The Pianist

My brother asked me to write a lyric for his musical composition a few days ago. I did not nod, nor did I refuse.

The tune was somewhat familiar. I can’t recall to what song it was similar to though, but he told me his girlfriend said the same thing. I do believe there are at least three songs in this music world that sounds identical. Look at Maroon 5, all their songs sound exactly the same!

We’ve always known Dio was talented in music. He was about to apply to a music university in California, when my mother said, "No, music is not going to be your career. It's good that you have the talent, but a music career will not last." I somehow agree with her, but she makes it sound so harsh.

Noel, my oldest brother, had trouble saying 'Dio' when he was learning to talk, so my parents gave up and just let him say ‘Do’.

Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Si Do…

It was the beginning of his highly appreciated musical journey.

My parents love music. I mean, who doesn't? My mom especially. If you have the chance to see my house, you'll understand. My balcony fence is decorated with a G-clef and a few notes. My stairs hold the intro to Für Elise; my dining table is engraved with the whole score. G-clef shaped lights are everywhere, and the Baby Grand piano has the right to be called brand new. I even have musical towels! Peculiarly, neither one of my parents know how to play a tune. They said they never had the privilege to learn. Lucky me.

As a result to their musical incapability, they decided they want all their kids to at least be able to play the piano. "Just in case," they said. Just incase what? Just incase my job does not make enough money? Well, they never finished that sentence. I was left hanging. Just incase...

I learned how to play the piano when I was three. I loved those cute little stickers the teacher stuck on my page every time I finished learning a song. I wonder what Dio's motivation was, because when I became too old for a stamps and stickers, I despised piano lessons. I abhor the hour, excited for it to end. Unfortunately, she will never let me quit. I want to, I still do. The way I see it, I am only wasting my parents' money. Why continue?

We have Dio to serenade us by tickling the ivories at home.

I was amazed when I saw his old room... It was filled with golden G-clef shaped trophies I never knew about, some almost as tall as I am. Now that is talent. He is doing what he does best. He is the pianist, I should back off. I have my hands reserved for something my heart superlatively prefers. Just incase. Dio and I can still work together. We can be a team. I will make use of my microscopic hands.

I shall paint his melody with amorous poetry.

So may I quit, Mom?