I feel number then alive these days. Sometimes, when I open my eyes, reality would come in reminding me the time I am losing and the things I should be doing. Closing my eyes and giving into sleep lets my feeble mind escape from the torment of the real world. My dreams are mostly about the glory days when greatness was still in my domain. Where there were determination and meaning in living my life. The sound of laughter and applause ring in my ears stride in front of my competitors. The piano was my greatness. It was my life. 

What started out as a simple wish of my mother became my wings to bring me to the top, and also the cement blocks the dragged my underneath. Music flowed out of the tip of my finger and the dead lump of black and white wood was brought to life. I played songs no one in my age group has ever attempted before. I earned my titles as the next Mozart, little Chopin, and Beethoven reincarnated. Plastic awards soon became trophies and plaques of gold. Regional competition became on the global scale. I was traveling the world even before I got out of the booster seat. I, at one point in my life, knew I was the greatest in the world. But greatest never settles down. It loses interest in you and finds a better host to torment you.