Back to Two Familiar Homes (Part 2)

After I finished playing at the first elderly home, I packed up my keyboard, said my goodbyes to the staff and the elders, and made my way to the second place: TCN Nursing Home.

This wasn't my first time here. In fact, I had just been here a few weeks ago, playing for a small group of bedridden elders tucked away in a quiet room at the back. But this time, I decided to spread my music to a different room, larger than the last, with more natural light and a few extra beds spaced out around the room. There were around six elders in total staying in this room, each with varying conditions.

Here's what the environment of the room was like:

As I stepped into the room, one grandma immediately lit up. "Where are you from?" she asked, sitting upright on her bed. Before I could even say a word, she called out again: "Come on in! Come on in!" with an excited wave of her hand. She was incredibly talkative from the moment I arrived. She asked the same questions again and again with such enthusiasm that it felt like she was greeting an old friend for the first time. The nurses later told me, after my performance, that she had Alzheimer's and that she often chatted this way with anyone new who entered the room.

At first, I was caught off guard by how quickly and loudly she spoke. But it wasn't long before I found myself smiling. Her joy was so genuine, even if it reset every few minutes. There was a kind of innocence in the way she welcomed me. Each "Come in!" was full of fresh excitement.

I set up my keyboard in the center of the room, placing it where I felt the sound would travel best to everyone. Some of the elders lay down, while others sat up to listen.

Before I played a single note, I walked around and introduced myself to each of the elders. I told them, "สวัสดีครับ ผมชื่อทีมและวันนี้ผมจะมาเล่นเปียโนให้ฟังนะครับ" — Hello! My name is Team, and I’ll be playing piano for you today.

Some of them nodded and smiled. The same talkative grandma asked me my name again and again, smiling each time I answered.

When it felt like the right time, I began to slowly play.

Please mind the talkative grandma 🥰

The grandma with Alzheimer's kept calling me over between songs. Asking me the same questions over and over again.

"Are you the one playing the piano?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Yes, that's me," I replied with a smile.

Somehow, she ignored my answers and asked me the same question again. And again.

At first, I wasn't sure how to respond to the bombardment of her questions; it felt very repetitive, and honestly, it was disrupting my focus on the piano, as there were five other elders who were trying to peacefully listen to my songs. But then I noticed something: each time she asked a question, she had the same curiosity in her voice and the same smile, as if it were her first time hearing me say yes. To her, every moment really was a new one.

She wasn't trying to be disruptive. She was just being present in the only way she could. And to her, that moment mattered, even if it kept repeating itself.

So I stopped minding the repetition. I answered her as intimately the fifth time as I did the first. Each time, it comforted her. And maybe that was enough.

After I finished, one of the nurses came over and thanked me. She said that it had been a while since there was music in the room. She mentioned that even though most of the elders in the room wouldn't be able to recall my visit by tomorrow, the feeling would likely linger a little longer.

And that really stuck with me.

I used to think that impact had to be remembered to matter. If someone forgot what you did for them, then maybe it didn't matter. But now I realize that impact isn't always about memory. Sometimes, it's about the moment itself, and making someone feel loved, safe, or simply less alone.

These visits ultimately reminded me that not everything we do has to be big or long-lasting to be meaningful. Sometimes, just showing up with a keyboard, sitting down in a quiet room, and playing just a few songs is enough. It's enough to stir a smile, spark a hum, and make someone feel like they are seen and cared for.

I used to worry that my music had to be perfect. Now I'm starting to believe that it just has to be present :)

Stay tuned.

-Team