Step 9: Different Environment, Same Purpose #3

Then I struck the first note.

I still remember how soft and fragile it was, as if I wasn't sure if I was prepared to really begin. I settled my fingers softly on the piano keys, and "Ballade pour Adeline" floated through the hospital corridors. It was a song that I chose to dedicate to my grandpa, a man I think about whenever I lay my hands on the piano.

Even though this was my second time performing in a hospital environment, I was just as anxious as the first time. Maybe even more. As I've mentioned before, Sriraj Hospital was vastly different from the Police Hospital. It's wide and open, with tall ceilings and lots of light. It was not busy or chaotic like the Police Hospital; you'd think that would make it easier, but it wasn't. If anything, the quietness made me more exposed. Every note appeared to hang suspended in the air, and every small mistake appeared to be amplified.

Still, I pushed on. I worked my way through my setlist, which consisted of some calming instrumental ballads, a few Thai songs that everybody knows, and some Thai royalty music. I chose those royal songs because nearly everyone in Thailand knows them, and they’ve been with us for as long as we can remember. These melodies often remind us of the deep love and respect we shared for our King, a figure who embodies unity, compassion, and stability in the hearts of Thais.

A song called "ยามเย็น" by King Rama IX

People came and went, and some were drawn in by the music. For instance, I noticed a nurse who took a pause at the railing on the top floor, standing for longer than I expected. A mom holding her child's hand, allowing him to listen to a few songs. A man took a video of me playing, with a smile behind the phone. These small things reminded my intentions again as to why I started this journey. They reminded me that music can softly bring comfort and harmony to the people who need it the most.

Near the end of my performance, I noticed an elderly woman in a soft blue-green shirt walking toward me from a short distance away. The color reminded me of the sea, calm and gentle. I hadn’t seen her before, but now she slowly made her way closer. Her face looked peaceful, and there was a quiet light in her eyes, as if something had stirred in her.

Standing right in front of me, she looked into my eyes and said softly, “The pieces of music you played… especially the royal ones…” Her voice wavered slightly. She paused, a gentle smile appearing as if lost in a memory.

“They reminded me of my beloved King,” she said. “Would you mind playing more of those?”

So I did.

As I played, she stood a few steps away, slowly pacing back and forth. There was something almost graceful in the way she moved — as if the music had given her something back. A sense of peace, or maybe even joy.

In the next post, I'll insert the full video of our interaction!

We never really know what a person is going through. Had she not said this to me, I wouldn't have known that those songs held so much meaning for her. And in a hospital environment, where people have so many unanswered questions and silent wars to wage, maybe these little moments of connection as human beings are more valuable than I ever realized.

In my next post, I'll explain more about that lady—the remainder of what she told me, how these songs applied to her memories of King Rama IX, and how the conversation changed the way I approached playing the piano at hospitals.

Stay tuned.

-Team