It’s hard not to rue over wasted opportunities and regret as I sat there watching her play the first movement of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 1. A and I “accidentally” discovered that the recording that was going on in Melba Hall this afternoon was actually her, so when she and the other two saw us peeking through the little window, she waved us in and we had front row seats in an otherwise empty hall.
I sat there watching her hands fly over the keyboard, so effortlessly and agile. She’s one of the most talented pianists in our year, and it’s not hard to imagine that she’ll go far. I can picture her on the international scene. She practices more than six hours in a day, and she’s hardworking on top of that immense talent. She’s also quite extreme, in every sense of the word, that encompasses even her personality. She’s not the sort of person that everyone will necessary like – some might call her haughty, others difficult. I myself feel like I have to tread around her carefully when I interact with her. But they will put up with her regardless just because. And I can’t help thinking that most professional musicians would possess that characteristic anyway, whether to a lesser or some extent of degree. And the rest of the world will put up with them, simply because. The world will still embrace the rock stars regardless of their audacity.
And so I sat there listening to one of my most favourite pieces performed by this friend. It’s not the most perfect performance, but it’s still magnificent. While I no longer sink miserably into that abyss of regrets and self-pity, it’s still hard not to. I suddenly wondered if I had brought it all upon myself by my own passivity (how I abhor it now!) and simply because I had refused (out of fear and timidity) to take that extra mile to seek out that better road when the option was there the whole time. The opportunities were there, the doors open. And perhaps at the end of the day, I only have myself to blame.
I miss playing so much.
