Playing The Piano Despite The Odds

By Foo Yee Ching (Althea Reese)

Chapter 1

My Maiden Encounter With a Piano

Singapore, 1986

My mother pressed the alarm as we stood at the metal gate of her friend’s two-storey terrace house at Serangoon Garden one Saturday afternoon in June. My small hand nestled tightly in my mother’s other hand. The house stood before us, its white walls stark against the deep maroon roof. I felt a slight flutter of apprehension as the metal gate with ornate floral carvings creaked open, and we stepped through.

“Welcome to my home,” declared Aunty Angela, my mother’s friend. She was fair-complexioned, slim and tall. Her short, jet-black hair framed her big, expressive eyes, which seemed to light up as she greeted us at the gate.

“Thank you, Angela, for inviting us to your home,” my mother replied with a smile. At just 1.54 metres tall, my mother looked petite next to Aunty Angela, but her bright eyes and confident voice always made her seem larger than life to me.

Aunty Angela’s eyes fell on me. “Is this your daughter? She’s enchanting. What’s her name?”

My mother nudged me gently. “Yes, this is Le Xuan, Fang Le Xuan. Go on, say hello.”

“Hello, Aunty Angela,” I murmured shyly, barely meeting her gaze.

She bent down slightly, looking at me with a kind smile.

“Hello, Le Xuan, welcome to my home. What a beautiful girl you are! You resemble your dad with large, expressive eyes and a sharp nose. I adore your pigtails—they’re adorable,” opined Aunty Angela, with a welcoming smile.

I felt my cheeks flush, but managed a soft, “Thank you, Aunty Angela.”

As we stepped into her home, a glossy black upright piano positioned on the left side of the door captivated my attention. It stood elegantly, a white lace cover draped across its top like a crown. I could not help staring at the piano. My heart skipped a beat, intrigued and captivated by the musical instrument.

Aunty Angela must have noticed my awe because she strolled over and gently lifted the piano cover. 

“Would you like to try?” she quizzed with a kind smile, her voice soft like the notes I imagined the piano could play.

I hesitated but nodded with a bashful smile. With trembling fingers, I pressed a single key—just one with the index finger of my right hand. A simple note echoed, filling the room. It was surreal. I pressed another, then another, each time a new sound, as if the piano spoke to me.

I could not help but grin, my earlier bashfulness dissipating. The sound was not music yet—just scattered notes—but to me, it was enchanting to hear music emanating from every key I pressed on the piano. With every key I pressed, it felt as if I was unravelling a secret world. I yearned to play a proper tune. But I was enthralled nonetheless. I marvelled at how an instrument could bring me so much delight. 

While my mother and Aunty Angela chatted over tea, cakes, pastries, and cookies, I lost myself in another world playing the piano, tapping out more notes, each more thrilling than the last. The tea, the pastries, and even the chatter of the adults became background noise. The beautiful black piano mesmerised me.

After we left Aunty Angela’s home later that afternoon, I hardly recalled anything about the visit. I just remembered the feeling of my finger pressing those piano keys, the sound of the notes.  

That night, I lay in bed dreaming and envisioning the day I could play a beautiful tune on the piano with both hands. I dreamt that the piano melodies I played lingered in the room, bringing joy and peace to everyone around.

Chapter 2

The Epitome of Grace and Beauty

Singapore, 1987

I studied at Paya Lebar Methodist Girls’ Primary School (PLMGPS), though I was not a Christian. The uniform comprised a white blouse tucked under a navy blue pinafore, accompanied by a crisp white belt. 

Some of my fond memories from those school days were the weekly Chapel sessions. Though I did not share the faith, I loved the Christian hymns that filled the hall. I loved several tunes: ‘A Common Love’, ‘Amazing Grace, How Sweet the Sound’, ‘A New Commandment I Give Unto You’, ‘As the Deer Panteth for the Water’, ‘Did you ever talk to God above?’, ‘El Shaddai’, ‘Empower Me’, ‘Father I Thank You’, ‘He’, ‘His Love is Warmer’, ‘I don’t know’, ‘It Only Takes a Spark’, ‘Let There be Love’, ‘Jesus Shall Take the Highest Honour’, ‘Majesty’, ‘Shine, Jesus, Shine’, ‘The Way that He Loves’, ‘This is the Day, This is the Day’, and ‘What a Friend We Have in Jesus’. She also loves the Christmas songs, ‘For Unto Us’, ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, ‘Joy to the World’, ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’, and ‘Silent Night’.

