City of (en)Light(enment)

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast. (Ernest Hemingway)

As a city of light, Paris must have spent millions of euros for electricity. Not that it’s not worth it. Paris does look amazing in the night, with all those lamps adorning buildings and streets. It’s simply magical, almost like a fairy tale. And in daylight Paris isn’t bad at all. The most beautiful things in my opinion would be the building façades. The Romans, when they built the city thousands of years ago, must have hired the most capable and artistic architects who ever existed in the world because from this aspect alone, no other cities beat Paris. (Of course, I haven’t been to all cities in the world, but I’m pretty confident in issuing this statement).

I was very excited when Philippe, the CCF boss and the consulate for Bandung, called me one afternoon and asked in a casual way: “Mutia, do you want to go to Paris, all expenses paid?” It was almost too good to be true, but some too-good-to-be-true things do happen. I must have done something good in the past, to receive such a gift! So happily I was preparing my visit.

I really have nothing to complain about the sejour, really. Everything was perfect, and and went just as planned, from the beginning to the end. However, my heart wasn’t fluttering with joy. For my perhaps too critical eye, Paris is overrated. In cleanliness the city is way behind even a little village in Germany. Everything was expensive, and people can’t get a good a value for their money. Busses and metros are often late, and service sucked. For a European country, I was sometime surprised by the lack of professionalism shown by civil servants. But of course, to say that I hate Paris would probably be unjust. And I don’t. But if I can choose a city in Europe where I can live, Paris wouldn’t be the top of my list.

During my flight back home, I was contemplating. It was the second flight from Europe after five years and I had such a different mood. In my first flight I felt like crying all the time, was feeling like I’ve left a half of myself behind. But in my second flight I was actually looking forward to going home, to do things I have to do, to be with people I love and who love me…

Going to Paris was a trip long overdue. But God always knows the perfect timing, and I think this time He sent me out there to give me a different perspective, to make me really see that my life here is not so bad after all. In fact, I wouldn’t exchange this for an idle life in Paris. Because what makes a place a home is the people you’re with and the things you can accomplish in there. As long as you got all of these, you can live everywhere. You don’t have to have Paris inside you to live well, because even Hemingway, who had the movable feast within him, committed suicide in the end.

Before this trip I used to think that I have to go back to Europe again to be really, really happy again. But now I know that I can live everywhere. In Paris, in Berlin as my heart wishes to be, perhaps also in London, or even in a small city with too many public transports and motorbikes called Bandung. All I need is love and a meaning, and right here, right now, my needs are fulfilled.

The Ultimate Blessing

Liberty, according to my metaphysics, is a self-determining power in an intellectual agent. It implies thought and choice and power. (John Adams)

Two days ago, on one hot afternoon, I was rehearsing Böhm’s pieces for a concert with two violinist- friends when the door bell rang. I hated being stopped in the middle of something and was inwardly cursing this unexpected guest as I open the door. Outside our garage, a plump lady in her mid-40s stood smiling. When I approached her, she said she “needed a bit of my time” because she wanted to sell some of the flower pots she made herself. She was ever so polite. I said it was a really bad time because I’m in the middle of a practice and couldn’t really talk for long, so I asked her to stopped by sometime later (while hoping that my mum would be at home to see her). She apologized at once and promised to return.

This morning, I was reprimanding one of my students and giving him a lecture about the importance of being earnest when the same lady appeared at the door. She had the same smiling face, and the same warm words, and was asking me if I might have time this time to see her flower pots. Thank God mum was around, so I told her to go straight to the side door and see the lady boss. To make long story short, my mum bought two of her potteries.

When she left our house, there was this happy, grateful look in her face that made her skin almost glowing, and she left with her motorbike, almost flying. Watching her, I felt an instant gratitude to everything I own and do at the very moment. Because while others are dashing around selling their trades, I can have the privilege of selling my trade in my own place and at my own time. I can decide which student I want to take, and which I won’t. I can work at my own pace, and I can choose not to work when I have to, for example when things like concerts and tours take place. And the best kick out of it is that I make an awfully decent living out of what I do. That’s a luxury. A real one, in fact.

After some contemplation, I can’t say how thankful I am to my parents who persistently told me to go to piano lessons, sat with me through my first exams and concerts, fought with all their might to make me study my music, worked their asses up so I could get a taste of foreign languages in my tongue while giving me a death penalty at the same time if I didn’t finish my thesis and came out of college bearing a “Bachelor of Economy” behind my name. During those years which sometimes brought tears and anger and frustation, I always said to them that “this is my life, I can do what I want with it”. But thank goodness they didn’t let me do what I want with it. Seen from a different perspective, I can now understand that what they did was simple. By putting me in schools, paying my tuition fees and enrolling me to many courses, they were actually giving me options, so I can choose.

A lot of times when I meet old friends and tell them that “I work at home”, their almost identical reactions are: “How very nice and convenient. If I can choose, I’d do the same.”

Being able to choose is indeed the ultimate blessing, the supreme freedom. People are only truly free, when they can choose how they want to do their things and how they want their life to be. Take, for example, Teddy, a freelance street tailor who re-does pieces of clothings for living (I happen to be one of his regular customer). He used to work in a factory, but once the option to work independently presented itself, he quit, open a stall by the road and started selling his trade. He said he’s happier now, because he didn’t have to work 12 hours a day anymore, and somehow earns more money. Now he can choose to do that because he has the skills. And Teddy might be grateful for the sewing lessons his mum and dad paid for him years ago. But for those who don’t have Teddy’s advantage, they would have to accept the first thing that comes on their plates. That could mean working 12 hours in a factory, doing the same thing over and over again and getting crappy paycheck at the end of the month.

Having realized how incredibly lucky, free and blessed I am, I became more and more aware of the importance of education for the people. Because education is the tool to get that freedom. I believe that better education always means better options, which means more freedom. If one single skill can change a life of a Teddy, then people should really get good at something, anything.

This afternoon, after that pot-lady was gone, I gave my student a bit of my thoughts. Sometimes rich kids don’t really appreciate the efforts their parents give in order to give them a better life in the future because things come easily to them and they just take them for granted. But I reminded him that even though he’s sometimes tired and bored and wants to spend the afternoon shopping at the mall instead of writing notes, what he does today might give him more options in the future. He might be able to stay at home and teach, if he should like it, or not. In his adult life, even if he’s not choosing music as his career, he still can escape to it every once in a while. In any case, he won’t have to regret not having the chance to try an instrument and make a difference in his life with it. And in any case, it’s a good opportunity nevertheless, one that should not to be wasted or thrown away.

