want to meet her parents’ eyes, she just couldn’t.
Why wasn’t it perfect?
That was absolutely horrible.
Why didn’t you practice more? You obviously didn’t practice enough.
How could you mess it up?
How could you embarrass us like this?
How could you not be good enough?
The voices rang in her head, piling on top of each other. They were screaming at her, in the tone of her mother and father. They just. Wouldn’t. Stop.
They wouldn’t stop as they announced the prizes. Amelia came second.
They wouldn’t stop on the car ride back home. Even when her parents' fury and words filled the space.
They wouldn’t stop even when her friends all sent their congratulatory messages.
“I can’t believe you came second!” a friend of hers texted in all caps. “I wish I could be like you. My mum wishes that too.”
“It must’ve been so scary up on stage!” another girl messaged her.
“Hannah Lee is like, on another level. You did so well!”
“Your parents must be so proud of you!”
Amelia stared at the last message, her parents’ yells and voices fading into the background. Tears brimmed her eyes at the irony of these messages, and her lips began to tremble. But she didn’t cry. She was so used to all of this. The yelling, the disappointment, the never being good enough.
Amelia Zhi was only fifteen. She used to dream of traveling the world, playing music at multiple large grand venues. She used to dream of the roaring applause, and her parents being part of the audience. She used to dream of playing music. Music that people adored, music that made her feel, music that she loved. She used to know in a heartbeat that she wanted to be a pianist.
Now, she didn’t know what she wanted to do. All she knew was that she wasn’t perfect or good enough, and that there was no one there to tell her otherwise.
Sources:
Cover Photo by Amir Doreh on Unsplash
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