This had me thinking of my piano teacher up t the age of eleven. She cried so much when my family moved to the other side of the city (which made it impractical to continue getting lessons). I didn’t get the sadness at the time but I think she saw a lot of potential in me as a pianist. It’s a pity because at school I fizzled out and for the next 7 or so years had few to no friends but especially nobody close. Suffered through depression and a lack of interest in the piano as a result of growing social anxiety. Having a new teacher stare at the side of your head for an hour was something I grew increasingly incapable of tolerating. Eventually I stopped piano lessons at about 15 after roughly 11 years at it and soon after m second piano teacher died.

Recently my family has been clearing out the house of all the things us kids left behind as we moved out. I showed up one Tuesday for my weekly dinner with them and the piano they had purchased for me (and the other kids) to learn on had gone for a pittance to a second hand dealer around the corner.

I can’t put into words what that piano meant to me. Hours of crying over it when I didn’t want to practice, hours of playing it while my mum sneakily hid on the other side of the lounge and listened, hours of seeing it every day as we went to school but most of all, just the amount of time I sat down and dedicated some of my life to it to try and produce a pleasing sound.

I love pianos and can’t wait to be able to afford a nice one of my own. But starting at around a half years salary that’s a while away still.