Back to Basic

The price we pay for the complexity of life is too high. When you think of all the effort you have to put in-telephonic, technological and relational-to alter even the slightest bit of behaviour in this strange world we call social life, you are left pining for the straightforwardness of primitive peoples and their physical work. (Jean Baudrillard)

I recently blocked a(nother) person from my Facebook database because I found out that she has been "dwelling" in my life, so to say. I got a bad vibe from her long before I realized that she has been adding my foreign friends to her list, but I became quite alarmed when they told me that she has been "in touch". Then I started to relate things. She liked to hover in places where I did my projects without being involved in them, she constantly appeared in my homepage although I hardly looked at her profiles, then she wanted to be friends with me in all networking devices available on the internet, although in person, we never even discussed the weather. I didn't know what her intention was (my BFF was guessing that she probably just wanted to train her English), and it could be so, but I was feeling violated nonetheless. So for my peace of mind, I removed her from my friends' list. That, however, was enough to make me feel slightly paranoid, so I decided to protect my friends' privacy by not revealing who they are. 

Afterward I felt tech-sick.

Now that I come to think of it, there are really so much that I miss from the simplicity of primitive life and how people used to relate to each other. Nowadays people text, leave comments about your cyber status, write on your virtual wall, send you electronic mails, and in the end, you lost the physicality of things. I wouldn't deny that technology has many, many advantages and really has made life so much easier. It certainly makes my job faster. I couldn't imagine doing this job if I have to wait 2 weeks for confirmation on concert dates from someone abroad. And Skype, bless the souls that invent it, has really made communication with people overseas so much cheaper. But still, nothing beats the excitement of receiving an actual letter, with an envelope, paper and stamp, and then to open it and devour each word scribbled so personally and originally by the sender. I sometime miss hearing voices on the telephone, even if that voice is calling to tell me that we must alter plans made. Nowadays I hear beeps on my cell whenever meetings are cancelled. 

Technology has also changed the way people behave towards each other. In the old days, people don't just say hi to people on the street and ask them to be their friends. And if, say, a man say hi to you while you're walking your dog and swear on his mother's grave that you both have 200 friends in common, chances are you will tell your dog to bite him. But these days, on the world of Facebook, you accept friends' request simply because someone is friends with your friends or tell you that they saw you doing what in where at when. So? Friendship with a stranger becomes common courtesy.

Another collective madness created by Facebook, Twitter & co. is that some people really measure the success of their social life through the number of friends they have on their list and or how many followers are sacrificing their time to read their tweets. This, leads to a break out of epidemic disease called narcissism. The stadium differs between individuals, but this is the reason why these sites are so popular. Basically, everyone has the need to be renowned and recognized and they feed on this need. If you don't get to tell the world what you're doing and how your life is going, it would be pointless to join the club.          

However, I know for sure that having hundreds of so-called friends can't really replace the joy of having a real conversation with ONE friend over a plate of spaghetti. I also know, that among the alphabetically listed names, my best friends are still the very few chosen ones, with whom I share real life, on- and offline, with or without Facebook. It only helps us to stay in touch, especially since we're far away from each other. But still, the best things in life are the simplest things, like giving a big, bear hug to people we choose to miss when they re-appear in our life. And these things can never be measured in quantities.    

To my best friends, for whom I would give up my Facebook account if I could have them near me all the time. 

The Ultimate Healer

Love.

A strange thing it is. It can change your life for the better, or put you through hell. It can tie your lips to your both ears and make you want to smile all the time like a lunatic, and at the loss of it, it can make you feel as if your heart is being torn apart to pieces (I got very good at drawing a broken heart when I was in high school). Yet, when you say it hurts, you can't really say where. Because love is merely a concept, an idea you yourself plant in your brain. It's not even tangible. It is merely a chemical reaction, triggered by a person or a thing or an event. They're the catalyst. When you say love makes you happy, you can only point out to these culprits, but love is still something you can't feel in your fingers or taste in your mouth. And when you say it kills you, nothing inside you is really dying. Your heart isn't stopping, your kidney is still functioning, and your liver's not bleeding. Physically, you don't have any wound. But you feel that something is kicking inside, ripping off whatever it is you have between your intestines. The next thing you know, you already lose 2 stones. 

Being a true believer of love, I often found myself in and out of it. I like love, for all the reasons everybody else has when they are in it. And if I sometimes hate it, there's no other quote that can explain the feeling better:

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” (Neil Gaiman)

All my life, my parents (and a lot of experiences) taught me that in the end, the only person you can rely on is yourself. For me, love is something that betrays this maxim, because yourself becomes this individual you can't depend on. Yourself has become this imbecile, irrational as well as delusional being that you no longer recognize. 

The thing is, in all falling-in-love cases, you can't really choose with whom or with what you're in love with. I was just wondering how easy and simple my life would be if I weren't in love with classical music, or even piano playing. I would probably be enjoying my 9-to-5 life in a skyscraper building, working on some paperwork in my cubicle, meeting my soulmate, who happens to work in the office next door, getting a weekly escape to Bali or Singapore, letting consumerism get the best of me and ending up with some new stuffs to fill my wardrobe. I wouldn't have to have this agony of trying to figure out why my fingers won't move at one of those movements in Haydn concerto. I wouldn't have to lie in bed all night, thinking how to get more string players to enroll at my camp. Life would be less complicated. And it's just the same with people. If I can choose who I can have a crush on (before it develops into something more real, more serious), I would choose the homey, kind, simple, non-demanding, and most faithful of all man, who can't resist my charm and is blind to all kinds of female attractions. However, you really have no power about this. The next thing you know is that life is a Ferris wheel and the object of your affection has become the core of it; the bolt that put everything together, and one day, when this thing decides to walk away or when you realize it's out of your reach, your world comes tumbling down.

Yes, love could be a national disaster, at least in your heart and mind region. The first time this fatal incident happened, I thought I would never be able to love again. It took me three years to forgive and move on, and that was possible only because a new love occurred. (Now that I come to think of it, wasn't that another madness? It's like overcoming your drug addiction by becoming an alcoholic. How idiotic was that???). Then it grows, and by the time my heart is glued and fixed, I learn that this new love has became Goliath and I was just David. So small, so fragile, so incapable, in an impossible mission. And all those years of schooling never taught you how to deal with such case. You just have to find your own way of coping with the 2 possibilities: that this might work, or this might crush you again. I might end up living life happily ever after, or it might take me another year or two until, to quote my best friends, "a new, and stronger love appears in my life" (i.e. turning myself from alcoholic to anorexic) while trying to kill this ghoul with sling and stone. Time will heal, that's what people said (although when the worst happens, you want to smack whoever it is that says it to your face). 

