Why do all good things come to an end...

This song by Nelly Furtado kept on echoing in my head the day before.

Yesterday was my last piano lesson, after my Theory exam. As I entered, my teacher was still explaining stuff to a cute little small boy, who seemed to be in Grade 1, so I didn't dare to play my atrocious piano pieces, instead preferring to play my scales. 

After him was me. As we practised, she constantly spoke about me having to practise my piano and not let it fade away. She also wanted me to make time to take my Grade 6 practical exam next year. As she thought and corrected me, my mind was constantly wandering. My mind returned to the first piano lesson, where I was an innocent P3 boy who had stopped piano at Grade 2 for 1 year. Then it slowly flitted though the four years I had been there, where my theory was slowly brought back to life and a 100/100 paper was to be expected. My piano playing ability also rose to quite a high level. I also thought about the highs and lows I had there, about the time where I cried because I had got 88/100, about the time where I was so happy that I received a Merit for my Practical...

Soon, it was the end of the lesson. My piano teacher asked me, "Can you come on the 21st?" I told her that I was not sure and was most likely unable to because of the Gala Dinner. After she thougth for a while, she said she would be there on Wednesday and I should come along if I could. However, there was a feeling the air that I was not coming for any official lessons ever again. As I walked out of the door, my heart was in deep turmoil. How do you say goodbye to a person who has witnessed you through your maturing years? 

Leaving the classroom, I avoided the eyes of the counter clerk, who seemed to be looking a t me. Leaving the centre, I heaved a long last sigh before silently bidding the place farewell. 

As my father would not be there till around 1o minutes later, I went to walk around the mall my centre was situated at, knowing very well it might be the last time I came here. As I walked around, it suddenly struck me that i had stayed only on the second floor, I knew so little about the others. It is funny, when you look back at your bitter experiences, you feel happy, but when you look back on youur happy ones, you feel sad.

I walked around the place for around 10 minutes before I left. I constantly looked back, for I was wondering if the tears flowing down my face and dripping onto the floor would be obvious. Is parting sweet sorrow? I really wonder.

However, apart from the grief at leaving, there was another deeper emotion inside me. It seemed to be related to the fact that I would never be taking my Grade 6 using the current syllabus, which would change in two years time. What was it? Was it the sadness at wasting my hard work? Or was it disappointment at not fufilling my teacher's last wishes? Whatever it was, I would most likely never find out.