My mother always forced me to play the piano. I had to play hours on end without bathroom breaks, snack breaks, or even iPod breaks (during the time iPod Touch was all the craze). My most infuriating memory was having to play the piano for four hours on a school day. Because I hated playing, I thought I only needed to pass Grade 5 in order to satisfy my mother's requests, then I would rid of piano forever. But that didn’t happen and now I’ve passed piano and music theory with flying colors at Grade 10.
My mother has the commonality of forcing me to overwork myself in my hobbies. This isn’t something exclusive to my family, I know many others who are in the same position as me. Over time, I fall out of interest with my hobby simply because I associate the hobby with my mother’s incessant nagging and furious backhand swipes whenever I refused to do what she wants.
I eventually grew up finishing or graduating out of all my hobbies anyway. Piano was one of them. And it was also something I never truly realized I missed. After sophomore year, the year I reached Grade 10, I haven’t touched a piano as delicately as I did when I was practicing the pieces for the next competition. I only play simple tunes, easy melodies. Boy, do I miss playing fancy pieces that “wow” anybody near me. It wasn’t until I’ve stopped my hobbies that I seek the nostalgic feeling about them. It felt like torture and pain while I was playing the piano, but now that it’s left me, I feel empty and lost on the inside. I am no longer defined by the piano, I am no longer someone who plays the piano. I've lost a piece of me.
Today, I can discern that my twisted relationship with piano is something I’ll always have to endure. To play or not to play is a feeling of regret and guilt. It isn’t that I can just play the piano and get rid of the feeling. It is that I have memories of hating the piano and now I have a longing for it. It is those memories that I wish to alter, those emotions that I wish to amend.