So yes, I hate love, for the defenselessness it creates. I hate love, because even love sometimes can't lend you loyalty. Because love and pain is the two sides of a coin. The more you love, the more you're prone to sufferings. But I know that when the storms have passed, I will be able to laugh at this, talk about this with my best friends while zooming on the next smart ass I can find on a day where the sun shines. And if I can choose, I wouldn't want to miss all the ups and downs. For sure I wouldn't want to miss the excitement of waiting for a single, meaningless phone call, even if it's only on Skype. But more importantly, I wouldn't want to miss the chance of knowing that my heart is so big that it can love someone or something that doesn't love in return, and so strong that it can contain even the most excruciating pain, and so resilient that it will not be afraid to love again. And later in life, I want to be able to tell my kids that

"Eventually, you will come to understand that love heals everything, and love is all there is.”
(Gary Zukav)

The End is the Beginning is the End

It's over. My third music camp marked the end of another life cycle. I got the job done, and now a new beginning is waiting, with its own challenges and contrasts. I've got my paradoxes already, but I have time to deal with it.

Anyway, the end of a season always brought the contemplative side in me. And there are always so many lessons to be taken and thoughts to be remembered, and I think this is the best thing I can be grateful for when I chose to follow my bliss.

The first and foremost thing I learned from the past 3 weeks is that life is pretty fair. When somebody or something lets you down, there will be somebody or something else that will make up for it. When one of my sponsors cancelled his support at the beginning of June, I was already imagining losing all my savings AND eyeing some six digits number on my credit card bill with agony. So I asked friends to donate for the kids (to whom the donation will go), at the same time doubting whether they would care. But apparently they do. I've got some really great friends who obviously respect my efforts and they readily contributed. In fact, the heartwarming feeling beats all the disappointment. It still didn't save my saving, but at least I'm starting with zero, not negative. 

I also learn this week that I didn't get something I've been praying for for the last couple of months. Like all human, I had a good cry. But afterward, I thought about all those rojects lining up for the season and about those wonderful people I will meet (and meet again, like, for example, the DSQ), and I finally have the conviction that the next episode could be great indeed. I might be gaining some new experiences, working in the French cultural center and managing my first international camp (i.e. if and when I get the deal)... I already imagine that there'll be a lot of things to do this year, and that in itself, is a huge comfort.

The second good thing I learned is to put trust in people. My mum always raised me to trust no one but myself, and sometimes, many times, in fact, I have difficulty in letting go. However, I found out that when you give trust to people, at least normal ones, they tend to want to prove that they are worthy of such honour. And they will do their best not to let you down. 

In the end, all these experiences always tell me something more about myself. I know now that I always have a great capacity in loving, and no matter how hurt I am, this love will always put everything back in place and make me dare to hope for better days again. I think I have become the ultimate optimist, a thing I acquired by following my lonesome path. And in this life with its ups and downs, I don't think it's such a bad thing at all.

Rickshaw Therapy

I love rickshaw. The Indonesian version of it is a three-wheeled vehicle with iron frame where the driver sits behind us and pedals. I always love it ever since I can remember. When I was a little girl, my grandma used to take me in it and we would go places where sometimes busses or cars couldn’t take us. I think part of this fondness is also induced by this memory. But apart from that, what’s not to like? If you sit on it, you can feel the sweep of breeze coming against you, and it’s the most refreshing feeling. Another thing is, you don’t have to drive. All you have to do is just sit inside and look around, or read, or sleep, or whatever is possible to do inside such a tiny little space. And what I quite like about riding it is that I got the feeling that everytime I give money in exchange with the service that the driver gives me, I have somehow put food in his plate (by the way, rickshaw driver in our country is always a man). Or maybe, even in his and his kids’ plates. And that’s just unbeatable. (Of course, if I took a motorbike or a bus, it would also mean that I will put food in somebody’s plate, but since rickshaw has so many competitors these days, I try to keep the competition fair.)

Rickshaw for me is also another tool for therapy. I found this out a year ago. While touring for the first time around Java, the pianist Sam Haywood and I took a rickshaw ride in Surabaya and found out that it gave us such an amazing feeling (also very much recommended while taking a rickshaw is sharing it with someone you find comfortable to talk to like Sam.) We had talked all night while sightseeing around the city and it was so therapeutic.

After that experience with Sam, I often took a rickshaw ride by myself, even long after he went back to London. The best time to do it is at night and while you are having a big problem and you thought that your life is so miserable. Then you have to go out there and see night life in this very thing. I sometimes found that people are selling weird stuffs right in the middle of the night. I just did that tonight and at some point, I found a girl and a boy, apparently brother and sister, sitting on the side of a road selling stickers at 11 pm. I mean, seriously, who would buy stickers at such a wee hour? But they were there with tired faces and sleepy eyes, yet every time a motorbike approaches, their eyes lit. if there is something that could make them stay awake all night, it was only hope. A hope that somebody would stop by and buy, and thus they can bring home some money. Maybe it’s enough, maybe it won’t, but it’s still better than nothing.

Now if seeing this thing doesn’t make you get a knock in the head, then you seriously need a CT-scan. Sometimes we can brood over our trouble, and feel like there’s no way out, but if you go out there and see, there are always people whose life situation is much, much worse than ours and that should give you the realization that each and every one of us has a problem of our own, and the fact that you don’t have to stay awake all night to earn your living should make you feel grateful for everything that you have. I find this night expedition a good cure to my troubled feeling. Sometimes, it doesn’t mean that the problem is gone, but this always puts everything back in perspective. If life seems such a dead end, if you feel that you’re stuck in a moment you can’t get out, you should go and look outside yourself and see those people who has no privilege of having a dream, of making a choice, whose only care in life is to survive. And that includes the man sitting behind you, accompanying you till the break of dawn, feeling grateful because he can feed another mouth for another day.

Professional- and Personalism

What worries me is the professionalism of everything. (Irvine Welsh)

If there’s one single person I can thank to for teaching me about professionalism, it would be my mum. She’s the best teacher in that. She spent almost all her working life being a secretary to Indonesians as well as expatriates, and too bad her job title is often mistaken with anything else but professionalism. But somehow when people met her, she always won their respect by showing what she truly was, a real P.R.O. Seriously, I believe she’s one of the best in her job, and I’m sure if God have put her somewhere in Europe or in the US, she would have no trouble at all finding a job.

The first thing she taught me about being a professional is that you should always, always give more than 100%. Perfectionism is the keyword; she is the ultimate perfectionist, a treat which, naturally, she inherited to me, and she wouldn’t accept nothing but the best.