Ms Lee Shi Lin, our music teacher, was at the heart of these moments. Brilliant and transcendentally talented, Ms Lee was a virtuoso pianist who played the piano during the chapel. Whenever Ms Lee played the piano, the entire hall fell silent. She captivated the attention of everyone, leaving all the students and teachers mesmerised. The chapel echoed with the most beautiful melodies, sweet, uplifting, and profound, underpinned by lilting rhythms she improvised with lush and rich harmonies. Her fingers effortlessly glided across the keys, epitomising grace and elegance. 

To me, Ms Lee’s superb craftsmanship has propelled her to the league of the ethereal and the divine, enthralling, and transporting me to a surreal, and mystical dreamland, far away from the hustle and bustle of school life. Her peaceful, soothing, and melodious music brought inner peace, calm, tranquility, and joy, striking a chord deep in our hearts, soothing the hearts and minds of everyone listening to her music. 

I will never forget how she looked—slim, tall, and graceful frame, about 1.68 metres tall. She had large, expressive eyes, a sharp nose and a fair complexion. With her shoulder-length hair neatly in a bun, Ms Lee often wore a lilac-coloured, off-shoulder, knee-length dress that made her seem even more composed and demure. To me, she was the epitome of elegance, magnetism and charisma. 

One day during recess, I turned to my Primary One partner, Neo Shi En, as we chatted about Ms Lee.

“Isn’t she beautiful? She is beautiful, composed, graceful, poised, and elegant,” I asserted, ruminating about how she strolled, captivating attention wherever she went. “I wish I could be like her when I grow up.”

“Yes, she is the embodiment of grace and beauty indeed,” Shi En affirmed, nodding in agreement.  

“I love the way she plays the piano, too. It transports me to another world where peace, serenity and tranquility prevail. I wish I could play the piano like her someday,” I shared. 

“I agree. She plays the piano very beautifully indeed,” she opined. 

The experience at my mother’s friend’s house, with that first touch of the piano keys, had already sparked my interest. But it was Ms Lee’s melodious music that planted the seed that would eventually inspire me to play the piano. 

I dreamt of the day I could play the piano with both hands like Ms Lee does, transporting listeners to dreamland while soothing their hearts and minds with music that evokes peace, tranquillity and serenity. I yearned to follow in her footsteps.

Chapter 3

The Anticipated Arrival of the Piano 

Singapore, 1987

From the moment I first heard the delicate notes of a piano, I yearned to learn to play. I envisioned the gentle melodies filling our home as the keys responded to my touch. One evening, unable to contain my excitement, I discussed it with my mother.

“Mama, I would love to play the piano,” I declared.

My mother raised her eyebrows in surprise, her hands pausing over the dishes. 

“Would you like to play the piano?” she queried, her tone both curious yet cautious.

I nodded, with my eyes gleaming with rapture and anticipation. 

“Maybe we can explore some pianos at Yamaha,” she suggested. 

Shi En, always resourceful, was the first classmate I shared my intention with. She had a way of making everything seem possible, and I knew she would help me figure this out.

“I told my mother I wish to play the piano. She’s thinking about getting one.”

Shi En beamed, as if she were already working on a solution. 

“My aunt works at Yamaha. She could help you pick the perfect one,” Shi En pointed out. 

“That will be great! Let me know where your aunt works. I will tell my mother to bring me there,” I replied.

“Sure, I will check with my aunt and let you know,” Shi En affirmed.

Shi En told me the address of the outlet where her aunt worked. My mother and I went to the store where her aunt worked. 

The Yamaha showroom came alive with the gentle hum of music. Rows of gleaming pianos stood like silent sentinels, each one promising a world of melody. My fingers tingled with excitement as I approached the brown upright model.

We tried on a walnut coloured piano. As I pressed the keys, the higher octaves rang like birdsong on an early morning. The music emanating from the piano sounded surreal and light-hearted. The sound filled me with a sense of joy that was almost too pure to contain.

“For beginners, I recommend getting this piano. The wood is of good quality. The music sounds very bright and light. It’s about $3,000,” explained Shi En’s aunt, with short hair, large expressive eyes, and about 1.65 metres tall. 

