30 years. Other than my own family members, I’ve not known anybody for such a long time. That means a lot. A whole lot.
Frankly, I don’t remember exactly when you came into my life. I only remember that acquiring you was probably not easy. At that time, I don’t think my folks were really able to purchase you, unless they made some sacrifices. It was probably the selflessness of parent’s love for their child, for wanting something better for their child, that led to you coming into the household.
Of course, my folks were not equipped with the skills to choose you. I remembered a trip to a music instrument shop (City Music, in fact) with my piano teacher. It was my teacher who picked you. Strangely, I’ve never been able to remember your name. In fact, throughout the 30+ years together, I’ve never really remembered it, even though it’s starring at me every time I sat down to practice.
You’re not one of those popular models. Not a Yamaha or a Kawai. You are a Tchaika. I’ve always known that you were born in Russia, but it was only now that I found that your name meant ‘seagull’. I’ll never know which part of Russia you were from. But regardless of where you were from, you were good enough for me.
The wee lad that I was saw playing you as a novelty. Sometimes even a chore. I had to practice at least for an hour every day. Perhaps longer if exams were coming. Some of the most terrible memories were when I was scolded for not practising, and as a result my piano teacher will call up my folks, and disciplinary action followed. But with all the distractions that were around for a child, sometimes spending time playing with toys were more important than spending time with you.
I guess the love for music came slowly. You were there with me all those times as I grew. From Grade 1 to Grade 8, to when I took up MEP (Music Elective Programme), to playing in the school’s band, to playing in church, to performing with friends on stage in JC, to jamming in a band with friends, to writing my own tunes. Even though you may not be the one I performed on, you were what I came back to. You were the base which I returned to. A rock, for practising, for experimenting.
I remembered when I moved out, and wanted to bring you with me. Mum was really emotional seeing you leave. Now that I’ve to part with you, I now know how Mum felt.
I look at you now, covered in scars and damage from years of use. I saw the paint job on the sides, there because Dad had to do some DIY salvage job on you due to wood rot. I saw the blutack stain on the inside of the cover, which was where I stuck a handwritten scales and arpeggios chart to help me practice. With recent years of inactivity, your keys are also now in an unusable condition. I can’t really sit down and properly play a piece because some of your keys will get stuck.
As I had to move on with my life, I guess I’ve also to say goodbye to you. Where I’m going, I don’t really have the space for you. For me to grow and get back to playing, I’ve decided to replace you with a digital counterpart. I know that it’ll not be as good as you are, but life’s like that. Sometimes you can’t always have what you want, and you just have to make do with what life throws at you. I’m sorry that I have to give you away.
I’m giving you away to my godsister and hopefully she is able to at least restore you to a playable condition. And perhaps bring joy and music to someone else.
Farewell, my old friend.