The second thing I learn from her, which I think made her any difference than any other pros, is that she always had a touch of personalism in what she did. Sometime I saw successful pros who done really well in their work but who aren’t really enjoying their social life, because they really separate their professional with personal life, and it made them, in a way, “alienated”, because their life is really about their work, and they somehow failed to put personalism in their works. I have a friend who is also a concert manager, but she never seems to be connected with the artists she worked with. When I asked her this, she said, “What for? Why should I be connected with them? They’re here for a short period, and you might never see them again.” When she said this, I thought she must be mad. If you’re not connecting with them, then where’s the fun in doing all the hard work?

But now, how much personalism can we actually put into our work?

That’s really what I’m learning right now, by myself. I always love, in fact, I adore, warm people, and I always try to build that kind of relationship with people I work with. I found out from the musicians who came here that a lot concert managers are really only about business of bringing artists to concert hall and getting the concert done. Besides these, they don’t give a damn about everything. They were pretty surprise that I asked personal things (being an Indonesian) and that gave them the feeling that they can really talk to me about many non-work-related, oft-silly subjects, and that I kept in touch by sending them personal e-mails asking how life is after years of concert.

But then, like everything else, too much of something is not a good thing. Especially difficult is when there is a certain feeling which develop between you and them but the feeling isn’t mutual. I thought the hardest to handle is distrust. But I just learn that romantic feelings could also made you feel miserable. Sometimes, for professional reason, you want them to come back and do more projects with you because they are so brilliant and caring and stuffs, but then, also for the sake of professionalism, you know well enough not to invite them again because the personalism involved in the relationship is just too much. And for the sake of both hearts, you should listen to your heart and wish them well, but in the back of your head, you are only too aware that you will not see each other again for many-many years to come. And that is, perhaps, the best laid plan.

Yet, already this thought breaks your heart. That happens when you’ve got too much personalism in your work. It can make things complex, difficult, and suddenly, work isn’t so much fun anymore. It can even make you shed some tears. But all in all, after everything that is happening and after all these contemplation, I think I might keep some of personalism in my professionalism. What I have to learn is the proportion.

A Quantum Leap

Man needs difficulties; they are necessary for health. (Carl Jung)

My first (and perhaps, my last) concerto.

Last night, I nailed it. After three months of practicing and a few hours of agonies, I stepped up to the plate and perform the D-major Haydn Concerto. It wasn't quite as I expected (I had expected much better result, of course). My fingers weren't moving as fast as I wanted to, and I could have taken more time in the cadenza, but I made no stops, kept on going even when I stumbled, and I finished together with the orchestra on the very last bar of the Finale. So, all's well that ends well.

Now I really can tell my grandchildren that their granny was once a soloist! :-)

My parents, after such long, long years, were there last night. Daddy, who usually refused to be involved in what he called "pretentious" cultural activities such as classical music concerts, finally gave in and went with mum (although they missed the first movement) and he even stayed until the very end of the concert. His comments, apart from those which aren't very musical like "my, aren't you look fat in that dress!", were acceptable. Mum said I looked and played all right. And for the first time they met my most influential teacher (funny how they never did have a chance to meet him when I was still studying!). We went for a post-concert dinner and I got myself, also for the first and the last time, a 200-gram steak. (PS: I did finish the steak and the salads but NOT the wedges. I'm not a glutton!)

Looking back on the experience, I'm really thankful that I was offered such opportunity. It's really true that man needs difficulties. They're there to make us tougher, stronger, and wiser. I couldn't explain how I felt when I woke up this morning, but I was smiling ear to ear for no reason and felt a new energy building inside of me. If I can get past that, who knows, I might be able to pass something else, something bigger. If I can make a list of a life-changing experience, this would be one of it.

One of the most wonderful thing about overcoming difficulties is that you get to know yourself better. Even though I play piano for as long as I can remember, I never imagine that I could go this far. I always knew that I'm not a person who loves to be ON stage (I really love the BACK of it), I hate being on the spotlight, and I usually told myself, right before concerts, that I'm going to die and that I shouldn't do this anymore, that I should just give up playing in public and focus and teaching and all that. But last night I told myself something different. Instead of saying to myself things like "shit, what am I doing???", I was telling myself that I'm gonna be just fine, that I've been practicing for months for this, that I've been working hard and paid my respect and not taken things for granted, so all I have to do is to go out there and give my best shot. And that I did. It wasn't perfect, in fact, it was far from it. I made mistakes, and after a few bars opening, my fingers started to lose all its flexibility, resulting in a rather stiff performance (that, I know), but guess what? I had no regrets. And so I know, that I am capable of this much challenge without losing my nerves.

A few hours before the concert, a friend texted my mobile and wished me good luck. I had asked her to remind me not to this EVER again. However, after the concert, another friend of mine, a music lecturer at the university, said that I should do this twice a year because it really inspires his students to work harder. Now that's something else. I always love to inspire, as much as I love being inspired by people. And that left me thinking: maybe, just maybe, I could do this again. Not alone, of course. A double concerto would be nice. And I always want to try my hands on Beethoven's triple concerto...

Training Days

It's all to do with the training: you can do a lot if you're properly trained. (Elizabeth II, Queen of Great Britain and Northern Ireland)

La vie bien remplie.

In simple English: a full life. That's how my life has been since April when I started to accept all offers coming at my direction. I couldn't even remember when was the last time I slept before midnight because works never seem to end. And among those piles of papers and computer files, there's always an element of surprise that flips the whole world and makes you feel queasy. However, I never really thought that I would finally get hold of this situation until quite recently.

Two weeks ago, one of my sponsors called (on my birthday, to be exact) and said that he will probably cover 50% of my deficit. He didn't promise, he said he'll just try. Two days ago, he said no. Nothing, nada, nix. Zip. I couldn't be angry, he never did promise. And shit happens, that's all. 

Amazingly, I felt very calm. There I was in my pj, 10 o'clock in the morning when he hung up on me, and my brain started to make calculations. Luckily the 100% deficit was not a big number. It might left me with some debts to the credit card company, but if I work hard I might end up gaining profit. So almost like a reflect, I started dialling numbers of people who I think might be able to solve my problems. Then almost automatically, I walked to my computer and started sending e-mails. 

In the afternoon, I went to teach as any other day and quite unexpectedly, I could even be able to put all my focus while practicing Haydn. All those time my brain kept watching while saying, "Hey, this is weird."