“Thank you, we will get this then,” declared my mother. 

My mother had always been independent. In her younger days, my mother had been a career woman, thriving in the fast-paced world as an account executive. Before she stopped working to care for my younger sister, she had driven to work every day in her yellow hatchback. I could sense a flicker of that woman now as she considered the piano purchase, weighing practicality against my newfound passion.

The day the piano arrived, I could hardly contain myself. Every minute felt like an hour. Finally, the delivery truck pulled up outside our four-room flat in Serangoon. I stood by the door, my heart racing as they carefully wheeled the piano into the living room. They set it opposite the main door, near the window. The piano was placed adjacent to the sofa, and diagonally opposite the TV console. It was perfect.

As I touched the keys for the first time in our home, I felt a rush of gratitude. This was just the beginning of music, dreams, and endless possibilities. 

“It’s so beautiful. Thank you, Mama,” I whispered, the words barely capturing the joy that overflowed from my heart.

I pressed the piano keys one by one, hoping that I could one day play the piano with both hands, like Ms Lee. 

 

Chapter 4

A Dream Almost Shattered

Singapore, 1987

The familiar scent of wood filled the music room as I sat nervously at the piano. 

It was only my second piano lesson at the Braddell Community Centre, but the pressure to perform felt immense. My piano teacher hovered nearby, her ruler in hand, watching me like a hawk. The brown upright piano stood in a room facing a cream-coloured wall with a clock. On the left of the piano were large windows with black panes. On the right of the piano was the door. The room, the size of two bedrooms, had warm white lighting. 

My heart raced as my eyes darted across the music score, struggling to make sense of the bean sprouts across the five horizontal lines. My stomach churned in knots, and my hands trembled slightly as I placed them nervously on the white piano keys. Beads of perspiration gathered on my forehead, and my teacher’s watchful gaze made it hard for me to breathe. I prayed silently, “Please let my fingers, mind, and eyes work harmoniously when I play this tune on the piano.” 

As I mustered the courage, I hesitantly pressed down the piano keys—a sharp pain shot through my hand. A ruler had smacked against my knuckles.

“Le Xuan, that’s wrong!” My teacher’s voice echoed through the room, sharp as the ruler that had swiftly cracked against my knuckles. “Why are you so stupid?” she yelled, her words hitting harder than the ruler, their sting lingering long after the sound faded.

Hot tears welled in my eyes and trickled down my face, blurring my vision. Humiliation washed over me in waves. I felt utterly foolish; perhaps playing the piano was not my forte. Why couldn’t I read those notes that seemed like a jumble of bean sprouts? How did others make it look so effortless, their fingers dancing swiftly across the keys with elegance and refinement, while mine stumbled at every note?

Following the lesson, I quietly packed my music scores into my bag, wiping away my tears. My mother, Lim Mei Shan, was waiting outside as always, not trusting me to walk home alone at the tender age of seven. She looked at my face, streaked with tears, and her eyes softened.

“What happened, my dear?” My mother enquired with concern as she bent down to meet my tear-filled eyes. She was 39 then, her short-cropped hair framing her kind, dark complexion. Her bright, single-lidded eyes searched my face for answers as she gently took my trembling hands. Though she was petite, only 1.5 metres tall, my mother was a pillar of strength, always looking out for me.

“My teacher scolded me… she called me stupid,” I murmured, with tears trickling down my face again.

The music teacher who declared I was stupid had cast a pall, a dark and depressing cloud, on my dreams. That painful memory lingered, etched deep in the recesses of my mind. 

That was the final formal piano lesson I ever took. I never touched the piano keys in front of a piano teacher again. Though I was still passionate about playing the piano, the painful memories of the sting of that ruler and hurtful words stymied my progress. 

But I did not let these painful memories linger for long. I still clung to the hope of playing the piano beautifully with both hands. In retrospect, it shaped me into the resilient person I am; someone who would never give up, despite the bruises sustained.

Chapter 5

Guessing the Next Note

Singapore, 1990

When my cousin Alicia Kang visited one afternoon, she brought with her a simple yet magical gift—music.

At fifteen, five years older than me, Alicia could play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" with her right hand. I watched in awe as her fingers danced across the keys, effortlessly bringing the familiar melody to life.

