Me, my piano, empty house

Cooked maggie noodles and while leaving it to cool on the stove, I had a sudden urge to play the piano. Feels good, playing by heart, not referring to any scores, letting my fingers lead me through the music. Then, hearing the notes echo less subtly against the walls of my dimly-lit house. Life is good. This is bliss, really. The only time I actually enjoy alone time is definitely when I'm playing my piano.

But as soon as I hear the slightest noise from outside, either footsteps, or mine or my neighbours' gates, I can't tell, I'll straightaway unroll the cloth back over the piano keys, shut the piano and run back to my room.

To be honest, I don't like letting my parents hear my piano playing. Ok more of don't like letting my dad hear my piano playing. When I was small, I was always more than willing to play the piano for him because he would sit beside me and smile. I remember.

But that one time when I overheard my parents' conversation about my piano fees, I also happened to hear him say that my piano skills weren't improving and that I probably didn't have talent for piano.

I can still remember their conversation. And it's just so sad because I really like to play the piano and yet, I don't like letting my parents hear.