It's been long, very long.
Feeling my fingers dancing on the keyboard as if on instinct, I'm amazed. My ears are awakened, carefully listening, delicately coordinating my next move. I decided that I would not use a book. It would be a lie if I claimed that it is a voluntary response. Because it's not. The music that it sung, so familiar and yet so strange. I've not played it, nor heard it in years. My first few touches were awkward, and the rest just sprang into life... Oh, how I miss that feeling.
For months, the piano has been staying put, pretty much untouched, until today. And yet it is still gleaming. My mom made sure that it's constantly polished and dusty, so it can always be ready, ready to be played, ready to create music. Mom has been telling me that she hasn't heard me play in awhile now. Since the commencement of my course last September, I regret to say that I've not spent much time on my piano, that has been with me for as long as I can remember. That is when I started exploring the mobile world of the guitar. Even during my lessons with Eric, I can't help but to imagine the keyboard on the fretboard.
What else do I remember? I remember loathing piano classes because they're a pain, amongst art classes, mental arithmetic classes, tuition classes, school classes, etc. I remember my fingers slipping and stumbling on the keyboard the moment I realise that someone is watching. I remember quitting piano classes to commit into cheerleading, a sacrifice I made for a spirited team of 20. I remember regretting that I quit, and started to play on self initiative. I remember playing nearly everyday in the wee hours of the morning during SPM, to relieve my stress. Yes, I remember. The songs that I've played. Richard Clayderman, my favourite.
Today I played again. It is a feeling unrivalled by the guitar. Definitely.