As I sit at the bench, looking out at the black-and-white pattern of keys in front of me, I can sense the judge’s eyes on me, waiting for the piece to begin. I feel the familiar surge of panic within me, that last minute hesitation that I cannot remember the piece and that I will not pass. Despite this, my fingers flutter across the keyboard, drawing from my memory the melody I have practiced for weeks, for months, beforehand. After this piece, there are several others in my repertoire that must also be played. Even though this performance has become routine over the years, the old fear of memorization comes back yearly during audition time, bringing doubt to my mind and wondering if I could actually do this, questioning myself why I continue to do this every year.

Although I was never an extremely obedient child, I was eager to please, and when my parents chose to enroll me in piano lessons at the age of five, I agreed. I enjoyed hearing the rhythms I could create by pressing the keys with my chubby fingers, and my teacher encouraged me on. Mrs. Jin was a kind Asian woman, who was more easy-going than many other teachers around while still maintain high expectations for her students. Even if I wasn’t her most advanced pupil of my age, my progress was steady and by the first recital, I was confident that I was ready to perform for an audience. The pieces were not difficult to memorize and they appealed to me, with their varying melodies and patterns. That first recital went by smoothly, and rarely do I ever think about it now. However, as I grew older, my teacher’s praise lessened and oftentimes at lessons I would be rebuked for not practicing one thing or another enough times to perfect it. Each time I was sent home with reminders to review my pieces and continue working; I could sense my parents’ disappointment at my lack of weekly improvements. I wanted to get better, yet I didn’t seem to be able to motivate myself to continuously pursue a higher level of achievement with piano. Despite this, I still advanced from level to level, and at the age of nine, I was entered into my first National Piano Guild Audition.

The annual Guild Audition has slowly become one of the most nerve-wracking moments for me every June, when the whole pile of pieces and scales must be memorized to perfection, ingrained within your brain beyond even muscle memory. My first year doing this was spent as a confused child wandering around the hall lost before my performance time, and then struggling my way through those ten pieces. I knew I had practiced them all, but the pressure hit me in a way that left me skeptical of my abilities, preventing me from effectively performing how I needed to. The first piece, a minuet, seemed to drag on through its two pages, especially the repeats. By the last piece (a Mozart), I was mentally exhausted and the chords seemed to break more and more throughout, disintegrating into barely connected arpeggios. Yet I passed. Despite all my panic and worries before and during the pieces, I had passed. As I proudly displayed my certificate to my teacher at the following lesson, she perused it several times before pointing out several judge’s comments on areas where I could improve. Glancing over, I realized that there were a lot of pointed remarks on things I knew I could do well, but just hadn’t in the moment. Sighing, I headed to the bench, and began the repetitions of pieces for a new year of Guild preparation. Little did I know at the time that that was the last Guild audition that I would do under Mrs. Jin’s tutelage, before she moved away the next fall.

The switch in piano teachers was a hastened process since my parents did not want me to avoid practicing for too long, perhaps for fear that I would not ever truly return to the full amount of effort I had been giving before. The teacher they found, an elderly and kind woman named Mrs. Holliday did not demand as much as my former teacher and had a much lower expectation standard. However, I am grateful for this switch mainly because she has provided opportunities I didn’t have with Mrs. Jin - more recitals, more teaching time, and overall, more experience. But nothing is perfect, and the same one thing is still expected of me every year: the National Guild Audition. To stop competing in it, according to my parents, is equivalent to spending hours of practice and repetition for nothing. For the first several years after the switch, the audition was not as bad as it used to be because I was more mentally prepared and knew what to expect. However, as I got older, and the list of Guild requirements became longer, it became increasingly difficult to memorize all of the pieces in time; there was one year where I recall memorizing my piece mere hours before meeting the judge in the hushed audition room. Somehow that year, I still passed, even if it was just barely.
The process only grew more tedious as I became older, and one day I finally asked the question that had been on my mind for years, the relentless one I had acknowledged existed years ago but had been too afraid to ask, “Why do I continue to play piano?” The answering stare and shake of the head from my father was enough to stop me from asking it again anytime soon, but I still wonder about it. As I sit here and envision the long, silent hall of the church where the auditions are held, leading up to the sparsely decorated circular performance room, I think about the years of effort and time that I have went into it. I recall back the mountains of sheet music and books that have faded away in my mind, pushed to the back of my memory as time passed by. But even as I continue to struggle through the Guild Audition, through maintaining the playing of the piano, I find that I do not resent it. There never was a reason to dislike the piano, only the time spent on it, upon pieces I didn’t even like at the time and maybe never will. Even if I can never achieve the highest standard I may have once been able to, my lessons continue, the same notes still form their unique melodies across the page, and I still memorize them, still refusing to give it up.