Finale

Dear Alan,

I don't presume to understand the universe well enough to know if you can see these words, or feel their meaning. But I am typing them anyway, just like I keep talking to you, not knowing if you can hear my words.

Life has been tough since you've been gone. The world bears the scar of your departure, a deep gash that does not heal quickly. Mostly, it is filled with sadness, longing for better days, and questions. There is also anger -- how could you do this to us? And guilt -- if I had only... I should have... Why didn't I....

I can't speak for everyone, but for myself, I know that there are other more complicated emotions. There is the sense of drive -- the obligation to find purpose in the pain. There is the relief that your suffering is over, and that our worry about those middle of the night calls and texts is fading away. There is the guilt of wanting you back knowing that it is only for the selfish reason of what I got from your presence. There is the gratitude for having had you in my life that tempers the sense of loss. There are the smiles that come, more and more, mixed in between the sobs, from fond remembrances.

I remember trying to explain our relationship to others. They didn't seem to get it. They compared us to other siblings, and couldn't see why I felt so much more responsibility for you than most. I didn't just love you as a brother, and yet you weren't quite a son. You were my companion -- my soulmate. We traveled this life together for 22 years, and when you left, I felt like part of me did, too.

This blog has given me an outlet to work through some of these emotions. I write because I am afraid of forgetting. I write because I want to share you with the world. I write because I don't know what else to do, what else to hold onto when I know I can't hold onto you.

These performances we have on video -- they are so imperfect. They aren't even your best performances. I wish we had your Revolutionary etude from your senior recital. I wish we had the flawless transcendent performances that I remember. Even more, I wish I could have a recording somehow of the time you played for me in that practice room at Lawrence before your recital. That I could relive that realization of how far you had come.

I know in the Buddhist tradition, I may not see you again until my next life. But I am sure I will see parts of you before then. You have enriched our lives so much, shone a light upon us that will always be felt. Fleeting glimpses of that light, I am sure, will be seen still, even as its source has gone away.

I wish I could do justice to your soul, but I only ever saw the parts facing me, and even my recollection of those parts is imperfect. I hope these entries have helped others -- helped them say good bye to a deeply loved friend -- helped them know the beauty of a man who hid it well -- helped them understand a single facet of a story about pain and love, regret and release.

If you can see these words, Alan, please know that I still love you, that I will always love you. I wish you would have stuck around. Now, it is left to us to find a way to keep ourselves, and hope that you have found your peace.

Love, Hyung

I must be strong

When we were growing up, Mom would throw all kinds of dinner parties. She would cover the table in food, and it would just keep coming. Unless there were a lot of other kids, Alan and I usually sat at the big table with everyone else. We had this old Kenwood console with a turntable, a double cassette deck, and a CD changer. Usually, a mix of classical CDs would be in the changer, and would play during dinner. After the main course, we would usually stay at the table and eat fruit while Alan used the couch as a trampoline, much to the guests' amusement.

I remember some rather memorable parties where the music was maybe not so party-appropriate. Mom had asked me to make a CD of Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven, and to repeat it to fill the CD. So I did. And when this was in the CD changer, we would hear a solid hour of Tears in Heaven.

Another one of the CDs that made it into the changer once was this beautiful Chopin sonata:

Well, the food was always good. And the company. Maybe not the music so much.

Farewell

While Alan maybe preferred Bob Dylan, in my book, it was Chopin that best mirrored his soul. He played quite a few pieces over the years, each seeming to reflect some different part of him.

Fantaisie-Impromptu

This was not his first Chopin piece, but perhaps the first he heard performed. A med school classmate, Linda Abcede, had come over to our house for Thanksgiving, and played it for my family beautifully, but accented with the occasional "oops, sorry" and topped off with an "I'm ruuuusty...." She was always far too humble. In his early piano-playing days, being able to play this piece was a goal he would strive hard to reach. When he was able to play it well, I promised him a game system. A computer game addiction in high school would interfere with that plan.

The piece is a show piece, and served as that for Alan as well as for Linda. He would whip it out to show he still had his "chops," which he amazingly never seemed to lose despite not having a piano since high school.

The piece itself is heavily based on Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, echoing its rolling arpeggios with the notes of the first giant tumble at 0:10 coming directly from the third movement of Beethoven. The structure and mood are similar, with two soul-searching sections sandwiching a tender middle section (though Chopin's tender middle section's melody at 1:12 always reminded me of "Thank Heavens for Little Girls" which is perhaps the most creepily pedophiliac song there is. Don't you think?). While Beethoven's piece arrived at its moniker due to a description of its sound evoking moonlight on a lake, Chopin's evokes more of a frantic struggle to stay afloat in the lake, while being repeatedly pulled down to its depths.

Regardless, mastering this piece marked a new level of piano performance for Alan. When he started playing it, he played like a child -- it was just a race to the finish. But over time, it became something deeper and infinitely more beautiful.

Nocturne op. 9 no. 1 in B flat minor

Of all his Chopin pieces, this is the one that Alan had in his youtube favorites playlist.

Unlike its more famous mate, Opus 9 number 2, which can be sweet, this nocturne seems to stay in the realm of melancholy. When it sounds sad, it sounds sad. When it sounds resolute, it sounds sad. It continues with the same relentless left hand pattern until the last two measures, where the piece resolves with a strangely peaceful Picardy third. This is quite apparent in Rubinstein's performance.

I wonder why Alan chose this piece for his playlist. Maybe it reflected his mood, with a full range of emotions, but somehow still always colored with an undertone of melancholy.

Étude Op. 10, No. 12 (Revolutionary)

Alan played this for his senior recital in high school.

For me, his performance of this piece demonstrated a maturity that I didn't know he had. Every pause had a reason. Every tempo or dynamic added to the impact. When he played this for me in the practice room at Lawrence before his recital, I told him I had no idea he could play like that. On a side note, he may have been stoned.

Waltz Op. 69 No. 1 in A flat (L'Adieu)

I have had this stuck in my head. To me, it seems a fitting farewell for my brother.

This classic recording in particular reminds me of how he used to play it. While it too is pervasively sad, there is hope and beauty in it.