"How do you know which note to play?" I quizzed, mesmerised by the sound, my fingers hovering just above the keys, eager to try. Desperate to find my way in, I was keen to know the magic behind those notes, to create music like she did. 

Alicia smiled and leaned closer. "On your right hand, you can play the primary note. You just guess," she asserted, her voice brimming with encouragement. "Guess whether the next primary note is higher or lower than the previous note."

Her simple but profound advice was akin to a secret key, unlocking a world I had longed to explore.

I returned to the piano day after day. My small hands tried to replicate what she had shown me, guessing the next note. After I successfully played ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’, I tried playing other simple, familiar melodies, testing each note to see where the next one would lead. With every practice, I grew more confident and more in tune with the piano. I was not merely pressing the keys anymore, I was creating music. Gradually, familiar tunes took shape, permeating the room with melodies that felt like my own.

I am eternally grateful to Alicia for teaching me the technique to play the piano with the right hand. Those early hours of practice, filled with joy and discovery, laid the foundations for a lifelong passion for playing the piano.

Chapter 6

Playing the Chords on the Left Hand

Singapore, 2000

When I was 20, I visited Jacqueline Chua’s home on a Saturday. Her parents’ home was nestled at the heart of Serangoon Gardens. In the living room on the first floor stood an upright piano draped with a delicate white floral cover made of cloth in front of the main door. Jacqueline, my primary and secondary school friend and a gifted pianist, lifted the piano cover to reveal a glossy black piano polished to perfection. I smiled as I admired the instrument.

“Would you like to play the piano?” Jacqueline suggested, her eyes twinkling with encouragement. She shifted the black bench outward, and motioned me to take a seat with a warm smile. 

I hesitated, but sat down, placing my fingers on the cool ivory keys. I played a familiar melody with my right hand, a simple tune I had picked up by ear over the years. Jacqueline listened, then slid beside me on the bench.

“You've got a good ear,” she declared.

Jacqueline played a tune on the piano beautifully, attesting to her Grade 8 and Diploma in piano. Her hands glided over the keys effortlessly, interweaving the notes together and filling the room with rich and melodious music. I was awestruck.

“Could you teach me how to play like that?” I implored, eager to learn her technique.

With a gentle smile, Jacqueline began her lesson. 

“Your right hand plays the melody or the keynote. Say for the right hand, the keynote is E, you press C, which is two notes lower, together with the E concurrently. For the left hand, start with C in the lower octave, two notes below E. Then, move your left hand to the right in intervals of two, two, three, and two notes,” she explained.

I took in every word, my fingers already itching to try the new technique. At home, I played the piano by listening for the next note while leveraging Jacqueline’s technique. The first few weeks were frustrating. My fingers on my left hand felt clumsy, unused to the new pattern, and fumbled over the notes. I often had to stop and start again. 

But as I practised more, the music flowed. I heard the difference. The music deepened, and my confidence grew. Soon, I was playing complete songs with both hands. The music I play on the piano has greater depth, the newfound richness that permeates the room. This technique sounded melodious particularly on the upper registers, the soprano sections to the right of the piano keys. 

“You are playing the piano differently these days,” noted Le Ting, my younger sister, two years younger than me. She stood at the doorway, arms folded, watching me with a teasing smile. Le Ting is taller than me. She has large, expressive eyes and a slightly darker complexion, and she never misses the opportunity to comment on my music.

“Yes, Jacqueline taught me a new technique.  It’s amazing how a minor change makes such a difference,” I replied, with pride about my progress.

Over time, I leveraged that technique to play different tunes on the piano. About six months later, my sister and I had this conversation.

“I have been hearing you play nursery rhymes, the school song, creed and hymn, Christian hymns, English pop, Chinese pop, Korean, Thai, Japanese and instrumental tunes on piano. You must have been practising a lot,” acknowledged Le Ting.

“Yes, I love playing. I will try any tune that I can remember!” I asserted. 

“I’ll bet! But do all your songs have to sound the same?” Le Ting teased with a mischievous grin on her face.

Years passed, and my proficiency improved.

