The Pianist in a Dream
Slow, careful notes reverberate through the thick air as I turned to face the endless maze of mirrors before me. It cried of loneliness and despair, as what Jamelle had told me. Fixing my gaze onto the layers of glass mirror in front of me, I try-though I knew it’d be a futile effort-to peer through the glass as if to look for an invisible hole. I saw only myself and Jam.
The notes continued playing in alternates of minors and majors, highs and lows-at times sluggish and lifeless, yet at times flitting and graceful. It was an enchanting melody of sadness and longing, as if it was meant to lure me within the maze of mirrors and glass. It spoke to me in persuasion like a battling conscience: the angel versus the devil. And, within me grew an urgent yearning to know where the striking melody is coming from. “Come”, it lulled. As the last of the gentle notes reverberated in the air, I took a step forward into the maze. Simultaneously, the notes felt like falling from a flight of stairs, then eventually meeting up with the ground with a loud set of bangs.
An odd welcome for such an odd place could be an appropriate description. A smashing of notes, twos and threes at a time, in an intimidating descending order; a welcoming irony. As I have been discreetly told by Jam, while taking slow and careful steps into the maze, only I cannot see beyond the tall mirrors that surround us. It wasn’t helpful at all being told that the piece being played is aptly chosen for my entrance, and that it was Beethoven’s “Appassionata”.
“You have never been here, have you?” Jam paused in front of me and made sure she had caught my eyes before inquiring. “You seem to be at a loss of your own direction. I’m betting you don’t know your way through this.” She caught my hands and gave me a reaffirming smile. The familiarity of Jam with this place only frustrated me more. It brought back a sense of awareness within me, and as I was about to answer her questions, she gently turned my face towards the mirror beside me.
Shock surged within me that I neglected to notice the stark shift of notes from strong intimidation to a mocking melody of strong, trilling notes in a higher octave. “That ain’t me. It can’t be me-That girl’s… eyes are swollen, and red, and watery-!”
“She’s crying.”
She slowly brought my face away from the mirror, and wiped the tears that have been streaming down my face long before I even realized it. “Indeed, where am I?” It was all I could mumble out as thoughts overtook one another within my head. “What the-?”
***
For all I could remember, I knew I had fallen into a deep slumber. It was one of the pleasantest nights I have had in years. Covered with a soft blanket over a firm mattress during the coldest nights of December, sleeping that night was like witnessing peace within a war. And I have no clue what caused me to wake up from that peaceful slumber, but I knew I woke up into a dream.
Dreams have this surreal characteristic that can blur the lines between reality and fantasy. Oftentimes, you have no control over the events, and worse, things around you bear no clear meaning because you have no idea of what is actually happening. It can lead you into a merry-go-round of emotions that only aggravates your confusion.
Indeed, this is a dream. A dream that I have woken up to.
***
“Karen? Karen!” Suddenly, I felt arms gripping me by the sides, the circle locking at my back. “She’s waiting for you now. We should get going.” I found my surroundings slowly returning with clarity, as thoughts began to silence within my head. To the left, I turned once again to take a quick glance at myself. Though awareness had already blessed me with its presence, I still can’t deny the confusion this dream is making me feel.
We walked in silence along the mirrored corridors, which seemed to spiral its way towards the center. Jam was satisfied leading me quietly along, though I knew she would have preferred if I had asked her questions. Questions. I had so many of them at that moment. But the surroundings were enchanting just as they were eerie. Turning around twice to get a better perspective of where I am, I saw nothing but mirrors all around. Left, right, forward, behind, below-all of them showed a reflection I’d rather not see.
The more we walked, the more anxious I felt not knowing what was beyond these semi-transparent walls. At times, closing my eyes seemed like the best solution to keep me from seeing myself. And every time, without fail, Jam would nudge me from the side and look me in the eyes with a piercing stare. The melody-chords and notes stomping up and down in confusion at an evenly increasing speed-grows louder and bolder than before. Heartbeats increasing speed in anticipation for something unknown, the piano played on with a set of soft yet piercing melodies before mellowing down.