Two years ago I would have fallen to the floor and cried and prayed to God to just drop me some cash from heaven. Learning from experience, I know it's not gonna happen and the only way to solving the problem is to keep my head above water and try to act as sensibly as I could. I felt like a goose, who moves gracefully and smoothly on the surface while pedalling frantically under water.   

I guess this wouldn't happen if I hadn't had proper training. Dealing with a commodity as rare as high-quality classical music in the country where quantity is always a focal point, I suppose I've had enough beatings. Sponsors are humans, and being that they couldn't help it if they can't always be reliable. Sometimes, even artists are just plain creatures who unintentionally make mistakes on stage, although this happened through an intentional conduct of not practicing. For those of you who are interested in this business, I would be happy to list a number of swinging X-factors related to it. It's just unfortunate that my work has to rely so much on unreliable components, but as it gives me the greatest satisfaction in life, I don't think it's right to complain. And now, knowing that I'm properly trained, I also know that I can do a lot. And will do a lot.   

When Things Taken for Granted

Most human beings have an absolute and infinite capacity for taking things for granted. (Aldous Huxley)

Among things I hate in this world, people who take things for granted are one of them. When I see someone does it, either to me or to someone else, it usually starts me boiling. 

Lately I have been feeling that I'm outgrowing a friendship with a person, well, a friend, of course.We've known each other for quite a long time, and we've been through so-so-times and not-so-good-times but never at all time can I really tell if I can call this person my "best friend". But I haven't got a chance to decide until we grow more and more apart. She's really a kind person, but just like romance, sometime the chemistry just ran off and suddenly I got bored silly when I'm near her. Then my psychoanalytical mind starts to see that during the course of our friendship, she was taking me for granted. I didn't mind, at first because I knew she wasn't doing it on purpose. She didn't intentionally do it. And in a way, being taken for granted could mean a compliment. It means that somebody feels at home with you, no matter what they do. But so it happened, I got tired of accepting. And because I'm too lazy to tell her that she needs to change, after all it's easier for me to change, so I let it go.

But in this one particular circumstance, I'm not sure that I can let go that easy. 

I organized a concert this week. It was probably the worst concert I've ever organized in my entire concert-management career, and I surely hope it will be the last of such concert that I will do in my life. To this day I still feel disappointed, violated, frustrated and angry, as this stupid incident happened simply because the artists weren't prepared to give a performance. For me, it's a sign that they were taking things for granted. They assume that people, at least some people, will still think that their playing is awesome. They think that they can escape criticism. They think people, at least those who don't really understand classical music, won't be able to tell the difference between making music and just hitting notes on the piano. It's unforgivable.
 

I need not tell how bad the concert was. There is no miracle that will help an unprepared artist for a show, and it was unethical and close to immoral, if the so-called "artists" had indeed proper, adequate trainings in music and claimed themselves "professional". If I am allowed to compare this one with so many concerts by our young, amateur musicians in the city, who could also be quite excruciating sometimes, I would say this is almost inexcusable. In many cases, these youngsters don't have good music education, their techniques are limited, their (and a lot of time their teacher's) understanding of the repertoire could be very much on the surface, so it was only natural if the presentation isn't excellent. But even with their confined abilities, most of the time they prepare themselves very well, they practice very hard with everything they've got even if it's not a lot, and they still earn respect in the end. After that concert I lost not just respect but also trust in Indonesian "professional" musicians. How can I not? For me as organizer, what they've done is disrespectful to what I've done as the concert promoter. It's always an effort to bring people to concert hall, and local projects hardly bring any profit. But I did my part. They didn't do theirs. So how am I to trust them again? And sadly now, more and more "professionals" are doing this.

But as usual, there's always something to learn out of every calamity, a silver lining even in the darkest clouds. No one and nothing should be taken for granted. It is human, like every other thing in life, that when we're on top of things, when we're enjoying a position of high status, we tend to assume that we will stay there forever no matter what we do; that we can get away with everything, even if what we do is rubbish. I've seen in many cases that when we start to take things for granted, we're actually starting to lose them. 

As for me personally, I hope that I will learn to never take things for granted. Because even the smallest thing in life is a gift, and I'd like to return to the house of my Lord with the angels saying to me, “God blessed you with unique talents and abilities, and you have used those gifts well! You've taken nothing for granted; rather, you have worked hard to prepare for a challenging future.”

Allergy

Allergy: an abnormally high sensitivity to certain substances, such as pollens, foods, or microorganisms. Common indications of allergy may include sneezing, itching, and skin rashes.
(The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Third Edition copyright © 1992 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Electronic version licensed from INSO Corporation; further reproduction and distribution restricted in accordance with the Copyright Law of the United States. All rights reserved.)

I used to have asthma when I was a kid, then around my teenage years it disappeared completely, supposedly caused by more relenting behavior, but recently I got it back. Not only that, I got allergic reactions all over my skin when I ate something bad or breathed something strange or simply when it's too cold. Two days ago, it was so hot in class that I had to turn on the air-con while teaching. At one point I stood right down it then something stopped my breath, and that time it wasn't because my pupil pressed the wrong note. Ihe old air-con was blowing some germ right into my lungs and all of a sudden, I had trouble breathing and I incessantly coughed. My poor pupil was so confused and worried that I had to tell him to practice by himself for a few minutes while I tried to get some help for myself.

It started when I move things in my bedroom to get a more ample space. I succeeded, but afterward I began to wake up with itches all over my body and skin rashes. Born in a family with a strong allergic tradition, my parents helped analyze why I was suddenly so allergy-prone. My brother prescribed some medicine which worked to cure the reaction, but not-so-worked to prevent it from happening. My mum, as usual, blamed it on my nocturnal life-style and my dad, always the more temperate, said that I simply had to wake up earlier to soak myself in sunshine to cure them all. 

The GREAT thing about coping with allergies is, and I really don't mean to be ironic here, that it builds a connection between me (a.k.a my brain) and my body. I used to take my body for granted and never really care about it. Normally I don't really care about eating super-spicy street food which sometimes left a burning sensation in my stomach, or taking medicine to immediately cure a discomfort. But one day I was eating chicken with chili sauce when suddenly I lost my voice and felt funny in the throat. Two seconds later I couldn't breath. That time I really had to take my asthma tablet because it was bad. In another occassion, my brother came home and brought some spring rolls. I ate two and afterward I felt as is I've just swallow a ping-pong ball because there was this lump in my throat. I still breathed normally, but the lump just wouldn't go away. Then my brain stated to draw connection, with all those cases, and finally arrived at the conclusion that I'm allergic to not-so-fresh shrimps. The chili sauce had shrimp paste in it (made of bad shrimp, too!), and so the rolls. And now I've moved the piano in my class so I don't have to stand under the AC anymore. With the skin allergies, I made more experiments. Two weeks ago I moved my furnitures again, put my bed facing the window so I'd get a flowing air. I still woke up with red blotches. Then I cleaned my bookshelves and my books, and found out that the red blotches in my skin still existed although reduced in the morning. Ah-ha! My books, as I suspected, aren't liable. The dust on it: could be. Last week, I had my bed comforter washed and for a week I slept with no blanket on, and amazingly all the red blotches were gone. I then googled and found out that some materials in blankets,  maybe synthetic wool, could cause allergy. I now switched to cotton blanket and woke up clean.