One day, a friend sent me a video of himself playing. His left hand added a richness to the lower octaves I had not achieved. On the left hand, the technique encompassed playing the first and fifth fingers depressed together, then moving towards the right, in spaces of three, two, two, and three. I studied the video carefully. I shared this with Le Ting when she returned home on a Sunday.

“Recently, a friend sent me videos of him playing the piano. The entire piece resided in the middle register. He added an accompaniment that sounds richer on the lower octaves, also known as the baritone register to the left of the piano keys, to develop its base and anchor the piece. I will try the technique on the video while leveraging Jacqueline’s technique to bring lightness in the higher octaves or the soprano registers,” I explained.

Leveraging both techniques, I practised the finger exercises daily, where my fingers swiftly danced up and down the keyboard. Finally, one day, everything clicked. My hands moved together in harmony, producing a richer, more harmonious melody. It took me three months to master both techniques.

“I finally mastered the technique my friend taught me. It sounds richer now, particularly in the lower registers. Combined with the technique Jacqueline taught me for the upper octaves, the music sounds so rich with both the lower octave and upper octaves, enriching the tones,” I affirmed.

“Glad you mastered that technique. It does sound richer and more beautiful,” attested Le Ting, with a smile.

“Thank you,” I replied, beaming with joyful ecstasy. 

“Will you ever perform for others?” Le Ting enquired.

I smiled and shook my head. 

“No, I know my standards. I will never be a professional pianist who can play at concerts. I play the piano for the moments of calm it brings. Playing the piano enables me to de-stress and unwind from the pressures of daily work and personal commitments. Playing the piano offers me an avenue of expression, of thoughts and feelings I could hardly articulate verbally, given that I am introverted and not very vocal,” I opined. 

“But I hope my music can soothe the hearts and minds, bring comfort and solace, and uplift the spirits of my family, and neighbours when they are down. Apart from that, I also hope my music will brighten their lives by bringing them happiness, love, inner peace, and hope. I derive fulfilment and intrinsic satisfaction by doing that,” I explained.

The most melodious music I have interwoven into the tapestry of my cherished memories emerges not only from my fingers but from my heart.

Chapter 7

Some Piano Keys Malfunctioned

Singapore, 2015 

One Saturday morning in April, I sat at my beloved 28-year-old upright Yamaha piano, carved from walnut wood. Its surface bore the passage of time, its keys familiar beneath my fingers. But as I played, some notes betrayed me. A few keys faltered, sounding strangely off-pitch, like old friends forgetting our song.

Concerned, I called a piano tuner and arranged for him to visit our home. The piano tuner, a bespectacled man in his late forties, with a dark complexion and a quiet gaze, examined the instrument with practised hands.

“There is no hope for your piano,” he declared in Mandarin, with a finality that settled like dust in the room. “You should purchase a new one.”

His words lingered, echoing the death knell of my beloved piano, akin to a stab deep into my heart. The piano had not just been an instrument—it was my beloved companion through the decades. I discussed this with my sister, Le Ting.

“The piano tuner pointed out that there is no hope for my piano,” I mumbled with a quivering voice as tears trickled down my face. 

“I know how much you love your piano. It must be so painful for you to learn that your beloved piano is beyond hope. You feel you are losing a part of yourself,” Le Ting acknowledged. 

“My piano has accompanied me through close to three decades, bringing me hours of joy, comfort, solace, and hope. It has been my cherished friend all these years,” I acknowledged.

“In my darkest moments, the piano soothed my disillusionments and disappointments, bringing me comfort, solace, faith and hope to navigate life’s vicissitudes. In times of frustration, when stress, anguish, pent-up emotions, and a gamut of feelings were bottled in the depths of my heart,  the piano soothed my heart and mind, bringing me an oasis of peace and calm in the tapestry of my life,” I recounted, with tears welling in my eyes.

“Amid the hustle and bustle of daily life, the piano helped me destress, and relax from the pressures of daily work and personal commitments,” I pointed out.

“What do you intend to do now that a few keys are giving way?” asked Le Ting gently.

“I don’t know. As I am reluctant to part with it, I will hold out as long as I can, till more keys have malfunctioned,” I murmured. 

Chapter 8

Giving My Old Piano to My Sister

Singapore, 2019

By early October 2019, more of the piano keys malfunctioned. I knew my piano had reached the end of its life. I called my sister.

“More piano keys have malfunctioned. I think our piano’s time is up,” I acknowledged, with an air of resignation.

