“Mom, look at her leg,” a child who sat in the front row remarked, followed by a short giggle and a loud hush. I just began my piece on the piano but my right leg started to shake uncontrollably. It took all my focus to keep my foot steady on the pedal. My fingers, automaton, managed the piece without me. Thankfully. Or not. Those hours of honing into the emotion of the piece were lost. When the recital ended, I couldn’t bear to get up and face the audience. I remember thinking they deserved better. The piano deserved better. The pretty pink dress my mom painstakingly chose for me deserved better. That was me at the first recital of the year – the weakest piano player among my elite peers.Read More »
Paused in winter’s lull,
life’s breath awakens, unfurls
rebirth to spring’s steps.
*Image captured by Mylilplace
When I was growing up, my mom often held my hands in hers. She would carefully size my palms against hers and remark how quickly I was growing. She would trace my fingers and marveled at how long they were. They would be prettier than hers, she was convinced. Little did she know then, no other hands could be more beautiful than hers. To me.Read More »
It was the last day of my middle school. I had arrived early, one of the first few. The skies were still dark with only a hint of sunlight seeping into the new day. The school itself was still ensconced in a rare silence. Few lights had been turned on in the hallways, no doubt by Sister A, the headmistress of the convent girl school. I went to my class, dropped off my almost-empty school bag and walked down the side staircase. My sleepy senses were waking up with every step I took.Read More »