I was seven when I was first introduced to the sweet sounds of the piano. At seven, there isn’t much that goes through that small, innocent mind. At seven, you wouldn’t be stressed over the pressure of an instrument you started only for fun. At seven, I stared at the black and white keys, differentiating the patterns, how it goes from three black keys to four, how each of the notes I pressed, they all sounded different. Most of all however, I wanted to learn the piano. I wanted to create music for people to listen to. I learned to play the beginner pieces. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, “Mary Had a Little Lamb”, you name it, I played it. A productive three years went by like that, but something changed. At the ripe age of ten, all I could think about was impressing my teacher, making people recognize me at recitals and competitions. I didn’t want anyone to take my place. What happened to the Ashley that wanted to share music with others, make them realize how truly beautiful a simple black and white instrument can be. I wanted to be better, and I knew that this change can only be initiated by me. I worked hard to display the perfect image. This false identity didn’t seem to last very long. Another two years went by quick. I was said to be one of the best students my teacher has had. It was really all I could ever think about. But, wasn’t being called the best student, supposed to make me work harder? The status of being one of the best students held an immense amount of pressure that twelve year old Ashley couldn’t fully hold onto. 

My parents, my piano teacher, the parents of my friends, all told me that I was gifted with a talent in piano. The ability to memorize a piece in one sitting, to express multiple feelings with just my fingers. “It’s a gift from God, and it would be a disappointment if you trade that gift with laziness,” my parents told me. I won and won, over and over, competition over competition. While the trophies and praises stacked up, my wanting to play piano seemed to disappear in a matter of time. At 12, I was asking myself whether I’m only playing so I don’t disappoint anyone, or if I’m playing because I really want to. I knew the answer to that question. I knew I was naturally predisposed to becoming a high level player, but I wasn’t given the mindset along with it for me to do that. I was completely lost. Over another two years, all I was told was that if I don’t work harder, I will have to quit. If I don’t do my theory properly, I won’t pass the level. If I don’t practice more, then everything would be useless, is what I was told. Why was I being told this? Everyone could tell that I was falling out of my interest in piano. The three hours of practicing everyday seemed to change to two, then to one, then to thirty-minutes, then to absolutely nothing. 

My mother would use her full power to get to practice even at least ten minutes. I would sit in front of my piano, but not play. It was only then that I would be distracted by how many notes are in a measure, how many rests are in the piece, counting how many accidentals there are, the time signature, everything but playing. I knew that something was stopping me from the urge to practice, but I didn’t know what it was and quite frankly, I still don’t. Not only were my parents and teacher disappointed at me, but I, myself, was disappointed in me too. I felt that I wasn’t taught to appreciate the value of my dedication and hard work. I was simply told to practice over and over until I perfected it, I was told to fix my theory whenever I had done something wrong, I couldn’t go to bed until I could fully play a piece perfectly. I really questioned where all that passion went. No matter how much I wanted to play, I couldn’t. I wanted to have the motivation to practice, but never did. I seemed to find myself in a spot where I would be in constant arguments with my parents. I was continuously told that I can’t go to my reach schools no matter how much I worked if I quit piano now, as well as the fact that every month, my parents spent hundreds of dollars on lessons every when we are a low-income family. I realized then, that the only reason I am still clinging onto this instrument was simply because of the reward I will receive from playing and because I felt sorry. Not because I had a passion for playing, not because I wanted to, not because I liked the instrument, simply because I wanted to get into a college and so that I will be able to repay my parents through continuing lessons. Twelve year old me was so driven by the fact that I had to be perfect no matter what. 

Now, being fourteen, I can guarantee you that not much has changed. Yes, I find practicing a burden sometimes, however the one thing that changed from when I was twelve, is that I am not questioning my sole purpose in playing piano anymore. Looking back, I realized how blinded I was by what everyone thought of me, and it soon drained me to the point I didn’t want to play at all. Over the course of seven years, I knew that reason I kept playing and didn’t quit, regardless of all the trouble it caused me, was because piano gave me self-expression, comfort. The pressure from others that it brought on me didn’t bring me happiness, but simply playing it, just for me and me only, brought me peace. Not only have I made many accomplishments through this instrument, but most importantly, it has taught me a lesson more valuable than any treasure I can think of. The importance of dedication, self-expression, fueling curiosity, and love. I have recognized that most of the rewards lie in the journey itself, not the destination. Through piano, I have found the individual passons are what make each and every person unique. Piano has been more than just an instrument for me; it has been a teacher. It has seen me at my highest and lowest points, it shaped me to who I am today, it drive myself to succeed, but most importantly, it allowed me to find comfort in my passions. Even though the journey through learning piano has challenges of its own, I greet these challenges, knowing these form the aspects and foundations of my life.