“Is there any way to save it?” Le Ting enquired, with a voice tinged with the same heartbreak I felt. 

“The only way to save it is to refurbish it by contacting Yamaha directly. The expense could be substantial. Would you like to consider refurbishing it?” I beseeched.

“I can call Yamaha to enquire about how much it costs,” proposed Le Ting, with a Grade 5 in piano, without hesitation. 

Days later, Le Ting called me. 

“Can you get Yamaha to transport the piano to my house? I will refurbish it. They will send it to Japan,” she affirmed with resolve.

“That is great. I will call Yamaha to arrange the transportation of the piano to your home. Thank you for saving our piano,” I acknowledged, a wave of heartfelt relief washing over me.

“Have you already called Yamaha? How much does the refurbishment of the piano cost?” I enquired.

“A few thousand dollars,” Le Ting replied softly.

Something in her voice betrayed her. I had a nagging feeling it was considerably more than that, as the piano had to be transported to Japan for refurbishment. But I did not press her for the full amount. 

She only told me the actual cost days later.

“I will tell you the actual cost of the piano’s refurbishment, don’t tell Mama. It was $10,000,” divulged Le Ting.

“What?! It was so expensive!” I gasped. 

“Yes, because they had to refurbish it in Japan,” Le Ting pointed out.

“It was a tremendous expense on your part. But thank you so much for saving our piano. I could not have afforded to refurbish our piano, as that is way beyond my budget,” I asserted.

“You are welcome. You can play the piano at my house when it has been refurbished,” suggested Le Ting. 

“Sure! I look forward to it!” I chirped. 

Chapter 9

Purchasing a Digital Piano

Singapore, 2019

In October 2019, I purchased a white Clavinova CLP-645 digital piano from Yamaha’s outlet at Plaza Singapura, a shopping mall at Dhoby Ghaut, for approximately $3,000. 

That same month, a white Clavinova CLP-645 digital piano was delivered to our home. It stood like a promise of a fresh start in the corner of my parents’ living room. 

When Le Ting visited our parents’ place on a Sunday, I showed her my new digital piano. She tilted her head, studying it with curiosity.

“It is beautiful. It looks sleek, compact, and elegant. Though it is digital, it resembles an upright piano, just lighter and shorter,” she noted.

“Why did you choose a white-coloured piano?” Le Ting enquired with intrigue. 

“I have always dreamt of playing a white piano; it is something I have been wishing for since I laid my eyes on the Sylvanian Family's white toy piano that I purchased,” I quipped with childlike wonder. 

“Haha, I see the childlike innocence in you; you are still young at heart. What are the benefits of the digital piano?” quizzed Le Ting inquisitively.

“It comes with headphones that enable me to play the piano without disturbing the neighbours. It features a kaleidoscope of modes: CFX piano, Bösendorfer piano, pop piano, warm piano, bright piano, organ, violin, jazz piano, harp, stage e-piano, and several other modes. The volume is also adjustable. You can adjust the touch sensitivity, the reverberation mode, and the intensity. It is also more affordable. My digital piano costs approximately $3,000. The more expensive digital pianos cost $7,000. The upright piano may range from $5,000 to $20,000. Also, digital pianos do not require tuning every year, unlike acoustic pianos,” I explained.

“Of all the piano modes, which do you often play in?” Le Ting enquired.

“I love playing the CFX piano, pop piano, and bright piano. The audio effects of the stage e-piano sound surreal and magical, particularly when I play tunes from Disney movies,” I disclosed.

“But what are the downsides of the digital piano?” quizzed Le Ting. 

“The digital piano has a lifespan of 15 years. The acoustic piano can last 30 years,” I pointed out. 

Chapter 10

A New Lease of Life for Our Beloved Piano

Singapore, 2020

In December 2020, my sister invited my parents and me to her place for Christmas. I went into the room with the piano. A white cloth with pretty pink floral prints was draped over the walnut-coloured Yamaha piano. 

“This is lovely. Thank you for resurrecting it. Can I play your piano?” I enquired, my heart full with emotion as I recounted the time the piano tuner declared the death sentence on our piano, and Le Ting’s last-ditch attempt to resurrect it through its refurbishment. Our beloved piano now has a new lease of life, pulsating with the rhythm of life. 