I also begin exercising regularly now. From the medical web I subscribe myself to, people with allergy should raise their immune system through sport. In the past, sport for me was a complete non-sense and a time-waster. Why would I want to sweat myself when I can enjoy another one hour in my warm bed? But I (finally) tried to do it for a whole week and felt so much better afterward that it just changed my mind completely. 

These days I still got my allergies, but now I'm handling them more skillfully than ever. I even began to be able to persuade myself not to take any medication whenever a reaction occurs. Normally, for example with troubled breathing, I once restored my respiration to normal once the allergen, the culprit, was discarded off my system, by breathing fresh air, drinking as much water as I can, or taking a natural muscle-loosener like coffee. It's good to know that I'm now "together" with my body, that my brain is protecting it from diseases and trying to get it fit. After all, my body is my temple.

Facing Adversity

Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul? (John Keats)

Last day of April, 11 pm. I turned off my computer, put all papers I was working on in a pile, then looked at my May agenda. This is a normal thing I do at the end of each month, just to see how far (or how close) I am to a project. Then I broke into cold sweat. There I found my own writing, in red: HAYDN CONCERTO. The next morning, despite sleeping pills taken the previous night, I woke up at 4.30 and knew instantly that my days of turmoil will begin.

Silly me. 4 months ago, when the kids at University asked me to play the piano concerto, I wasn’t thinking 10 times before I said yes. All I thought at that time was: “Yay! Finally a chance to play with an orchestra!” Fun! Hip! Cool! But I should’ve known myself better. I should’ve known that I would take matters too seriously and not being casual about it. I should’ve known that I would spend at least two weeks before the concert becoming sick and sleepless.

Back in February, I could think of hundreds of good, proper reason why I should play. It would force me to practice regularly again: something I haven’t done in the past 6 years. It would send me back to the core of my education. It would prepare me mentally for smaller things…like school concerts, which still make me jittery. sometimes In principal, I was clear as crystal that this opportunity has a lot of good things in store.

The problem is, I forgot that I am teacherless at the moment. It’s a good thing that my best friend came to stay for a month, because then he’d be able to teach me and gave me the necessary technical instructions to conquer the piece. But as my practice session began, I found some difficulties, especially when I had to to very quick passages. A combination of anxiety and stress and excitement caused my arm muscles to strained and after at successive of quick notes, I would get pain in my lower arm. The worst thing is, my friend isn’t here anymore, so all I can have is a virtual advice on not to sprained my muscles. The third movement of the concerto presents another problem. It was so fast that my brain still couldn’t be able to cope with the running notes. Without instructions from the brain, my fingers just refuse to go by itself. Okay, fair enough.

However, having no one to come to every week to guide me really make me think of all aspects to solve my problems. I don’t think I ever practice with so much awareness before, and never in my life do I have to be so resourceful. Now when things go wrong or when some pain occurs, I stop and think what did I do wrong, and try to find another way of doing it. And I must say, practice has never been so fun and fulfilling!

I just hope that in time I can tell myself that everything’s going to be fine. It’s another mental exercise I have to do, besides all the physical efforts on the piano. I’ve printed in large fonth a quote from William Bryant that said, “Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness—a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster-children into strength and athletic proportion.” All I have to do is keep these words in mind.

On Death

Because I could not stop for Death,
Death kindly stopped for me.
(Emily Dickinson)

Death always has a great impact on me and it has been a profound inspiration for writing. When I was 11 years old, mum bought me a journal for my birthday present, but I was really start writing in it when I was 13, when a very good friend from elementary school died of brain tumor. She was a pretty child, and we used to play a lot together in school since her home was only 2 minutes from school. On the 2nd day of the final examination, she lost consciousness in class with a very high fever. The last time I saw her, she was already a human vegetable. A lovely human vegetable, with her pale skin and curly hair, big round eyes that incessantly flickered, and her lips that twitched uncontrollably. I cried my heart out, called her names and held her hands in front of her broken hearted mum, but she was already oblivious to the world. Two days later she passed away and that’s when I started to write on my journal. To really write, every day, until today.

In 1995, my dearest uncle had an ulcer in his mouth. When he was conceived, my grandma caught typhoid so she had to take a large dose of antibiotics. When my uncle was born, he got skin defect in which his skin simply could not heal easily when it’s cut, and in a lot of cases, a small wound would eventually end up as an abscess. So when he came home (he was closest to my mum so he was a regular visitor) complaining that he couldn't even enjoy his cigarette, we thought it wasn’t a big deal. Sure it will be big on him, but he’d heal. Well, it wasn’t. A year later, doctors said it was cancer.

After hearing this devastating news, I made a separate journal, dedicated to him (and afterward I always have more than one journal). I wrote all the developments of his illness, the good news and the bad news, as well as how I felt about everything. I started to write poems around those days when the grief just too deep for mere words, composed thousands of unsent letters to God and to him, put pictures of us together in it, or simply let my tears soaked the papers. In June 2001 I bought a box to put my 9 journals in, a few weeks after he was buried.

Today, I again write because a friend of mine just passed away.

Here’s a little story about Oii (that’s her nickname, by the way). She was my senior during university years, and we got to know each other through a project we did together. But before that, her name resounded well. It wasn’t surprising. There are special people in this world that bring so much energy into your life that you just want to be around them very much. They are easy going, fun, happy, witty, conversant but never dominant that you are constantly attracted to them and sometimes, secretly, you want to be like them. Well, Oii’s one of those people. Oii for me was like an embodiment of a positive energy and of course, you always want to be that.

However, we never got so close. No particular reason, though, I guess it’s just fate. We just never stayed around each other long enough in one place to be able to be bestf riends. However those image of sunshine when somebody mentioned her name in a conversation stuck to my mind and there was always this certain fondness when I thought of her.

A few years ago we were reconnected and I learnt that she was fighting a cancer while serving the country in Germany. I noticed the loss of hair, and the sometimes-sad comments about her illness, but still she was that old sun that radiated just as brightly as before. I was so sure above anything else that she was going to be a survivor. So it was really, really shocking to learn that she was in a comma last week. She regained consciousness earlier this week, but today God decided that she should suffered no more.

