To Whom It May Concern - By Lala Law Shing Yee

Written By: Lala Law Shing Yee

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Lala Law Shing Yee presents a deeply emotive narrative with her short story "To Whom It May Concern," featured in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This compelling piece delves into the internal struggles and triumphs of a young musician navigating the expectations of family, educators, and her own aspirations. Through a series of intimate letters, Lala captures the essence of a universal journey of self-discovery and the pursuit of one's true calling amidst societal pressures.

About the Work

"To Whom It May Concern" explores themes of passion and resilience through a heartfelt epistolary format. The story's emotional depth is conveyed through vivid letters that reflect the protagonist's internal conflict and determination. Lala Law Shing Yee skillfully uses the narrative to paint a picture of a musician's life, filled with moments of doubt and courage, ultimately leaving readers with a poignant reflection on the pursuit of dreams.

To Whom It May Concern

Original Submission by Lala Law Shing Yee

To Whom It May Concern by Lala Law Shing Yee

1

TO: Mum and Dad

DATE: 26 September 2022, 22:48

SUBJECT: Sorry, but I have to do this

STATUS: Draft

Dear Ma and Pa,

I can already hear what you will say when you read this.

You will remind me that hobbies and interests would not put food on my table, and point out that all my friends went to prestigious law schools or medical schools. You will remind me of all the days and nights you have worked just to save for my education and expecting me to one day land a job that earns back every cent of my tuition. You think I am still too young and naive, making a decision that I am bound to regret when I get older, and I should simply take your words all in just because you know what is best for me and since you have “eaten more salt than I have eaten rice”.

I wish I could stand in front of you with total confidence and assure you that I am mature enough for this, that I know exactly where music will take me, that I will be touring the world as a successful concert pianist, that I will earn far more than the cost of my tuition, and that my passion for music is my divine calling and will never ever fade.

You know what some of my teachers in school have said about me. They think I do not deserve a place in tertiary education since I do not have the best grades in class. They view learning music as a joke, writing off music as something only failures pursue instead of building a serious future around it. In their eyes, my best option was to enter the workforce straight out of high school. My Additional Mathematics teacher intentionally took it a step further, hinting to me that nobody would ever hire me anyway.

A lot of times, especially during the calmest hours of the night, I often catch myself wondering if all of you were actually right. Could it be God that was using you, as my parents, to deliver a message that I am supposed to obey? As trained educators, should their judgment not carry more weight than mine?

You both were afraid that I would end up regretting my decision one day.

In fact, I am scared too. However, there is also a part of me that whispers: What if it works out? What if I am actually right this time?

I would rather risk my future trying than spending the rest of my life wondering what could have been. Even if I stumble halfway through this journey, I would crawl to the finish line if that is what it takes.

I do not know if I am able to prove anyone wrong, but I am eager to go for broke.

The silence following my news about being accepted to music school, I take that as your quiet blessing and an unspoken acceptance. I am deeply grateful for that.

My flight is tomorrow. In less than twenty-four hours, I will be stepping into a life that neither of us knows about yet. I wish I could tell you how thrilled I am to start building a life in music that I have always dreamed of, but the truth is, I am terrified. I am terrified in every way that I could think of: navigating a new city, making new friends, adjusting to a new piano teacher and simply parting from the two of you who love me dearly. I want to say, I love you both, from the bottom of my heart, and I am so sorry that I chose to disobey this time.

Take care.

I love you.

With gratitude and love,

Janie.

2

TO: Professor Robinson

DATE: 2 July 2024, 00:23

SUBJECT: With Sincere Gratitude

STATUS: Draft

Dear Professor Robinson,

I hope this email finds you well.

Hours have passed and I am still waiting for the reality of it all to sink in. I survived the recital. This is a sentence I never thought I would actually type. My mind has been replaying all the moments before, during and after the recital, and honestly, I do not know whether I want to laugh, cry, or simply sleep for the next three days. With the adrenaline still running through my bloodstream, I thought this is a good time to appreciate and reflect on your mentorship over the past three years. Thank you for your endless patience, your encouragement and above all, your fierce determination to forge a recitalist out of me. Without you, I would not have been the musician who stood on that stage today.

I remember sitting at the piano before playing my first note, desperately trying to convince myself that I remember all the notes, that I was well prepared, that I knew what I was doing and that I definitely did not regret signing up for this. There were moments when my mind was unbearably noisy, and moments that it went frighteningly blank until I eventually lost my thread in the Rachmaninoff piece (I am really sorry for messing up this piece again). I tried my best to carry on as though nothing was off, because “keep going” was what you had always trained me to. I still remember you wrote those two words on my Beethoven Sonata, though it was for a different purpose.

I remember you being the first person I saw backstage after I took my final bow. I do not think I would ever forget the first words you said to me.

“That was very brave.”

It definitely was. But honestly, I had expected something more conventional, like a “Well Done”, or a “Congratulations”, or even a “You played well” even though I did not quite play well. Instead, you chose to acknowledge my bravery. Perhaps you understood something that most musicians did not: that getting through a recital was more than just hitting the right notes.