“Of course, go ahead and play it,” Le Ting encouraged, with a nod.

I played Jeffrey Michael’s ‘Braveheart’ and ‘Infinity’ on my sister’s piano. 

Towards the end, tears trickled down my face, my heart full. We almost lost our beloved piano. But our piano has navigated through the challenges and emerged triumphant through adversity. It has come full circle, now that it is back with us. 

“Thank you for giving our piano a new lease of life, I appreciate it,” I acknowledged with gratitude. 

“You are welcome!” quipped Le Ting.

Chapter 11

Attending Stephen Ridley’s Masterclass

Singapore, 2025

Even with all its features, something still felt missing. My melodies, though faithful, lacked soul. They fell flat, repetitive, and monotonous. The music had notes, but no narrative.  

Then one evening, as if led by intuition, I stumbled upon an advertisement for a Sunday masterclass by Stephen Ridley—a concert pianist renowned not only for his virtuosity, but for a revolutionary technique that reawakened the joy of piano-playing.

Intrigued, I registered for his masterclass. The session began at 10 am, Singapore time. Across the monitor screen of my computer, Stephen appeared—warm and full of passion.

Following the session, I shared the experience with my sister, Le Ting.

“During the Masterclass, Stephen shared that his mother had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on his music education. However, he conceived a method that enables people to play the piano beautifully, without substantial financial investment,” I explained.

Le Ting nodded, echoing my sentiment.

 “Yes. It’s rare to find such generosity of spirit,” she attested with warmth. 

“It is wonderful he has such a noble cause, to help people fulfil their cherished dreams of playing the piano and creating music. Through his technique, people without formal piano training can interweave melodies that soothe hearts and uplift minds,” I asserted. 

“What struck me most,” I added, “was how dedicated Stephen and his team were. It was his first masterclass in Asia. But from where he was, the masterclass ran till the wee hours of the morning. Yet he and his team gave it their all.”

“It’s wonderful that he’s bringing his method to Asia as well,” Le Ting affirmed. “People here deserve that opportunity, too.”

“Yes. Without his method, I would still be stuck playing lifeless, monotonous, and repetitive tunes. His technique will make the music come alive again,” I disclosed. 

“Hope the music you play on the piano will sound richer, add more texture, and become more varied with his technique. What else did he share at his Masterclass?” Le Ting queried.

“He introduced a few foundational techniques to play the piano, simple but transformative. Toward the end, he and his team invited us to join a full course that also included vocal training. Since I was only interested in piano, I didn’t register. But I’m glad I stayed till the end—he gifted three books to everyone who did. He gave them away freely, just after 1 pm, Singapore time,” I shared.

“Wonderful, good that you received the three books. Have you tried playing the piano with his technique?” inquired Le Ting.

“Yes, I did. Let me show you,” I asserted, sitting down at my Clavinova. “I’ll play Tale as Old as Time from Beauty and the Beast.”

As my fingers moved across the keys, the familiar melody bloomed. The tune sounded, not repetitive, but harmoniously rich with variations. It sounded surreal, akin to the music from the movies. Something once imagined, now fully realised. It was the way I wished I could play, that sounded like a pro. 

The notes floated through the air, bustling with life and vitality. It sounded like a story, not merely a song.

“Wow, that was spectacular! You sound like a pro now!” attested Le Ting, her widened eyes with delight.

“I am so thankful to Stephen Ridley and his team!” I quipped with a glimmer in my eyes and a radiant smile plastered on my face. 

“Then… Could you share those books with me?” Le Ting enquired, a hopeful smile playing on her lips.

I paused and opined, “I don’t think that would be right. They’re copyrighted. You should attend the masterclass and receive the books yourself.”

“You’re right,” Le Ting noted. “That would be an infringement. I’d love to attend his masterclass. Can you send me the link to Stephen Ridley’s masterclass?”

“Of course,” I replied with a grin. 

“I’ll send it to you right away,” I said as I turned on the computer and forwarded the email with Stephen Ridley’s Masterclass to my sister.

“In retrospect, it would have been easy to give up when the piano teacher scolded me ‘stupid’ when I was seven. Yet, I am glad I did not let her criticism pull me down. I held close to my dream of playing the piano with both hands. Now, I can prove my detractors wrong,” I opined. 