The sudden realization of piano playing astonished me. From outside, it was a mere melody that was invitingly played to lure me inside. I was successful in shunning out the music as I was at avoiding my own reflection in the mirrors, and yet now, it became something I cannot ignore. I closed my eyes but the melody was still there. It was firm and went about randomly. One hand was at an evenly slow pace, and yet the other was urgently striking notes as if it were playing an etude. Perhaps it was the proximity to the core which made the melody inevitable?
I began to ponder on the meaning of everything that has happened in hopes of understanding how I’ll get out of the maze. As I forced thoughts to dwell in my mind, I stopped and took a seat on the glass floor. Leaning on the mirror behind me, I hugged my legs tightly near my chest, before diving into the pool of thought that I had created. The frustration of not knowing and understanding grew stronger, and yet I refuse to ask anything.
Jam noticed I was no longer following her. “Don’t you want to know who is waiting for you right there?” She sat beside me in an unrestrained manner. “Don’t’ you want to see her?”
I glanced away from her and towards the invisible pianist, who is still calling for me with a softer melody reminiscent of nostalgia, probably realizing that I was no longer walking towards her. “I know who she is.” Without meaning to, the words came out bitterly. “I know.”
“How did you?” She asked, surprised. “All the while I thought you were confused. You seem to be deep in thought as we walked on.”
“It was the piano.” I blurted out indifferently. “She loves music and the piano.” Before Jam could continue the conversation, I stood up and marched the opposite direction with as much speed I could muster. The melody of hope traveled from the pianist to my ears. All this time, the melody usually complemented me. This time, however, it echoed hope, which I gladly destroyed as I went on walking towards the exit. The piece she is playing eventually reflected hopelessness. Now isn’t that absurdly apt? “To hell with your piano! I will never comprehend it.” I mumbled quietly enough for only myself to hear.
Jamelle followed me silently, matching up with my pace to keep track of me. “Where do you think you are going?” She asked me in a cool and nonchalant tone.
“Out.” I spat at her. “I’m getting out of here!”
“There’s no way out from there.” She calmly replied. “Don’t you want to see your friend? She’s just waiting in there.” She said as she pointed towards the center of the spiraling maze, which only I cannot see.
Anger overwhelmed me as I turned back to look at Jam. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why’d she lure me in here? Why does she want to see me?”
“Why would she not want to see you?”
“She doesn’t want to see me.” It was a painful realization most likely brought up by my subconscious. Facing my back towards Jam, I headed for an exit that, as I was warned, no longer exists.
“I thought she’s your friend?” She asked, slightly increasing her voice to make sure it reaches me.
The piano continued playing amidst our discussion-the collision of hammer onto wood at one point, and a bird’s short melody at another point. “She was my friend.” I paused for a moment before attempting to continue. “I was never hers.”
Sadness took over me, and it was yet again aptly heightened by the melody reverberating through my ears. Looking at my side once again, I saw my reflection. I was no longer crying, but my face was contorted in an expression I am not familiar with: eyebrows forming a valley across my forehead, eyes large and pleading, and mouth oddly straight. It was a horrendous sight, which forced me to look up-the first time I saw a completely white sky with no barriers or mirrors at all. Refusing to look around me, the sky became my only solace. My own form of escape from the inescapable maze of mirrors.
I could no longer comprehend anything that has happened to me in that state of surrealism. “You don’t repeatedly get rid of something only to realize you need it.” If only I had remaining strength to shout it out loud enough for her to hear. But strength is not something I possessed after the confusion, frustration and the anger. It is tremendously tiring going around in circles without knowing exactly where you’re headed.
Jam caught my shoulders and stopped me from going any further. “Perhaps you’d like to talk it over with her?” She took me by the hand and led me back deeper within the round maze of mirrors. We were once again walking towards the pianist and her melody, and at a pace which matched the urgency of the notes to overlap one another. “I’m sure she has her reasons. Perhaps this might all be a misunderstanding.” A brief smile beamed on my face.
