Petrushka, the ballet by composer Igor Stravinsky, tells the story of 3 puppets brought to life during a fair in St. Petersburg. It's famous for not causing a riot, unlike Stravinsky's other work The Rite of Spring (a stark, personal reminder to stay away from the crowds as much as humanly possible).

The piano transcription of Petrushka is notorious among pianists, one of the most difficult pieces ever written. It's a fact I was blissfully unaware of when Dr. Chou, my college piano professor, recommended I learn it. When Kate, a fellow student and my future wife, took a look at the sheet music she officially pronounced he was out of his gourd.

Which is why it's so surprising that my performance of the 2nd movement for my final or penultimate jury was one of the best, if not the best, of my entire life. Even Kate was shocked, who remains my toughest critic to date - when she says I played well then I must have really played well.

But to me, the polished result wasn't as satisfying as everything that led up to it.

When I burned the boats and cast my lot into the music arena, there wasn't an artistically eloquent bone in my body. Dr. Chou once remarked if so-and-so played a concerto, the orchestra would drown him out. But when it came to me, "no one would hear the orchestra."

Whether it was oblivion or not, I was always willing to put in the hours. My work ethic was my strong suit, if not my only suit.

But what ignited my passionate fire into a blazing inferno were the hurtful words, negative criticism directed towards me by the other faculty members.

I never lacked for motivation, but suddenly I could even work harder when I thought about proving them wrong. I channeled the anger I felt into an unstoppable desire to make them eat their words.

Yet the most curious thing happened after that final or penultimate examination, even after my skill had finally been recognized:

I didn't care.

Truthfully I had stopped caring a long time ago. Partly because retribution is a temporary strategy, a finite game. You're bound to fail - once you get your revenge, then what?

I realized something more important when the tides slowly began to turn, when the facial expressions transformed from contortion into adulation. I realized what had really sustained me:

It was that Dr. Chou had recognized my determination when everyone else had written me off as a talentless nobody.

This is why I can look back at these years with fondness instead of indignation. I could never be aware of it at the time, because hindsight is a gift only age can bring.

The long and arduous voyage, the pain and struggle is what made it so sweet.

It wouldn't have been worth achieving otherwise.

Cheers.