When I say I could not have done this recital without you, you know I truly mean every word of it. I still remember vividly the look on your face after I told you that I wanted to give up my graduation recital. While every other student was working their tails off in the hope of being selected as a recitalist, I told you I would rather write a dissertation as research sounded less terrifying than standing alone on a stage with fifty minutes of music and my extremely unreliable memory and my almost incurable performance anxiety. I genuinely thought it was the best option for me.

You could have accepted my decision like how you told the other students that regardless of recital or research, both were valid ways to graduate. Rather, you arranged a meeting for us the following morning, despite your already demanding schedule. You said it with such urgency like it was a life-threatening emergency.

We talked for half an hour. You said you have taught me long enough to know my actual abilities despite me not seeing it for myself. You assured me that I could pull it through this and it would be a valuable experience for me as a music student. Honestly, I did not walk out of your office with a sudden, miraculous amount of confidence. Somehow after the meeting, I thought I could trust you. By some means, it was the borrowed belief that got me through the recital and all the ups and downs leading up to it. Words could not adequately express how grateful I am to have your support throughout this long journey.

Time flies and I am heading to Germany for an intensive learning program in another three months. I considered myself blessed to have you as my piano professor for the past three years. I have learned so much from you, from music and beyond, and I know I am going to miss our lessons more than I probably realize right now.

As I am writing this, I recall the advice you said to me in our last lesson:

“Remember to always have faith in yourself.”

I promise to carry this advice with me wherever I go.

Thank you for lending me your belief when I had none of my own. I suppose maybe music is not something I need to leave behind just yet.

Take care, Professor Robinson. I will come back and bug you once I return!

Warm regards,

Jane Elizabeth.

3

TO: My Partner in Crime

DATE: 12 April 2025, 03:56

SUBJECT: Seriously, WHAT DO YOU WANT

STATUS: Draft

Hi.

We have known each other for two decades. I feel like we have become more and more like strangers since I-do-not-know-when.

Is it not strange? You have been there for almost every version of me. From the little girl whose feet could barely reach the pedals, to the teenager who won competitions and aced piano examinations with flying colors, to the young woman who was determined to build a life around music and conquer the world with her ten fingers.

You were my favorite excuse to take a break from doing my homework, my proudest introduction, the thing I loved talking about most, and the one thing I could not imagine living without.

I gave you my childhood afternoons and evenings, my weekends, my holidays, and countless hours that could have been spent doing anything else. While my friends only had to worry about grades, I had to worry about wrong notes, weak fingers and whether my interpretation was convincing enough, and somehow never minded for the extra worry I had to tolerate as somebody who already has anxiety. I believed that if I worked hard enough, life would treat me better eventually.

However, somewhere along the way, hanging out with you became less about pure passion and more about striving for perfection, proving myself and surpassing other pianists. I became so preoccupied with trying my best to play the way my piano professor wanted until I forgot what it felt like to simply enjoy them and interpret it the way I wanted. Sometimes, I even felt like I was typing rather than feeling the weight of the keys and the music.

It has been seven months since I arrived in Germany. In fact, seven long, difficult months. I naively thought this would be the beginning of something wonderful. A scholarship, a foreign land, new musical experiences, and the opportunity to learn from maestros. I thought I would spend my days being a nerd, discovering music from perspectives that I have never thought of, having my music appreciated by fellow musicians and my professor, and becoming the pianist I had worked so hard to become.

Instead, I have been spending most of my days doubting my abilities, questioning myself if I made a mistake applying for this study trip, or even studying music in the first place, and of course, crying and occasionally wanting to vanish.

My practice hours grew longer as I still believe in “practice makes perfect” and maybe I just had not been working hard enough. Yet, I never seem to be getting any closer to meeting my professor’s expectations regardless how many hours I spent with you. The pieces assigned to me gradually got easier as well as my professor had begun to doubt my ability to handle more advanced repertoire.

I hate that I have started measuring our relationship by the number of notes I managed to play correctly. I hate that every time I sat down with you, I could almost hear my professor's voice echoing in my head, reminding me of everything I have done wrong and could have done better. I hate that I can spend most of my waking hours with you and still could not find a single bit of worth in me.

I hated that, you, something that once brought me so much joy and pride, has now become something I dread.

Do you remember that girl who went against her parents’ wishes just to pursue music? Do you also remember that music student who promised her former professor that she would always believe in herself?

I think she would be really disappointed in us now.

Anyway, it is not the time to give up just yet. There is, unfortunately, one more performance to prepare. After so many years of training myself to be resilient, I think I can still hold on a little longer. Just a little longer.

I think I still love you. At least, that is what I keep trying to convince myself. Maybe we need a little time to calm down after the final performance. For now, we have work to do.

Perhaps after the performance, we will somehow find our way back to how things used to be, as though nothing ever happened.

Three hours wasted on writing this ridiculous letter.

Well, whatever. It is not as though I can sleep anyway.

J.