“Mis-understand, Jam?” I retorted and tried to take back my hand to no avail. “There’s one thing I’m sure of: you don’t misunderstand it when you are not wanted anymore.” We continued walking through the reflective corridors until I could feel myself going around and around in circles. “What I am truly misunderstanding is the reason why I am in here.”
“You’ve never even tried, Karen. It’s never good to over-assume things on your own.” She gripped my hand tighter, and signaled me to stop walking.
“Tried what?” I haughtily snapped back.
“To talk. To ask. To clarify. To communicate.” I knew she was not at all pleased with my resistance, but it was the only thing I could do.
As much as Jam seemed to be displeased, I also did not like where the conversation is heading. Perhaps digressing could help alleviate the tension. “Have you been here before, Jam?”
“Yes, Karen. And if you want to save a friendship from turning bad, you have to do something. You’re not so much of a friend, either, with how you’re acting.”
I knew Jamelle is right. I turned up to look at the sky and listened to the soft melody playing. She’s right, but my stubbornness wins this round.
“You are so warped up with your fears and assumptions that you never even try to do things anymore. It’s all nothing but yourself. Why don’t you try looking at others?” With this, she motioned her hand towards the center once again. Slowly, I turned to where her hand was pointing at. There, before me, I saw not myself but her, sitting in front of a glass grand piano, gliding her fingers from one set of keys to another as smoothly as a skater on ice. For the first time, though, I did not hear the music. Finally seeing her presence, I couldn’t help but focus on her solely and reminisce on what used to be.
Jam pulled me from my trance and brought me to a door, which led inside the glass room. As she opened the door, I caught a glance of the inside. Everything was clear. It was as if the mirrors I have been seeing all throughout were actually transparent glass. The door opened wider, allowing me to see her more clearly.
“Get in.” Jam insisted.
“I-no.” Just as I happened to look at her once again, she finally noticed my presence. At an instant, she stopped playing Beethoven’s “Appasionata”, ending it with a bang instead of a fade. She began hitting notes randomly and at an incomprehensible pace that changes abruptly, without taking her eyes off of me. Melody was nearly non-existent, and the piece is almost undistinguishable except that I have heard it before. It was the infamous piece of Sorabji, “Opus Clavicembalisticum”, which I’d prefer to describe as a piece composed by a mad man. It was irritating and absolutely unpleasant to the ears. Utterly unbearable to listen to as it sounds much worse than a broken record or perhaps a child mindlessly hammering keys on the piano.
“Misunderstanding, huh?” I haughtily retorted back at Jam.
“Go talk to her.”
Instead of following Jam, I immediately closed the door, partly to shun out the noise that punctured my ears with every note but mostly to avoid seeing her again. This was not something someone pleased would play. She never wanted me to be there in the first place, this I was sure of.
Jam still looked at me with disapproval as she tried to scrutinize me of my true intentions. “Are you fine with this, then?”
“With what?”
“With not knowing. Not reconciling at all.”
“You know what, Jam? I think I’ll be fine. I don’t want to go through the pain.” I heaved a sigh before taking a quick glance back into the glass room. The reckless pseudo-melody pursued, resonating either an object falling from an unbelievably long flight of stairs or a continuous smashing and banging of glass and doors. “I’ll let time and distance solve this one.”
She led me back the opposite way. Into a passageway which I hadn’t noticed on our way as it was hidden by the endless reflections of mirrors on one another. The sound produced by the smashing of keys felt like they would shatter the glass around me. All I wanted to do is to get out of the delicate glass maze. I took one last look at myself in the mirror. An inexplicable emotion yet again revealed from my face. This, however, was not as confused as it was earlier.
“You are stubborn.” Jam said before leading me out.
“Thank you, Jam, for bringing me here.” I smiled before leaving this dream that I woke up into. I have no clear remembrance of what happened after that. I just knew I was sleeping, yet again, on a firm mattress with soft blankets over me.
Nights were not as pleasant as it had been during that time. I could clearly feel the cold of December through the soft blanket and firm mattress, and yet, somehow this feels more real than before. Fleeting as that bliss had been, I don’t think I would like to endure the consequences of something as surreal and confusing as that dream had been.
