9. MY decision...or is it YOURS?

November 17, 1989

Czechoslovakia is a communist country. I live in the Eastern part of it, a town named Presov. Mr. Michaels and the Music Conservatory are located in Kosice. We are closely surrounded by several other Eastern European countries, Russia (today’s Ukraine), Poland, and Hungary, each of them about an hour drive to the East, North, and South. 

 When I place second in the national piano competition, I win a trip to Russia, just across the border. Our country is closed off to much of the travel and people are allowed to only cross the borders of the countries within the communist bloc. Czechoslovakian and Russian flags are flown together most of the time. This is because Russia is our friend. The best country in the world. Everything outside the borders is bad, corrupt, capitalist. We are indoctrinated from a very young age, learning the procedures of the communist and socialist regimes. “Build and protect your socialist country. Be ready! Always ready!” This is the salute and the motto every little child in the country memorizes as soon as they learn how to speak. 

In 1989 I am 11, almost 12 years old. I know something is going on in our country. There are people gathering in town and I am not allowed to go to my piano lesson. Imagine that, I don’t have to go to my piano lesson! I am secretly happy about this, of course. But my parents are glued to the television and radio and I am not able to watch my shows. The news is on all day long. It is a historical moment, a moment that so many people wished and fought for for years. The change is finally here. The protests and demonstrations are peaceful and the fall of the communist regime follows. I don’t understand the gravity of the “Velvet Revolution” at the moment. I don’t know the future and I don’t know that one day it will change my life forever. 

It’s your decision. I made it for you.

Even though the life of my country is transforming slowly day by day, for now, my own life still remains the same. The same school and piano routines over and over. It’s 1991. I am 13 years old now and in 8th grade. It’s time to make a decision about where I want to go to high school and where to apply. In Slovakia, the high school application process is similar to college admissions. Slovakian high schools are specialized, focusing on very specific areas of study. There is a nursing high school, hospitality high school, engineering high school and others. For students who achieve good grades during their elementary years and anticipate to pursue college education in the future, there is a general high school to prepare them for it. And then of course, there is a music high school, the Music Conservatory. There are only two Music Conservatories in the country right now, one of them in Kosice, the other in the capital, Bratislava.

I am glaring at a little stack of papers on the table. There are two high school application forms in front of me. One is already filled out by my eager father. He is so predictable. He is applying to attend the Music Conservatory. Actually no…..he is applying for ME to attend the Music Conservatory. And then there is a blank application right underneath it. I know that I don’t have a chance to rebel and argue against him. But maybe, just maybe, I would like to pretend and try to make a choice for myself too. I pick up the blank application form, hold it in my hands, stare at it for a while. Then I take a deep empowering breath and write my name, fill out the date of birth, address..…It feels so good. I imagine being in charge of my own life. A beautiful fantasy.

When I come to the section of the school of my choice, I pause. What would I like to do? What would I like to study? I don’t know what it is. I am 13 and I haven’t thought about it before. I am being preoccupied by the constant piano in my life. “How about nursing, yes, sounds good enough,” I tell myself. Do I want to be a nurse? Not necessarily, I don’t know. One thing I do know is that I do not want to study piano. Yes, nursing is the right choice then.  I finish up my application, look it over, smile, and I am proud of myself. I did it. I put my form right next to my father’s on the table. And then I wait.

“Jarka! Come here! Need to talk to you!” Both, my mother and father, sit at the kitchen table. The two high school applications lay in between them. I sit down and await my fate. “Do you really want to go to nursing school, Jarka?” My mom asks and smiles. “Yes, mom,” I say while my father is about to burst out of his skin. And so he does, blurting “Why are we even talking about this? She is going to study piano. Period,” he is shaking his head furiously.

“Jarka, honey, you have worked so hard and for so long for this. It wouldn’t make sense if you quit now.” My mother reasons with me in a calm voice. I am not sure if she truly believes I should study the piano or if she is saying this just to keep my father calm. “The thing is that you are so good at this. Your music is just beautiful. It would be a shame if you stopped now. You will live in the dorms! Isn’t that exciting? What other kids live in the dorm at 14? You will love it, I promise!” She continues to make her case.

That is it. I listen to them both going back and forth, selling me the incentives of this amazing “pianist life,” both trying to convince me. I listen to them silently, knowing that I lost my case. Any time I try to say something, I get interrupted by my piano obsessed father. “It’s your decision….but….so……listen…. make the right one!” Translation: “It’s your decision, but I actually made it for you. You will attend the Music Conservatory.” My father picks up my nursing school application, crumples it up, and  throws it in the trash. And that’s the end of that. Sigh. I tried. I did. 

In order to attend the Music Conservatory, I have to go through a round of piano auditions, which is again a big deal to my father. I perform as usual, play the piano the best I can because I don’t dare to mess things up. My father is a ball of nerves waiting for the results, pacing around the halls. He keeps checking his watch, keeps asking the professors that are walking by, “Anything yet? Results?” Ugh, it is taking so long, he is impossible to be around!

Finally! The results are displayed on the board. He pushes his way through all the people so he can get a look at the board before everyone else. The names of all auditioning kids are listed in order, by their scores, ranging from the highest score to the lowest. There is a separating, cut off line after number 15. It will be a very small class with only the best pianists being accepted. 

I am number 3 from the top. Once again, I am not number one but in this case it doesn’t matter because I am IN. He is about to jump out of his skin. My father’s dream is realized. I did it. All hard work has paid off. All his sacrifice was worth it. 

Now maybe he will leave me alone?

In the end, this is no victory for me. My fate has been decided. I have to keep playing the piano. And I am moving to the dorms at the age of 14. In any other circumstances, my overprotective and paranoid father would do anything in his power to prevent me from leaving the house, moving out, and living in the dorms. He would lock me up and watch me 24/7 if he could. But this is no ordinary situation, this is the piano we are talking about. Piano is God. It decides everything. Piano is his life, his dreams, his future, therefore it is my life, my dreams, and my future.  How can I EVER fight that?