I was teaching when I received a text about her death, and I started to cry that I had to leave class for a while. Of course, I’m always all weepy when it comes to death, but it felt as if there was something hollow in the middle of my core. It was funny though. We weren’t even good friends. But the sense of loss was so present, like the end of a love affair.

I went home with the thought of her in the back of my head, tried to figure out why I was so sad. And guess what? Even after she’s gone, she made me want to be like her even more. Because I know by now that she had such a huge heart that she could touch even a distant soul like mine, and therefore I know she must have touched so many souls before and after me. Because like her, I want to be loved when I’m present, remembered when I’m absent, and thought of with affection. Because like her, I want to make other people's life so beautiful that can’t imagine how big a loss her death is for people who are close to her. My thoughts are with them in this time of sorrow. A universal sorrow, as the world just lost another powerful source of light.

Tonight, I know what I’m going to write in my gratitude journal. I’m gonna thank God for taking all her sufferings, putting her in a much better place, and giving her peace at last. I’m gonna thank God for sending her into my life, and teaching me, like all my spiritual teachers, how to be a better person (and this is simply by being herself). And last but not least, I’m gonna thank God, time and time again, for another day on earth for me and for the people I love to celebrate life and those special people who made it worth living.

The Art of Taking a Break

I don't think I handle the notes much differently from other pianists. But the pauses between the notes - ah, there is where the artistry lies!! (Artur Schnabel) 

At this point in my life, I am one of those very fortunate people who can say that I really love my work, that I love everything I do and wouldn’t trade them with anything in the world. I’ve found my bliss and even if I win a million-dollar lottery today, I would still do what I do now. I can say that I have a good balance between teaching and doing music development projects for community, while doing little this and that which could add to my saving. I love my job very much. I didn’t realize that I love it too much that it’s starting to kill me now.

For a particular reason, I said to myself at the beginning of this year that I will take things slowly and focus on important things like educational projects only. But lo and behold! I didn’t see them coming, but one thing leads to another and before I know, I got my hands full, my neck sore, and my brain craving for sleep every single day. And I really haven’t find time to comprehend the situation since all I do every day is teaching up to 8 pm, finishing all paperworks for my projects (which never seem to end!), and now I’ve got a book to translate while squeezing time so I can practice Haydn D-major Concerto (what was I thinking when I said yes to the offer of playing with an orchestra????). There’s simply no time to comprehend. And because I am actually a natural born idler, burning the candle at both ends isn’t really my thing.

First of all, it’s messing my brain circuit. I’ve got maybe 4-5 tracks in my brain right now where all my tasks are put neatly. On normal workload condition, these tasks go on their own time and they get to the finish line on time, safe and sound. At the moment, those tasks are racing with each other and taking other people’s track and bumping and cutting and doing disastrous things. I could be thinking of people to call and places to go to while translating the book, or in the middle of an e-mail, I can suddenly leap to my bookshelf to find concert piece for my student. I’m starting to guess that the piles of paper in my desk waiting to be sorted is the result of my scattered brain.

Second of all, it’s messing my mood, and people who suffer the most from this are usually my poor, lazy, silly students. Music teachers all over the world today must deal with kids who stay too long in school, have too many extracurricular activities and Facebook accounts so they simply have no time to practice. I’ve got these problems too. On shiny days I can get angry at them for not wanting to try to spend 10-15 minutes of their precious 24 hours every day for the sake of their own progress (and my happiness) while still instilling a bit humour in my sarcastic remarks about their being indolent and not-so-intelligent. But on rainy days, it’s hard to maintain a funny side and the more likely occurrence is that I send them home (or more precisely kicking them off my class) and tell them that this is the last time I want to see their lethargic ass in my class again (don’t’ worry, they always come back). I really would do this differently, but it’s really hard especially if, during their stumbling and struggling with notes and rhythms, I keep on saying to myself, “shit, why should I waste time hearing this nonsense? I have 200 pages more to translate!”

Now after doing some contemplation, I think what’s not so good about working too much is that I’m not connected with my core self, with my spirituality, with things I love to do for myself. Lately I always pray in a hurry, I hardly listen to music, I’m always too tired to read even one poem before bed and worse I don’t read any book at all, I don’t write regularly in my journal and my gratitude book, and I don’t even sleep for a long time anymore! For people like me, who finds joy in laying in bed all day while reading poetry, not being connected with those things means not having my soul recharged. And essentially, it’s very simple for me. My contentment doesn’t depend on having a lot of clothes or shoes or bags, I don’t have to recharge my soul in Bali or wherever, all I need is good music, good book and sometimes even only good friends to have good conversation with.

As Schnabel said, the art of life lays in those quiet moments which we, from time to time, must use to breath. It’s just as important as all the notes we play. So the next question is: should I start Dicken’s Pickwick Papers or Byron’s poems?

Brandy, Anyone?

Hell is full of musical amateurs: music is the brandy of the damned. (George Bernard Shaw)

I’ve just done a project last month. It was initiated around September last year. A music patron in the capital contacted me and asked if I wanted to organise a recital by a young Polish pianist with extraordinary story who is on his way to fame in Scotland. This patron, coming from a musical background (his mother was a concert pianist), told me that this pianist played amazingly.

Normally with new artists with whom I’m about to collaborate, I did a background checking, lots of googgling and asked for a sound sample. I did everything, but after waiting for some months, this pianist, or to be precise, his manager couldn’t give me any recorded sample. At that time I started to feel funny and annoyed at the same time, especially since all the time I only got in touch with the manager. But then this patron kept singing his praise about the pianist so I finally shrugged off the idea and started working on the project.

To make long story short, I got him 4 concerts in 4 different cities. 3 of them were partly supported by the French cultural centre, whose directors have very good rapport with me. They were all enthusiastic, since the recital would open the year while celebrating the 200 anniversary of birth of Chopin. From then on everything went well. Venues were all available, booked, bla-bla-bla, alles klar. On a certain day in January, I met the pianist and his manager for the first time in Jakarta. I didn’t communicate a lot with the artist because of his bad English and the fact that he smoked a lot and went in and out of practice, so I chatted instead with his manager. We’ve spent several hours together and I still haven’t heard him play.