Alas, there no longer existed dreams which I could wake up into, just mornings and piles of work that reassured me I am in the state of reality.
(2009)
The notes continued playing in alternates of minors and majors, highs and lows-at times sluggish and lifeless, yet at times flitting and graceful. It was an enchanting melody of sadness and longing, as if it was meant to lure me within the maze of mirrors and glass. It spoke to me in persuasion like a battling conscience: the angel versus the devil. And, within me grew an urgent yearning to know where the striking melody is coming from. “Come”, it lulled. As the last of the gentle notes reverberated in the air, I took a step forward into the maze. Simultaneously, the notes felt like falling from a flight of stairs, then eventually meeting up with the ground with a loud set of bangs.
An odd welcome for such an odd place could be an appropriate description. A smashing of notes, twos and threes at a time, in an intimidating descending order; a welcoming irony. As I have been discreetly told by Jam, while taking slow and careful steps into the maze, only I cannot see beyond the tall mirrors that surround us. It wasn’t helpful at all being told that the piece being played is aptly chosen for my entrance, and that it was Beethoven’s “Appassionata”.
“You have never been here, have you?” Jam paused in front of me and made sure she had caught my eyes before inquiring. “You seem to be at a loss of your own direction. I’m betting you don’t know your way through this.” She caught my hands and gave me a reaffirming smile. The familiarity of Jam with this place only frustrated me more. It brought back a sense of awareness within me, and as I was about to answer her questions, she gently turned my face towards the mirror beside me.
Shock surged within me that I neglected to notice the stark shift of notes from strong intimidation to a mocking melody of strong, trilling notes in a higher octave. “That ain’t me. It can’t be me-That girl’s… eyes are swollen, and red, and watery-!”
“She’s crying.”
She slowly brought my face away from the mirror, and wiped the tears that have been streaming down my face long before I even realized it. “Indeed, where am I?” It was all I could mumble out as thoughts overtook one another within my head. “What the-?”
***
For all I could remember, I knew I had fallen into a deep slumber. It was one of the pleasantest nights I have had in years. Covered with a soft blanket over a firm mattress during the coldest nights of December, sleeping that night was like witnessing peace within a war. And I have no clue what caused me to wake up from that peaceful slumber, but I knew I woke up into a dream.
Dreams have this surreal characteristic that can blur the lines between reality and fantasy. Oftentimes, you have no control over the events, and worse, things around you bear no clear meaning because you have no idea of what is actually happening. It can lead you into a merry-go-round of emotions that only aggravates your confusion.
Indeed, this is a dream. A dream that I have woken up to.
***
“Karen? Karen!” Suddenly, I felt arms gripping me by the sides, the circle locking at my back. “She’s waiting for you now. We should get going.” I found my surroundings slowly returning with clarity, as thoughts began to silence within my head. To the left, I turned once again to take a quick glance at myself. Though awareness had already blessed me with its presence, I still can’t deny the confusion this dream is making me feel.
We walked in silence along the mirrored corridors, which seemed to spiral its way towards the center. Jam was satisfied leading me quietly along, though I knew she would have preferred if I had asked her questions. Questions. I had so many of them at that moment. But the surroundings were enchanting just as they were eerie. Turning around twice to get a better perspective of where I am, I saw nothing but mirrors all around. Left, right, forward, behind, below-all of them showed a reflection I’d rather not see.
The more we walked, the more anxious I felt not knowing what was beyond these semi-transparent walls. At times, closing my eyes seemed like the best solution to keep me from seeing myself. And every time, without fail, Jam would nudge me from the side and look me in the eyes with a piercing stare. The melody-chords and notes stomping up and down in confusion at an evenly increasing speed-grows louder and bolder than before. Heartbeats increasing speed in anticipation for something unknown, the piano played on with a set of soft yet piercing melodies before mellowing down.