4

TO: Professor Agnes

DATE: 5 June 2025, 01:01

SUBJECT: Request for Exemption from the Upcoming Performance

STATUS: Draft

(no message)

5

TO: Jane

DATE: 5 June 2026, 05:03

SUBJECT: Hi

STATUS: Draft

Dear Jane,

I have been meaning to write to you for a very long time. But I have to admit I still do not know what to say.

Browsing through my old drafts, I found the blank email you had intended to send to Professor Agnes to beg out of that performance. Leaving it completely blank, I supposed that says a lot about what was going through your mind back then. In the end, you performed anyway.

I will never forget how desperate you wanted to escape that performance, how many times you broke down during your practice, how your hands trembled and tingled during your performance, and how you had a split second of panic when you played a few wrong chords but carried on anyway. You were terrified and overwhelmed, yet remarkably brave. Though occasionally you still beat yourself up over the mistakes, I need that pianist to know just how proud I am of her, even till today.

I wish I could offer you a more reassuring update, a neat narrative of how everything happened shaped me into a wiser and stronger individual, but I do not have one. I am still figuring things out and honestly, most of the days feel as though I am standing completely still under an unrecognizable fog of grief. I just cannot seem to put my finger on exactly what it is I am grieving.

I mourn the daily discipline and wonder of being a practicing musician as well. There was always another piece to learn, another sound to chase until it matches the one I hear inside my head. There were endless rabbit holes of music history, recordings, interpretations, and ideas waiting to be explored. I miss being fiercely curious about subtle nuances that others do not even bother to notice. To me, those were absolute treasures. I miss being that music nerd who held on tightly to every book, workshop, lecture, seminar, or just anything that could bring me a tiny bit closer to becoming a better musician.

I think I mourn the girl who used to dream so boldly about her future. She looked at every other musician and teacher with admiration, sometimes even jealousy. She wanted to be like them one day, or even better than them. She always had people she wanted to learn from, pianos she wanted to try on and so many versions of herself she wanted to grow into. She believed as long as she tries hard enough, there is always a bigger world for her to unlock. Her dreams were probably unrealistic, yet they gave her a sense of purpose and excitement. They were the engines that drove her to give a little more of herself each day.

Perhaps most of all, I mourn the girl who never knew what it was like to dread the piano. She knew very well what it meant to be nervous before an examination or performance, the frustration of difficult repertoires, the exhaustion of long practice sessions, the performance anxiety that came weeks before the performance, and the physical aches and injuries from spending too many hours at the instrument. Those things were undoubtedly tough, but it was passion and her goals that carried her through. I do not think she was prepared for the day when simply sitting at the piano would feel so heavy.

My mum recently took up yoga classes. Every time she came home, she could go on about everything she had learned from the lessons, sometimes going into far more detail than I expected. Her eyes would light up, the pitch of her voice would go slightly higher with enthusiasm. She would bring it up at any time of the day because she was simply fascinated by what she had discovered.

I recognize that feeling. I know it too well.

I knew what it was like to come home from a lesson bursting with things I wanted to tell someone. When I was in Germany, I would call my parents or friends almost immediately after the lessons as I could hardly contain myself and wanted the whole world to know the new things I had learned and the new ideas I had discovered. I would fill notebooks with questions and spend time chasing answers that nobody asked me to find, or ask my teachers about it when we meet again in our lessons.

Watching my mum, I realized how much I miss that version of myself, just being embarrassingly, head-over-heels passionate about something that does not quite matter to many others.

Since I returned home, I noticed life has been strangely peaceful without music. I spent most of my days away from the piano. There are days when I feel grateful to wake up without a piece waiting to be practiced, without a schedule telling me how many hours I should be sitting at the instrument, without a deadline pushing me to get a piece presentable. I have also kept my distance from listening to music, and even scroll through social media on mute most of the time. I suddenly have time for other activities like reading, napping, hanging out with my family, trying out some new hobbies or simply doing nothing at all.

Yet, I would be lying if I said I never miss the person that I used to be.

Some days I wish I could have the piano version of myself back. Not the girl who wanted to win competitions or impress teachers, or prove that she was good enough. Just the girl who could simply sit at the instrument and play because she wanted to, who heard a new piece and wanted to try it out, who wanted to know everything about music. Other days I thought I should just sell the piano and stop pretending that music was something that was mine to have.

I have no clue of what my relationship with the piano will look like in the years ahead. I am learning to forgive myself for needing a rest and allowing myself to grieve that version of myself and that world that I once loved with every piece of my heart.

If there is better news: I saw a piano today. I did not stop, but something in me did.

Jane.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a prestigious platform celebrating the richness of literary expression from around the world. It brings together diverse voices, offering writers the opportunity to share their unique narratives and creative insights with a global audience. The competition continues to inspire and nurture the art of storytelling, encouraging participants to explore and express their authentic selves through the written word.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Lala Law Shing Yee for sharing "To Whom It May Concern" in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her evocative storytelling and exploration of a musician's journey offer profound insights into the complexities of following one's passion. We thank Lala for her contribution and wish her continued success in her creative endeavors.

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.