The next day, we were supposed to organise a private recital and THERE I heard him for the first time. I was abysmally shocked. This pianist, who reportedly played amazingly, was really just an amateur. First of all, he did many strange rhythms which he should never have done as someone who went to conservatory to study music. His technique was virtuostic, that I must admit, but in spite of that, he couldn’t manage to perform any piece without flaws. There were so many mistakes, and what was very annoying was that he didn’t try to even press one single key clearly. There were always some unnecessary strike in nearby keys and that made the whole performance messy. He played a particular waltz which I was teaching to one of my students, and I can proudly say that she played with much more clarity and common sense.

After that private recital I totally lost interest in the whole project and really regretted myself for not doing my homework. It’s true what people said. The things you regret the most are usually the things you didn’t do. I should have insisted on having that sound sample. I should have asked for second opinion.

The most infuriating thing is that I felt guilty and awful for bringing such a stupid musician and making people pay for the crap he made. Of course, I shouldn’t feel this way especially since a lot of people did seriously enjoy his playing (and to talk about beginner’s luck, he sold out 2 recitals and got a packed hall in 1 recital) and even praised him with absurd acclaims. But people who understood good music, and many of them were among my audience in Bandung and Jakarta, were really disappointed and also quite mistified about why I would have presented such unprofessional musician in the first place. All this time I suppose I have somehow grown trust in my audience, in the people I work with, that what I present to public will be the best and nothing but the best. One of CCF Directors, knew that this project wasn’t initiated by my company, warned me kindly that in the future he will only cooperate with my choice of artists. Fair enough. I think I learned a lot by compromising and I knew better next time.

My mentor kept telling me that I shouldn’t feel bad about what’s going on because my role was only as mediator and that in the end, all ethical and moral responsibility should be in the hand of the artists. But to make me remember the lesson, I kept on telling myself that when I first build Classicorp, I had a moral obligation to myself to give nothing but the best, and when you don’t act according to your own principle, it ain’t gonna feel good.

Music for Sale

For the past couple of years there’s been a growing trend in Indonesian music school society to hold concerts in shopping malls. The reason is a cliché: where would be the best place to sell things but in a place full of people? And just like any marketing formula, people working to sell music education also seem to think that the product must be brought to the customer. In some part this makes a damn good sense, especially in the market where more and more competitors emerge. Another thing is, with the raising of middle-class society in Asian markets, including Indonesia, more and more households opt for music education for their children. So music schools must act quickly now by reaching out to its potential customers.

The music school where I work is one of those in business who is quite seized by this trend. When I started working there in 2007, I was asking myself like, “What??? Are they really going to sell performance of children who play 16-bars music to the public? (And often played badly too?)”Astonishingly though, a lot of parents don’t mind at all, and in fact, they are really proud that their children can already “perform” in public at such a tender age. Even more astonishing is that not so many teachers care so much about the content of the performance. Those who support this kind of event usually say that this gives the children an opportunity to build confidence before they could play in a “serious” concert. So it seems that this new marketing gimmick finds favour in pupils and their parents.

But then, on the first place, wasn’t it designed to aim for those people who are out there? This could seem like getting two things for the price of one: The schools are making their customers happy while trying to get new customers. But I don’t think we can measure the success of such program with the same sticks.

First of all, the questions I have in mind vis-à-vis getting new customers: (1) Is it really effective? Nobody hasn’t been able to prove that by doing this, the number of students enrollling increases by so-and-so percent. (2) Can music education (not so much as classical music) be taken as common good just like a piece of clothing or book or donut and thus be sold at public area like that? I think not. Being a still exclusive good (although no longer luxurious), music education isn’t something people impulsively “buy”. The decision in getting your children music education are influenced by so many things, just like when people are buying a car. Any sensible parents would ask themselves and their kids a lot of questions before they decide to go for it. I don’t think anyone who bumps into this kind of concert while shopping for a new pair of jeans will immediately enroll their offsprings to the nearest music institution the following day.

On the other side, when the school authorities say that this kind of event builds confidence in children, I must say that this is one of the biggest crap they could invent. I once prepared my kids for an event at a food court, and true, they played with more confidence that for a while I thought this trick really works. But then I found out that they were at ease because of one reason and one reason only: they think no one is really listening! They thought that people would just stop by for a while and with all the sounds from shops and cafes, no one could ever absorp anything and thus no one would critize nor comment any mistakes they’ve done. But once they’re back in even a small-scoped, closely-observed routines like studio classes, they’re back to having cold feet again. Once in a regular studio class where a lot of parents attended, all my kids played so badly that I had to make each and every one of them played everything again. When I asked one pupil, she said it’s because a lot of parents were there and the rest oft the class promptly shouting their amens. I think studio class is even more effective in building the “right” confidence in young musicians. It’s never easy playing for other people, even more for a lot of people, but when they want to do it they have to have the right confidence by knowing that they have worked hard to prepare themselves as best as they can and not by knowing that they won’t be reprimanded for any flaws in the performance. And sure, a lot of parents, when they enroll their children to music schools, have absolutely no idea what is required in a performance and how it should be done, but isn’t it our job as teachers to teach them that their children is never too young to share what is called a good music? And that they must take it seriously and see to it, because if they don’t, who else would want to do that?

A day after Christmas, the music school where I work gave a concert in one of the shopping center in the city. One of my students was playing Chopin’s waltz and I thought she played beautifully, but then her playing had to compete with all kinds of music from every corner of the plaza and the sound of people chattering that in the end, nothing good was much left. What a sad waste, if not complete. She worked hard for that piece and when she had the chance to share it, no one cared enough to appreciate the genius of Chopin and the process involved in bringing the music out. That night I decided to go my own way and hopefully, in time, some people can prove me wrong or they will finally see reason.

(Imported blog)

Happy New Year!

What's with the change of year that's so special?

I think the fact that new things always bring new hopes is what make new year such a fabulous happening (although no one in my family celebrate that anymore). New year is somehow like a new blank paper we can write on, like a fresh new t-shirt you put on after you take a long bath, like the quiet, clean and peaceful air after a big storm. It's a spirit-and-mind lifter for us by knowing that there'll be good stuffs await us in the upcoming days.

I spent my new year's eve skimming my teenage diaries and found that I always made resolutions for the new year. Some of them were carried out, some became only writings on paper. I didn't do this anymore and instead focusing on being grateful for what God has given me.

I must say that I felt very blessed last year with everything that has happened to me, good or bad. But I also know that I will be even more blessed this year, so when the first day began I didn't thank only for every wish granted, but also for things that are in store for me in 2010. Allan Chalmers said that the "grand essentials of happiness is something to do, something to love, and something to hope for." I know that this year is going to be my year because I have all of these.

Happy New Year, dear friends and readers, may your path be filled with love and that whatever we'll experience during this journey will make us a better person at the end of the year.