The Howl of Reawakening Passion

It’s true that foreign places are the best way to rediscover your love for something. 

Well over a year ago, I found myself seated on a beautifully painted, public piano in a country halfway across the world from my own. At that time, my relationship with the piano was quite strained; whenever I sat down to play, I’d never go more than thirty minutes without doubting myself and my capabilities. I’d ultimately just give up for that session and do something else.

I was with my parents, who were busy gawking at the sights to see to notice the said instrument stationed in the middle of a quaint town square, visible for all passersby to see. It was only when we heard someone play an upbeat, jazzy piece that they turned to me and motioned excitedly at the piano with their lips (we call this nguso in our language). 

Feeling a bit shy because all I had to offer were memorized pieces from my repertoire, I quickly rummaged through my mental list of favorite pieces I knew would suit the whimsical, otherworldly ambience of the place, and decidedly settled on one.

Howl’s Moving Castle.

I know, I know! This piece has been thoroughly given its flowers all over the internet, to the point that one might say it’s overrated, but this piece has always been special to my heart and felt like the right one to play in a place I’m not familiar with.

And so began my little performance. Despite playing different variations of its chorus with dubious dynamics, I still managed to be satisfied with myself after every single time. Each D, G, B flat, D I strung together slowly brought about a sizable crowd that stopped by for a listen. But as for that occurrence – I didn’t know of it until the end of my stunt, as I was fully determined to finish the song ‘till the end, something I normally didn’t do because I’d abandon the piece midway.

A burst of applause and appreciative hoots greeted me as I gradually came to a stop. I remember turning around and hastily bowing to the unexpected audience. They were smiling at me as if I didn’t make a couple of noticeable mistakes throughout the piece’s duration. Now that I think about it, perhaps it was only noticeable to me.

In particular, a couple drew closer and said, “Thank you, dear! That was beautiful,” while pinching their fingers in a manner that looked enthusiastic. I remember shyly shaking my head and thanking them all the while as they left the area waving at me. I turned to my parents, my eyes alight with giddiness, and they too seemed to be happy for me, with their expressive eyebrows going up-down-up-down at me. 

It was after this I realized that maybe all I needed to love my instrument again was an external reminder that I was appreciated for it. It would be natural for my parents to love my music because they love me, but to know that even strangers that I’ve never met before deemed my skills worthy of their time did wonders to my self-esteem.

I wanted to write about this memory as accurately as possible, with all the little displays of emotion and non-verbal meanings and all, because I hope that just as I found courage to try again with the piano, my fellow musicians will find their reason to not give up just yet. It doesn’t have to be in a public space like mine, but when you least expect it, the overwhelming feeling of “ah, this is why I play my instrument,” will hit you in full force once you’ve experienced that specific turning point in your life.

For now, let’s keep doing our best, even if it means thirty minute practices whenever we feel motivated, or messy run-throughs of pieces we thought we knew so well. Slowly but surely, we’ll regain the burning spark that powered us through our earlier musical years. Keep on going, everyone!