The sudden realization of piano playing astonished me. From outside, it was a mere melody that was invitingly played to lure me inside. I was successful in shunning out the music as I was at avoiding my own reflection in the mirrors, and yet now, it became something I cannot ignore. I closed my eyes but the melody was still there. It was firm and went about randomly. One hand was at an evenly slow pace, and yet the other was urgently striking notes as if it were playing an etude. Perhaps it was the proximity to the core which made the melody inevitable?
I began to ponder on the meaning of everything that has happened in hopes of understanding how I’ll get out of the maze. As I forced thoughts to dwell in my mind, I stopped and took a seat on the glass floor. Leaning on the mirror behind me, I hugged my legs tightly near my chest, before diving into the pool of thought that I had created. The frustration of not knowing and understanding grew stronger, and yet I refuse to ask anything.
Jam noticed I was no longer following her. “Don’t you want to know who is waiting for you right there?” She sat beside me in an unrestrained manner. “Don’t’ you want to see her?”
I glanced away from her and towards the invisible pianist, who is still calling for me with a softer melody reminiscent of nostalgia, probably realizing that I was no longer walking towards her. “I know who she is.” Without meaning to, the words came out bitterly. “I know.”
“How did you?” She asked, surprised. “All the while I thought you were confused. You seem to be deep in thought as we walked on.”
“It was the piano.” I blurted out indifferently. “She loves music and the piano.” Before Jam could continue the conversation, I stood up and marched the opposite direction with as much speed I could muster. The melody of hope traveled from the pianist to my ears. All this time, the melody usually complemented me. This time, however, it echoed hope, which I gladly destroyed as I went on walking towards the exit. The piece she is playing eventually reflected hopelessness. Now isn’t that absurdly apt? “To hell with your piano! I will never comprehend it.” I mumbled quietly enough for only myself to hear.
Jamelle followed me silently, matching up with my pace to keep track of me. “Where do you think you are going?” She asked me in a cool and nonchalant tone.
“Out.” I spat at her. “I’m getting out of here!”
“There’s no way out from there.” She calmly replied. “Don’t you want to see your friend? She’s just waiting in there.” She said as she pointed towards the center of the spiraling maze, which only I cannot see.
Anger overwhelmed me as I turned back to look at Jam. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why’d she lure me in here? Why does she want to see me?”
“Why would she not want to see you?”
“She doesn’t want to see me.” It was a painful realization most likely brought up by my subconscious. Facing my back towards Jam, I headed for an exit that, as I was warned, no longer exists.
“I thought she’s your friend?” She asked, slightly increasing her voice to make sure it reaches me.
The piano continued playing amidst our discussion-the collision of hammer onto wood at one point, and a bird’s short melody at another point. “She was my friend.” I paused for a moment before attempting to continue. “I was never hers.”
Sadness took over me, and it was yet again aptly heightened by the melody reverberating through my ears. Looking at my side once again, I saw my reflection. I was no longer crying, but my face was contorted in an expression I am not familiar with: eyebrows forming a valley across my forehead, eyes large and pleading, and mouth oddly straight. It was a horrendous sight, which forced me to look up-the first time I saw a completely white sky with no barriers or mirrors at all. Refusing to look around me, the sky became my only solace. My own form of escape from the inescapable maze of mirrors.
I could no longer comprehend anything that has happened to me in that state of surrealism. “You don’t repeatedly get rid of something only to realize you need it.” If only I had remaining strength to shout it out loud enough for her to hear. But strength is not something I possessed after the confusion, frustration and the anger. It is tremendously tiring going around in circles without knowing exactly where you’re headed.
Jam caught my shoulders and stopped me from going any further. “Perhaps you’d like to talk it over with her?” She took me by the hand and led me back deeper within the round maze of mirrors. We were once again walking towards the pianist and her melody, and at a pace which matched the urgency of the notes to overlap one another. “I’m sure she has her reasons. Perhaps this might all be a misunderstanding.” A brief smile beamed on my face.
“Mis-understand, Jam?” I retorted and tried to take back my hand to no avail. “There’s one thing I’m sure of: you don’t misunderstand it when you are not wanted anymore.” We continued walking through the reflective corridors until I could feel myself going around and around in circles. “What I am truly misunderstanding is the reason why I am in here.”