“Yes, I am so glad you did not give up, but persevered with tenacity,” affirmed Le Ting.

“My dream has always been to play the piano with both hands. Music enables me to recharge. It also offers an avenue to express my pain, sorrow, hurt, which I find challenging to articulate in words. Music offers a peaceful sanctuary, transporting me to another surreal world that soothes my heart and mind. Playing the piano always makes me feel better as the melody of the lilting music brings inner peace, hope and joy,” I acknowledged. 

“Wonderful that music offers you an avenue to relieve stress, bringing you calm amid any storm, physical, mental, or emotional,” Le Ting said.

“I am thankful to all the composers, musicians, pianists, violinists, cellists, saxophonists, and other musicians globally, past and present, including Stephen Ridley, who conducted the masterclass. They bring so much joy, hope, and peace through their music, enriching our lives,” I affirmed with gratitude and a radiant smile. 

“Yes, I agree, we have much to be thankful for; the composers, musicians around the world,” Le Ting said, with a nod. 

“Everyone has different strengths and passions. I love playing the piano. However, other individuals may hold their aspirations close to their hearts. It may be playing the violin, drawing, painting, gymnastics, ballet, athletics, swimming, tennis, badminton, pickleball, sports, baking, cooking, writing, or graphic design. It would be wonderful if parents could provide their children with exposure to various activities to discover their strengths and passions. It may develop into their hobby, or even a professional career in the future,” I explained.

“You are right, it will be good if the parents or schools can expose their children to a myriad of activities to unravel their strengths and passions. Such activities may also enable individuals to relax, unwind, recharge, re-energise, and rejuvenate amid the pressures of academic or work life,” Le Ting pointed out. 

Chapter 12

Quiet Reflections

Since my childhood, I had dreamt of playing the piano with both hands. My role model was my school teacher, a virtuoso pianist who captivated the attention of everyone with her sweet, beautiful, and uplifting melodies. 

What began with a child's trembling finger on a single key, and almost abruptly halted with the sharp strike of a ruler and my piano teacher’s comments that I am not good enough, blossomed into a lifelong symphony of resilience.

In the quiet solitude of the piano bench, I found not only music, but myself. I listened instead to the whisper of my heart: a longing, soft but unwavering, to make music not for perfection, but for peace. The piano has become my cherished confidante through life’s tribulations, while my fingers became the voice of my heart, offering an avenue to express my pent-up emotions bottled in the deep recesses of my heart. Playing the piano also enables me to re-energise amid the pressures of academic and work commitments. I hope the music pieces I play will bring comfort, peace, hope, and joy to everyone who listens to them.

From a piano nearly silenced to a digital rebirth; from conjectured notes to chords layered with depth and feeling; from the inspiration of Ms Lee to the revelations of Stephen Ridley-I have interwoven together a tapestry of depth and variation into my music. I will never be a concert pianist. But I fulfilled my dream of playing the piano with both hands and my heart. 

To anyone who is passionate about playing the piano but whose dreams have been shattered, Know this: What is broken may still play. What is forgotten may yet return. And what lives inside you, quietly, is often the loudest music of all.

The piano can be your cherished confidante through life’s tribulations, and the voice of your soul. The music you play on the piano may strike a chord deep in the hearts and minds of those who listen, bringing comfort, peace, hope and joy to everyone.

By embracing fortitude, and an indomitable spirit, the songs you are meant to play will always find their way back to you. This lyrical and uplifting narrative inspires you not to abandon your dream, despite the stumbling blocks.

                                                       The End

About the Author

This story was conceived, meticulously crafted, and penned by Althea Reese.

Passionate about writing, playing the piano, and appreciating the beauty of nature (skies and flowers), Althea Reese hopes to inspire readers with the inner strength, confidence, and courage to persevere and navigate challenges with an indomitable spirit, resilience, and fortitude. 

She encourages individuals to cherish their lives and perceive each day as a miracle and a present, with the reminder to focus on the present, as it is indeed a gift. Althea motivates individuals to pursue their passions, fulfil their innermost aspirations, optimise their potential to the fullest, and make a positive impact in this world. 

Althea also hopes her readers will embrace happiness, love, inner peace, joy, and gratitude in their lives.

By Foo Yee Ching (Althea Reese)