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World of secrecy

published: 2009-06-06

Why is it that in the course of years, you can suddenly appreciate something you haven’t before? Paris, for example. And Claude Debussy. His Piano Works were hidden away in my Itunes library. Somehow, they never shuffled by. Yet now, I find myself overwhelmed by the beauty of those pieces. Or is it the memory?
Debussy is connected to a secret place called death. My high school best-friend had lost her sister. I had never met her sister. She was hit by a truck while biking to school. She was a mysterious and oppressing presence in my best friend’s life even though nobody ever spoke about her. At the time, I played the piano. One day my best-friend gave me a few sheets of music. Debussy. There were scribbles on the pages. 
“Who’s handwriting is this?” I asked. 
“My sister’s,” she said, “I thought maybe you could play one of those pieces for my father’s fiftieth birthday?”
I couldn’t. And by not doing so I had entered the world of secrecy that comes with not knowing how to deal with loss. 

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