Chapter 4 – Failure Exam(book - Girl who change day life).

The first year at school I did great on my exams. In my second year I did well on everything except piano performance. I froze during my exam and could not play. I am still trying to understand reasons for my freeze.

Part of me felt I could swing on talent alone—no real, consistent practice needed. Part of me became too confident in my second year, too good to fail. Part of me felt blessed. Part of me felt lonely and alone in my journey. Nothing in life is solid or stable, but somehow I thought I was set at eleven years old. I thought I had it made, even though part of me was always hungry, always in pain, and always missing my mother while living at boarding school.

How did I become so confident? I do not know. Maybe I made it up in my mind. Maybe I lived in a fake reality. I felt like I was riding a wave.

Silvansky (my piano teacher) was always late to my piano lessons, with one foot in Ukraine and one foot in the United States. My mother I only saw on weekends, in fancy apartments.

There was one etude Silvansky made me play differently from everyone else. He insisted his timing was the correct one, even though every other piano teacher disagreed with him. But I believed my teacher. I liked him and believed in him. At one point I asked him to adopt me. I think I wanted the kind of life he seemed to have—a slow, satisfied, carefree life. He would casually stroll into lessons, never rushing, never worried. I wanted him to be my dad.

He said he could not adopt me and called my mother.

My mother was terrified and angry. Why did I want to be adopted?

Because I wanted to have both a mom and a dad. I wanted a carefree life where I could whistle while walking down the street and play dolls with friends. To me, he represented a free spirit, but also someone who never seemed to worry. He looked financially secure. As the son of a famous Ukrainian composer, he had status and power. He did not seem like someone who had to prove himself or struggle. He was part of the elite.

I kept writing new songs and sharing them with Sonya. She gave me feedback, suggested ideas, sang harmonies, and played double piano with me on my songs. She made me feel special.

Then the piano exam came at the end of the year.

I froze.

I could not play. I forgot the pieces. I tried to start several times, but I could not continue.

I felt ashamed. Confused. Scared.

Alone again.

Silvansky did nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

It was as if he was not even my teacher.

I played the etude completely wrong—his way. The same way everyone else had warned me was incorrect. He did not stand up for me. He did not fight for me.

Just as easily as he strolled into every lesson late, he strolled out of my lessons and out of my life, never looking back.

He could not have cared less.

Was this my teacher? My guide?

Or was he a completely nonexistent ghost dressed up as a caring teacher?

I failed.

The school gave me two choices.

Choice 1: I would be expelled.

Choice 2: I could retake the piano performance exam at the beginning of September. If I passed, I could continue.

I was crushed.

I cried because I had failed. I had never experienced this kind of failure before.

Silvansky disappeared.

I felt betrayed.

I was eleven years old.

He was sixty.

Where was his wisdom? Where was his care?

There was none.

I left for Dnipro to spend the summer with my grandmother, crying.

Yes, I take full responsibility for my failure. But at the same time, I had no one to talk to about it. No one to help me process what had happened.

Silvansky disappeared into the abyss.

Sometimes I wonder if he lived his whole life this way—carefree about everything.