“A Musician’s Moment: Five Minutes”

Abha Karnick

Asian Indian | Richfield, MN | she/her/hers | Private Sector

The sound of my heels walking across the stage seemed to echo louder than anything I’d ever heard before. My breathing was fast and heavy; I had to close my eyes for a split second. I finally reached the bench and sat down. I ran my hand across the side of the piano, taking my time. See, piano keys carry potential within themselves. More importantly, so do people.

One thing they don’t tell you before you walk on stage is just how bright the lights are. The audience seems to disappear as the lights hit the stage; hit me and the keys. While harsh, these lights drown out any chance for nerves to overtake my already-shaky hands. The invisible audience that stares me down is nothing but a mental picture. Their vision lies on me and my vision lies on the keys.

This moment; it hangs still in time, begging its members to be fully present, fully aware of everything that is about to take place.

See, music reminds me of where I’ve come from. Both who I choose to be now and how hard it was to get here. My identity lies in the notes I play, the past I’ve had, and the ethnicity my skin color clings to. My presence on this very stage, in fact, is me being fully Indian; fully myself.

I get to be the woman who never knew her mother.

Freely.

I get to be the woman who has been a minority her entire life.

Freely.

I get to be the woman who holds two cultures gently in her hands, moving in and out of them as she needs to.

Freely.

I get to be the woman who leads a life of pride for where she comes from and who she’s become.

All of this, so beautifully free.

I tend to hear the first note in my head, long before the note is played out loud. It’s an inaudible kind of voice, a gentle reminder to a musician that they are truly capable, that they can become the melody set before them.

As I begin to play, the tempo, the world around me, even the clock takes its time moving its hands. Five minutes. That’s how long the piece runs. That’s how long the earth stands still around me; how long I’ve captured an audience’s attention. One measure of music flows gently into the next, pulling its listeners into the waves.

My final chords ring out in the hall as everyone holds their breath. I realize that I too, am holding my breath. As I exhale, time starts to move forward again. The moment that held space for my full identity, my whole self, seems to have passed. And suddenly, in that silence, I realize just how badly I want one thing.

I want five more.

Five more minutes.

#MinneAsianStories Series