AMGWPM 02

Episode 2. Practice Piece (2)

No matter how much I thought about it, this wasn’t a dream.

At first, I was confused.

When I, a 39-year-old, opened my eyes, I had become a newborn baby.

In a landscape completely different from where I had lived.

Not the familiar European room.

It doesn’t bother me now, but for several days, it seemed I lived in a daze.

Eating, pooping, and sleeping all day long.

And now, I had resigned myself to it.

I hoped that when I woke up, it would at least be hell, but the same scenery remained.

So, I stopped resisting.

Since I was just a baby and wouldn’t be able to do anything anyway, I just stayed still.

“Hui-seong, what do you want to listen to today?”

At first, I couldn’t understand, but now I could somewhat comprehend the two people’s speech.

The two seemed to really love music, as they played music for me every day.

They tapped a small square object, and music flowed from it.

I was surprised at first, but now I just accepted it.

What more was there to be surprised about after being reborn as a baby?

“Shall we listen to some classical music today?”

From the classical and piano concertos I had composed often, to genres of music I had never heard before.

Whenever I heard good music, I waved my small, chubby hands.

It was an unavoidable reaction.

When I heard music, my body just followed the rhythm—what could I do?

“Yes, yes. Our son loves music just like mom and dad, huh?”

The East Asian woman spoke.

When I heard those words, my head throbbed.

Loves music.

That was a phrase that defined my very life.

I despise the one who dragged me onto the path of music.

But I am grateful that I was able to learn music.

That’s how much I love music.

I lost my fingers, cancer ate away at my body, and I was betrayed by someone I trusted, but…

I kept making music until the end.

My end was not good.

But now, I’ve been given a chance to start over.

“Our son has a pretty smile too.”

As those words said, I was happy.

After a brief period of confusion, I finally realized what I had to do.

An opportunity to live properly again, leaving my failed past behind, was in my hands.

It wasn’t that I had no worries.

Having people younger than me as parents.

Adapting to an unfamiliar culture.

And, starting music again.

I hesitated.

Was it okay to accept this life?

Was it okay to do music once more?

These were worrisome matters, but they were all trivial.

It’s simple.

Although I was born as an ordinary child named Yoon Hui-seong,

I could just think of myself as an existence that inherited the memories of someone from the past who loved music—a very simple matter.

Because I love music.

No matter what difficulties arise, as long as there is music, I could overcome them.

Since I was born like this, I just had to live accordingly.

To do that, I first had to change how I addressed them.

Not as the East Asian woman or man, but…

“Um… ma!”

“Huh? Hui-seong, what did you say? You said ‘mom’! Say it again!”

“Ma…!”

…as Mom and Dad.

I had to accept them as my parents.

Because I had decided to live as Yoon Hui-seong.

From now on, not as a failed musician,

but as a boy who loves music.

“Honey! Hui-seong said ‘mom’!”

“What? Hui-seong-ah, say ‘dad’. Dad! Yes, dad!”

And, as the child of my parents.

Time passed, and before I knew it, well over a year had gone by.

I had accepted the two as my parents and the identity of Yoon Hui-seong.

At one year old, I toddled around, exploring every corner of the house.

Our house was like heaven to me.

My mother was a singer.

Her name was Shin Ji-eun.

She wasn’t hugely famous, she said, but she had many die-hard fans who cheered her on.

My father was a composer.

His name was Yoon Young-hoon.

Since he majored in classical music, most of the music he made was in that genre.

However, it seemed he was contemplating something recently, as he was also making music in completely different genres.

Since both made music their profession, various instruments were placed throughout the house.

An upright piano, guitars, a violin, a horn, and so on.

From small instruments to larger ones, there was a variety.

It was a world that surpassed the knowledge of my previous life.

‘If only I hadn’t had my compositions stolen, I too would have played this many instruments. My own, not borrowed or…’

Thinking such thoughts, I went to look at the instruments again today.

Looking at the instruments and thinking about how they might work was my daily routine.

What could a one-year-old baby do?

Being fed by mom and pooping in diapers was the routine.

But still, there was exactly one thing I could do.

