Redrawing the Blueprint - By Lala Law Shing Yee

Written By: Lala Law Shing Yee

Category: Creative Non-fiction

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Lala Law Shing Yee, in her creative non-fiction piece "Redrawing the Blueprint," invites readers to delve into a deeply personal journey of transformation and resilience. As part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Lala shares her experience of studying abroad in Austria, a journey that challenged her identity and aspirations. Her narrative captures the essence of facing unexpected obstacles and the quiet yet profound realization of valuing life's small gifts over conventional achievements.

About the Work

"Redrawing the Blueprint" is a poignant exploration of identity and self-worth. Through evocative storytelling, Lala Law Shing Yee examines the emotional upheaval of pursuing a dream, only to confront unforeseen challenges. Her narrative is rich with introspective moments and vivid imagery, capturing the stark beauty of Austrian winters and the inner turmoil of a musician questioning her path. The piece ultimately conveys a powerful message about the importance of cherishing everyday joys amid life's uncertainties.

Redrawing the Blueprint

Original Submission by Lala Law Shing Yee

Redrawing the Blueprint by Lala Law Shing Yee

“Maybe you need a gap year to recover from your gap year.”

That was the joke my best friend cracked when I returned home this summer, but there was a quiet, aching truth behind it.

For as long as I remember, I have always dreamt of studying abroad. I have lost count of how many times I prayed for this one door to open until one day, just a month before my twenty-third birthday, the answer came in the most unexpected form.

Graz, Austria. It was a city that had not even crossed my radar. Raised in a middle-class household in Southeast Asia, an international education had always felt impossible. Yet, there I was, accepted into a music exchange program with a full scholarship. To be frank, it felt less like a scholarship and more like a golden ticket to a world I was not sure I actually deserved.

From the second I signed the acceptance letter, my mind raced with images of snow-covered streets, world-class concerts, and elite mentorship. I thought to myself, maybe the universe finally recognized my effort and decided it was my turn to be rewarded.

For most of my life, improvement and success has been my measure of worth. So, when I arrived in Austria, I was very sure what my task was. Improve as a musician and make some achievements, as simple as that. What I did not expect was to meet a professor who would make me question all my life choices, including whether I still wanted to play the piano at all.

Initially, I thought I just needed some time to adapt. The standards were different, the environment was different, surely, I have to be different. Being thousands of kilometers away from home and trying to navigate a language I barely spoke, I was still convinced that I was still improving, though in a painful way.

But as months went by, the professor was still not impressed. In fact, she started treating me like an intruder in her studio. From “Your fingers are not well trained.” to “What you just played does not deserve to be heard in Austria.” The comments only became sharper, lessons got shorter, and mistakes that once felt like ordinary parts of learning began to feel like evidence of personal inadequacy.

There is a particular cruelty in being told that you are not good enough at the one thing you have spent most of your life trying to be good at, especially when you have built your entire identity around it. My education said music. My qualifications said music. My experiences said music. My memories said music. My identity said music.

Slowly, I found myself becoming afraid of lessons. I began to dread the instrument I had once passionately run towards. I stopped listening to music. I hesitated before introducing myself as a “music student.” Eventually, I reached a point where I could no longer tell whether I was really not capable enough, or I was terrified, or I burned my passion towards music.

How could something I loved so much suddenly feel like a treat?

The piano and I have been best buddies for two decades. With that being said, leaving was not part of the plan at all. Even now, I occasionally find myself sitting in a corner of the practice room, staring at the piano from across the room. I think about the days and nights of practice, the sweat and tears, the pieces I once hated before loving and the pieces I once loved before hating.

Who would I become if everything related to music stopped?

Since the day I arrived home, I revengefully stopped what used to be my daily practices at the piano. Though my fingers stopped, my brain never stop thinking about it.

Then, I began grieving.

I grieved for the little girl who thought wiggling her fingers on the piano was fun and that she would continue wiggling them for the rest of her life and the teenager who religiously believed “practice makes perfect”. I grieved for the pre-college student who told almost everybody that she was going to study music, even though her results could take her to law school and the university student who had survived difficult recitals by telling herself that the next one would definitely be better. I grieved for the exchange student who left part of herself behind in Austria; the Christian pianist who once tearfully promised her life to God through music, and the daughter who simply wanted to make her parents proud.

