It’s been half a year since I first took up my piano lessons and the winter semester has coming to an end. I’m even amazed at myself for sticking to the piano practice rather diligently, converting skeptics into believers along the way that it is better late than never.

In retrospect, I’ve come to understand why I’ve developed such an aversion to the piano while I was young. I was bored to death as I had to practice those tuneless pieces over and over again, y’know, as a form of finger exercise.

However, learning to play the piano as an adult now, with more discipline to boot as repetition is important, just as  Pi put it in the book ‘Life of Pi’, I can say it’s a totally different experience. I learn to appreciate the music more. It was absolutely enjoyable, recognizing that song coming out of the keys is The Groovy Kind Of Love or I would nod with girlish exuberance when the piano teacher demonstrated the Scarborough Fair, asking me whether I remember that tune. Who doesn’t?

That is what I love about playing the piano. It is the music that comes out of it that serves as a balm to the soul.