‘Father is still asleep… now’s my chance!’

I put strength into my short limbs and crawled across the living room.

Past the floor that sank like a swamp with each step, over the edge of the table that seemed perilously high, almost touching my head…

The place I arrived at was the sofa, tall as a mountain.

“Ugh!”

I grabbed the sofa and put strength into my legs.

The sofa, which seemed so high, was nothing special.

‘Let’s see. Ah, there it is!’

What I wanted was placed on the edge of the sofa.

‘A score book!’

Father always checked his score book late into the night and left it on the sofa.

And the score book left on the sofa became my prey every morning.

I flapped my short arms and got the score into my hands.

“he.”

I was happy looking at the score book I had obtained with difficulty.

Flutter.

The opened score book sparkled like a treasure beyond a rough thicket.

Modern sheet music was an enormous shock to me.

Of course, there was no difference in the overall framework of musical notation.

The difference was in how simple it was—that was important.

In the past, there were many detailed and somewhat complex scores because composers wanted a lot.

If they had to produce the score themselves, considering each detail…

In modern times, it’s as if machines print out very simple and clear scores?

Therefore, even someone like me could read modern sheet music very easily.

‘It’s so much easier to read without complex notations. Other geniuses’ scores are too complicated, you know.’

Of course, I had another reason for looking at the scores.

“Hmm.”

It was because I could, at least in my imagination, listen to modern music.

As times change, so do musical trends.

That was common sense.

In eras before my past life, classical or romantic music was popular; in my era, impressionism was in vogue.

I wondered what kind of music flowed in the streets now, a century later.

And I also wanted to know how it was made.

So, from the moment I could barely walk, I stole glances at my father’s scores every day.

‘This piece is… classical? But something’s different. It has variations…’

However, my thievery didn’t last long.

“What is our little thief doing?”

“Ugh!”

My brief happiness ended as my father woke up.

Father took the score book from me.

“You shouldn’t look at daddy’s things carelessly. Understand?”

“Ah, Ah!”

I reached out toward the score book in regret.

My mind was that of a man, but my body was still a one-year-old baby’s.

My body didn’t act as I wanted.

So, me whining right now is not of my own will.

As if to soothe me, father scooped me up.

“Son, let’s go listen to some music with daddy.”

“Whoa!”

Ahem.

Father often took me to his studio, saying good music should be listened to together.

Squeak

The soundproof booth door opened, and large speakers greeted me.

‘Wow, it’s cool again today. At first, I didn’t know what was what. But since father explained each thing one by one, I came to understand.’

Under the pretext of ‘preliminary education,’ father explained each item in the studio to me.

Things like the mixer, audio interface, computer, and speakers.

An ordinary baby wouldn’t understand, but who am I?

A baby with the mind of a man who had been doing music for nearly 30 years.

I absorbed all the knowledge father shared.

Well, since my body was still that of a bean-sized baby, I couldn’t do anything yet.

Other than tapping things with my hands.

“It’s raining today, so shall we listen to some classical?”

“Yes!”

“You wanted to hear classical? Okay, our son likes classical just like daddy, huh?”

Father looked at me with eyes dripping with honey.

Smiling contentedly, he fiddled with the computer and launched an app.

The clear sound of a piano began to flow from the speakers.

“This is the one for a rainy day.”

Saying that, father gently patted my stomach.

The title of the piece he played was ‘Raindrop Prelude.’

It was a piece composed by a genius composer before I was born.

A title given because the repeating notes were like raindrops.

I really liked this song.

The left hand played repeating notes, but the right hand played the melody.

The atmosphere created by the two rhythms and melody chilled one side of my heart.

‘I’m excited!’

I began to flap my hands.

Closing my eyes, imagining a piano in front of me.

I recalled the past when I happily played the piano.

Not the late years when I lost my fingers, but the image of my bright future self.

The left hand’s rhythm repeated.

I closed my eyes and savored the notes.

I painted a landscape with sound alone.

Raindrops plonked on slightly blurred glass.

The wet trees outside sparkled.

The right hand’s melody tapped the trees awake.

The leaves of the trees swayed slightly in the blowing wind.