For months, I thought leaving the piano meant that all those years had been wasted. I wondered what it meant to have spent twenty years learning a skill only to realize that I might have gone down the wrong rabbit hole. It was difficult to look back at those sacrifices and wonder why they had led me somewhere I was never meant to go.

Then, one ordinary afternoon, my phone lit up.

“Henry sent you a message.”

A notification popped up on my phone. I have not heard from Henry since we both returned from our exchange programs in Austria. He plays the cello and we do not normally talk unless there is another collaboration that he is planning.

It took me hours before braving myself to read his message. Another collaboration? No way. Not only that I was barely practicing, I was also planning to leave the music world altogether. The thought of even explaining that to another musician felt strangely humiliating.

There is an unspoken understanding among musicians that everyone struggles. You just have to bear with it as things only get harder for musicians. From bad days, difficult teachers, injuries or bad performances, to getting not even a penny from busking, auditions that do not get anywhere or failing to get a full-time performing job. Defeated by one difficult piano professor? How pathetically weak is that.

The universal gospel is that passion will carry you through the worst storms. Passion? I lost mine somewhere. How did I even get to this point?

When I gathered enough courage, I clicked into the message to see what he was up to.

“Hey, Gabrieee! How’s it going on your end?? The haze is terrible here and I miss winter in Austria. Autumn works too but I miss the snow so much! Thinking about you!!”

Snow.

That was it. Not another collaboration. Not a question about my practice. Not a conversation about music. Just snow, and that was exactly seven months ago.

All these while, I have been busy grieving the past versions of myself, trying to figure out the future as quickly as possible while simultaneously learning how to live with the aftermath of an experience I had not expected to affect me so deeply: nightmares, flashbacks, exhaustion that made me feel like there was always a sleep in me that had not been slept off. Even doing the simplest things required more energy.

Then, Henry mentioned snow.

In that instant, I was back in my dormitory kitchen, watching my very first snowy morning in Graz. I had seen snow in movies before, in magazines too, but never like this. I had always imagined what it would be like to wake up in a city covered in white. As Graz is one of the most sunniest and warmest cities in Austria, the unexpected snowfall felt so magical that my parents joked that the weather had arranged this special performance especially for me. Seeing that, and later stepping outside the falling snow, I remember shedding my first tears of pure joy in that foreign country.

Surprisingly, those were not my last. They began to come from places I never quite expected: travelling to other parts of Europe, enjoying my own company exploring museums in Vienna or having conversations in German without switching to English. Then, the moments gradually became smaller: finding the last tub of my favorite Greek yoghurt at the supermarket, watching the evening sky turn pink on my way back from the campus, or catching the tram just before the doors closed. Eventually, even the simplest things made me happy: getting the washing machine immediately when I needed one, falling asleep before midnight, or waking up to the chirping of birds at my window. The moments seemed to become smaller and smaller, yet, the happiness they brought me only grew.

Perhaps my study trip to Austria was not just a site of failure and cruelty, it was a humbling experience that led me to renewing my ultimate goal in life: to cherish all life’s smallest gifts and surprises. After twenty-three years of believing that my life is tied to improvements and achievements, I am determined to spend the rest of my life unlearning that. None of the little things in life would ever make it onto my CV, but somehow, those were the exact moments that gave me the most comfort and peace.

Who would I be if everything related to music stopped?

Somebody who notices and appreciates the little mercies in life.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a celebration of literary creativity, offering writers around the world a platform to share their voices and stories. This prestigious event showcases a diverse range of works across various genres, highlighting the beauty and power of written expression. It serves as an inspiring arena for both emerging and established writers to engage with a global audience.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Lala Law Shing Yee for her thoughtful contribution, "Redrawing the Blueprint," to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her piece is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the transformative power of life's seemingly small moments. Thank you, Lala, for sharing your journey and inspiring readers with your words.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.