Anecdote #1.
Once, what seems like ages ago, accompanied by The Queen of Cats Herself, I had entered a local thrift store with the intention of purchasing possible future wardrobes.
In the midst of my search, however, The Queen ran off on her own; only to find an old, abandoned piano that had probably stood in the front of the store for God-knows-how-long.
And so she sat, in the middle of all the patrons and employees, bustling around in joy or industriousness or whatever they were feeling at the time, and began to play a piece by Beethoven on the old, abandoned piano. (The actual name of the piece escapes me.)
At that moment, I wasn't particularly interested; Beethoven was never my favorite composer, despite his image as a man full of emotional convictions (or at least that's how I've always viewed him) which I liked, nor was I awed by her rather ordinary, if not a little rough, fashion of belching out the notes that bounced across the whole aisle.
But what did catch my attention was her commitment to stay and finish the piece, despite whatever her motivation might have been, or the attention given to her by the on-lookers. Throughout all her mistakes, she made it a point to complete her task at hand and walked away only after it had been materialized.
I can only imagine that the pressure of being embarrassed was immense; not to mention the sense of self-doubt that probably haunted her until that last note.
Sometimes, little memories like that seem to pop up and comfort me, as if my mind is telling me that it's okay to live. It's okay to be human.
Since then, I've been toying with the idea of more closely acquainting myself with Beethoven.
[Written on 9 August, 2007 in some shabby notepad.]
In the midst of my search, however, The Queen ran off on her own; only to find an old, abandoned piano that had probably stood in the front of the store for God-knows-how-long.
And so she sat, in the middle of all the patrons and employees, bustling around in joy or industriousness or whatever they were feeling at the time, and began to play a piece by Beethoven on the old, abandoned piano. (The actual name of the piece escapes me.)
At that moment, I wasn't particularly interested; Beethoven was never my favorite composer, despite his image as a man full of emotional convictions (or at least that's how I've always viewed him) which I liked, nor was I awed by her rather ordinary, if not a little rough, fashion of belching out the notes that bounced across the whole aisle.
But what did catch my attention was her commitment to stay and finish the piece, despite whatever her motivation might have been, or the attention given to her by the on-lookers. Throughout all her mistakes, she made it a point to complete her task at hand and walked away only after it had been materialized.
I can only imagine that the pressure of being embarrassed was immense; not to mention the sense of self-doubt that probably haunted her until that last note.
Sometimes, little memories like that seem to pop up and comfort me, as if my mind is telling me that it's okay to live. It's okay to be human.
Since then, I've been toying with the idea of more closely acquainting myself with Beethoven.
[Written on 9 August, 2007 in some shabby notepad.]