Human emotion was embedded in the melody.

Like randomly falling raindrops, the melody was free, even feeling somewhat affectionate.

I opened my eyes slightly.

My small two hands came into view.

The two hands fidgeting, tapping an imaginary piano, were incredibly cute.

‘I want to play the piano quickly.’

Smiling, I closed my eyes again.

Because the emotion doesn’t disappear just from opening my eyes briefly.

The tree painted by sound still entrusted itself to the wind.

A crack appeared in the landscape I thought would last forever.

A sudden roar gradually grew, splitting the sky.

The wind blew violently, and the trees shook as if about to be uprooted.

The free melody gradually scattered, and instability arose in the repeating rhythm.

The raindrops thickened into a downpour.

Emotions raged.

An emotion that should be called fear dominated the piano.

But the storm was a guest who stayed only briefly, so soon a calm sound was heard again.

After the storm passed, that initial melody filled father’s studio.

The music was coming to an end.

The wind that had shaken the damp trees gradually died down.

A moment of silence.

“Wow!”

An exclamation flowed out unknowingly.

Even though it was in my imagination, I had been caught in the rain and weathered the storm.

This was the music as I felt it.

That new feeling every time was so good.

The feeling of being right there was so vivid.

“Did you like it that much?”

“Yes! Uh, uh….”

I felt frustrated.

I wanted to articulate this impression in detail!

This small mouth couldn’t contain it.

In frustration, I thumped my chest.

Father found it amusing and chuckled.

“Our son should make songs like this when he grows up, right? Here, pink promise.”

Our father was making a promise that an ordinary baby wouldn’t even remember.

‘Ah…’

I hesitated for a moment.

Making ‘music like this’ as father said.

It reminded me of my previous life.

As if asking me: Can you make good music?

Can you protect your music?

And I had already given my answer to that.

‘I will definitely make good music!’

Thinking this inwardly, I grabbed father’s pink finger.

I too wanted to someday create my own music once again.

With these two hands, I would convey the rain, the wind, and the emotions contained within.

“Okay, daddy will help our son a lot.”

“Yes!”

I answered with a smile.

“You two, come eat!”

Just then, from the kitchen, mother’s voice, filled with her tremendous vocal volume, was heard.

Since we hadn’t had breakfast yet, my stomach was just starting to growl.

“What did you listen to today? Sounded like classical.”

“‘Raindrop Prelude.’ Since it’s raining and all.”

“It reminds me of you.”

“As if I’m some lady.”

Mother and father always bickered like this.

It was heartwarming, just like seeing my old friend and his wife.

Because my old friend cherished his wife immensely.

‘I’m grateful to that guy. For letting the world know my songs.’

The score I had last handed to my friend had passed through the ages and become a masterpiece.

The only fact I knew now was that one.

I need to grow up quickly and investigate for myself.

“Here, son. Ah~.”

Our family’s morning began with a delicious meal.

“Isn’t it still too early for Heeseong to go to kindergarten?”

Father spoke while eating kimchi .

“Yeah. Wouldn’t it be okay to send him at age 5?”

“What about a music kindergarten? Our son loves music.”

“That’s true, but… Let’s look into it slowly. If we’re sending him, it should be a good place.”

The two talked carefully about me.

I mushed the porridge mother fed me and thought.

‘What even is kindergarten?’

The person in question, me, didn’t even know what it was.

A person who died 100 years ago was still in the process of learning about this world, so I was ignorant of worldly affairs.

“Ah, I have a lesson to go to today. Can you take care of Heeseong alone?”

“Who is it?”

“A high school student. Wants to take lessons from me.”

“Alright. Be careful going and coming.”

The more I listened to my parents’ conversation, the happier I felt.

“Then, our son can help daddy work from the side.”

Saying that, father tapped my cheek with the back of his hand.

“Gyaaaang!”

I squealed with joy.

‘Finally! I get to hear father’s songs!’

I was so curious about what modern classical music was like.

Time passed quickly.

Mother went out, and father played the music he had composed for me in the studio.

“Eh….”

…Uh.

Having heard father’s music, I didn’t know how to react.

How should I put this?