I Exist

So that time they talk about is finally here. That time where you finally think, "Wow, I'm a senior." Wow, I've been alive for more than 17 years.

While this sort of thought has been a kind of back-burner, slow roast type of thing, every now and then (ever and anon, as the crosswords say) I can physically taste the rapid change that's on my plate.

I see ghosts. Not the Casper or Winchester Mystery House kind. But ghosts of things that once were. I guess the orthodox term for what I'm describing would be "flashbacks?"

I was just playing piano, and all these things hit me--receiving the piano at whatever age that was; playing at Christmastime while Uncle Mike played guitar; teaching myself "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and "Home on the Range;" Rachel next to me, on the elegant red chair with little dragonfly stitchings on it, in her just-as-elegant pumps, reminding me to play it as if a coquette in the corner at a party, teasing all the men, or to stroke the keys like you would a kitten; playing on the baby grands at church; showing Michael my first composition; when my dad and I would play the classic chopsticks duet; sitting next to Ms. Smith* at Les Mis or Anything Goes, admiring her probably moreso than I would Bach or Yo Yo Ma; playing "Overcome," my cheeks soaked in postmortem tears for Lacey; teaching Ella at home and little Mariela at Sunday Friends; playing for John at the winter concert; literally bursting into a duet with Hannah after the Youth Fundraiser, one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced; accompanying Alice's song with Joe on my left, playing guitar; and the basic daily practices, which to me never really stop.

When I play piano--or any instrument for that matter--I boldly venture into a different world. It does something to your brain. While my ears hear one thing, my mind interprets them into something totally abstract. It's like synesthesia--I hear sounds and see images (not colors).

This alternate world is objective. I see everything from the outside. I see the here-and-now as presently as it really is. What I mean is that oftentimes our conscience is stuck in ghosts and future phantoms, the unrealities, ex-realities, and could-be realities. But music is about the now, a true awareness of the moment. A conscience of being conscious, a direct probing into the present.

I'm trying to make this post as lucid as possible, but it's tough when my mind is so deeply weaved into this abstract topic. To draw a connection to what may currently seem like a paradox--I introduced the post with my ghosts, and now I'm saying music makes you think about the present--it was necessary to think of these ghosts to realize the moment.

My life is composed (no pun intended) of so much. My music is a large chunk of that existence, as are other things.

The ghosts brought me to actualize the point I've reached. I can't believe I've come so far; I can't believe that in literally no time I will be potentially out of California.

I don't understand how time passes so swiftly. I can't fathom the very concept of time itself. Time is merely a background ticking that sets deadlines (no pun intended there, either).

Every year, I think, "Matriculation seems like it was just yesterday."

Well, tomorrow it will be. And May 21st, 2011, it will be, too.