“You’ve never even tried, Karen. It’s never good to over-assume things on your own.” She gripped my hand tighter, and signaled me to stop walking.
“Tried what?” I haughtily snapped back.
“To talk. To ask. To clarify. To communicate.” I knew she was not at all pleased with my resistance, but it was the only thing I could do.
As much as Jam seemed to be displeased, I also did not like where the conversation is heading. Perhaps digressing could help alleviate the tension. “Have you been here before, Jam?”
“Yes, Karen. And if you want to save a friendship from turning bad, you have to do something. You’re not so much of a friend, either, with how you’re acting.”
I knew Jamelle is right. I turned up to look at the sky and listened to the soft melody playing. She’s right, but my stubbornness wins this round.
“You are so warped up with your fears and assumptions that you never even try to do things anymore. It’s all nothing but yourself. Why don’t you try looking at others?” With this, she motioned her hand towards the center once again. Slowly, I turned to where her hand was pointing at. There, before me, I saw not myself but her, sitting in front of a glass grand piano, gliding her fingers from one set of keys to another as smoothly as a skater on ice. For the first time, though, I did not hear the music. Finally seeing her presence, I couldn’t help but focus on her solely and reminisce on what used to be.
Jam pulled me from my trance and brought me to a door, which led inside the glass room. As she opened the door, I caught a glance of the inside. Everything was clear. It was as if the mirrors I have been seeing all throughout were actually transparent glass. The door opened wider, allowing me to see her more clearly.
“Get in.” Jam insisted.
“I-no.” Just as I happened to look at her once again, she finally noticed my presence. At an instant, she stopped playing Beethoven’s “Appasionata”, ending it with a bang instead of a fade. She began hitting notes randomly and at an incomprehensible pace that changes abruptly, without taking her eyes off of me. Melody was nearly non-existent, and the piece is almost undistinguishable except that I have heard it before. It was the infamous piece of Sorabji, “Opus Clavicembalisticum”, which I’d prefer to describe as a piece composed by a mad man. It was irritating and absolutely unpleasant to the ears. Utterly unbearable to listen to as it sounds much worse than a broken record or perhaps a child mindlessly hammering keys on the piano.
“Misunderstanding, huh?” I haughtily retorted back at Jam.
“Go talk to her.”
Instead of following Jam, I immediately closed the door, partly to shun out the noise that punctured my ears with every note but mostly to avoid seeing her again. This was not something someone pleased would play. She never wanted me to be there in the first place, this I was sure of.
Jam still looked at me with disapproval as she tried to scrutinize me of my true intentions. “Are you fine with this, then?”
“With what?”
“With not knowing. Not reconciling at all.”
“You know what, Jam? I think I’ll be fine. I don’t want to go through the pain.” I heaved a sigh before taking a quick glance back into the glass room. The reckless pseudo-melody pursued, resonating either an object falling from an unbelievably long flight of stairs or a continuous smashing and banging of glass and doors. “I’ll let time and distance solve this one.”
She led me back the opposite way. Into a passageway which I hadn’t noticed on our way as it was hidden by the endless reflections of mirrors on one another. The sound produced by the smashing of keys felt like they would shatter the glass around me. All I wanted to do is to get out of the delicate glass maze. I took one last look at myself in the mirror. An inexplicable emotion yet again revealed from my face. This, however, was not as confused as it was earlier.
“You are stubborn.” Jam said before leading me out.
“Thank you, Jam, for bringing me here.” I smiled before leaving this dream that I woke up into. I have no clear remembrance of what happened after that. I just knew I was sleeping, yet again, on a firm mattress with soft blankets over me.
Nights were not as pleasant as it had been during that time. I could clearly feel the cold of December through the soft blanket and firm mattress, and yet, somehow this feels more real than before. Fleeting as that bliss had been, I don’t think I would like to endure the consequences of something as surreal and confusing as that dream had been.
Alas, there no longer existed dreams which I could wake up into, just mornings and piles of work that reassured me I am in the state of reality.
(2009)