Fantasie-Impromptu

my college admissions essay. wrote this in 2008 before my senior year of highschool. 

Fantasie-Impromptu

After two hours of listening to student after student perform at the recital, my eyelids hung heavily and my once upright posture began to flag. Suddenly a colossal sound captured my attention. As I listened, my heart ached because I longed for the ability to play the song.  I hastily flipped to the last page of my recital pamphlet. My eyes skimmed downward to the last line of the page.  There it was.  Fantasie-Impromptu by Frederic Chopin.

Four years later I sat in front of the piano. I had just finished playing the last note of Chopin’s Fantasie-Impromptu, the last note of its eleventh page. I looked over at my piano teacher who was wiping away tears from her eyes. I felt myself blush as she clapped loudly. “Never,” she proclaimed, “Never have I seen anyone master this song in only three weeks.” Three weeks.  Her words echoed in my ears. I remembered how three weeks ago she doubted my ability to master the song. I felt grateful that I did not underestimate my potential. 

 
Since the day I mastered the song, I abused it. Every time I caught sight of a piano I casually waltzed over and played the song. The song was my key to attention, to approval. I enjoyed watching the looks of astonishment and hearing the gushing compliments. It wasn’t until I saw another girl take my place that I understood my crime.

She was like me; a girl from a Korean family who was probably forced into taking piano lessons by a strict and demanding mother. Unaware of her exploitation of Chopin’s masterpiece, she only wanted approval.  I watched.  I allowed her movements, the crowd around the piano, their reactions, and her face to engulf me like a water-logged car sinking below a murky surface.

I went home that day feeling not pride or happiness but guilt. I stared at the once-revered Chopin, Selected Favorites for the Piano. I let the pages flip to the last song. I realized that my piano teacher was right when she originally doubted my ability to master it. I had only focused on playing the song for my personal gain, never stopping to appreciate it.  I looked at its complexity, how the beat of the bass clef was in a separate world from the treble clef. It resembled the paradox that lay in me – a battle between my artistic, carefree world and my responsible, obedient nature.  However, the two worlds in the song were able to merge to create one harmonious and beautiful melody. I flipped the pages to the core of the song, the part with the slower tempo and emotion-filled melody. I remember that I had begun practicing the song from the core and not from the beginning. The core gave me hope to practice it. Unlike the high-spirited exterior, the calm core gave the song balance and serenity. I almost laughed at the similarities between the song and myself.

I stared at the pages once more in my piano teacher’s basement.  The recital was three months away.  Another student waited hopefully for my declination, but my teacher insisted that I was more suited to play the piece. However, I stood firm in my answer and chose to play a different, difficult but slow song by Liszt.

Recital day.  As the final note is played the audience gives a standing ovation.  After the long applause, I waltz not away from the piano but toward it, passing the beaming face of a petite girl who is clearly relieved.  I take a deep breath and place my shaking hands on the keys. The audience is anxious to listen to the final performance, wondering how on earth it could be better than the one they’ve just heard. I play the slow melody of the first line and imagine the disappointment on their faces. Ironically, the image makes me smile. Chopin would have been proud.