Dorcas Leung. November 25, 1944-June 27, 2006.

My beloved mother, to whom I owe all that I am and aspire to be, whose gentle but strong spirit will always live on in me.

***

Quite the year, 2006.

Had I known last January that my life was about to change forever, I would question if I were truly prepared for such hardship. Was I – at the tender threshold of young womanhood --spiritually, mentally, and emotionally prepared for the death of my mother? In retrospect, the answer is yes. God prepared me.

Make no mistake that nothing in the heavens could have prepared me for the pain of that wretched moment when I watched my mother take her final breath. My cries broke the terrifying silence of the hospital room, as darkness penetrated my spirit. For months I lived for this moment – observing with quiet horror the changes in her bodily functions, her appearance, her personality, her zeal for life. What passions can one have when confined to a bed and unable to eat, shit, or move? I watched as Death inched closer every day. And when it finally came, alas, the tremendous weight of the moment rested on a single puff of air, so brief and delicate. It was an ending, and a beginning.

If an artist sees poetry in life, then one thing is for certain: Out of darkness must come light. Only having witnessed the ugliness of death do I have a richer understanding of the hope I have in a Savior. Everything I once knew about God and life assumed new meaning.

Music is a beautiful thing. It is beautiful because it requires a life dedicated to the unstinting service of the highest ideals. This, too, is what God requires of us as citizens of this world. Our time on this earth is limited, but God is the beginning and the end. He is the definition of the highest ideals.

Two months after my mother passed, I moved to London. Who could have guessed that I would be studying at one of the finest music schools in a cultural hotspot like London – certainly not me, not considering my insecurities when I returned to music after having so stubbornly quit piano altogether to study English. How could I have known the goodness of God’s plans for me? The fact is that I didn’t know. But I believed that they existed.

So. In light of all that has happened, I can honestly say that life has never been sweeter, and God has never been greater. And this, I’m sure, is what my mother would have wanted.





With anticipation for 2007, I wish you all a very Happy New Year.

I Love London.

One of the nicest things to do in this city is walk along the South Bank. The Tate Modern is wonderful, and Borough Market is just around the corner. There are great restaurants near the market that take advantage of Britain's abundant locally-grown produce; as well, you can follow the aroma of coffee brewing or fresh mince pies in the specialty shops. Down the street is Vinopolis, a wine store as large as a warehouse, that also carries a small selection of kitchenware and boasts an impressive collection of Whisky.



The Tower Bridge.



Saint Katherine Docks.







The Southwark Cathedral, the church Shakespeare attended for a period of time.



Tate Modern: Carsten Holler's Slides Installation. Fast, scary and thrilling!



Tate Modern: Overlooking the South Bank on the top floor of the Tate is its restaurant. Craig swung by London on his way home from Thailand -- "Missed London", he said!



My cousins, Winnie and Jim, visiting me! I brought them to one of my favourite restaurants, Bar Shu, a Chinese restaurant specializing in Sichuan cuisine. We ordered classic northern Chinese dishes -- very spicy, very delicious.



Nicholson's Pub near Borough's Market. Killer Fish n' Chips, scampi, salmon cakes, and beer -- if you drink beer.



Roast: a restaurant in Borough Market. They serve afternoon tea, with a fine selection of specialty teas. Also, the raisin scones, miniature mince pies, and smoked trout sandwiches were very tasty.

The Château de Versailles, France.

My surface knowledge of French history and politics did not prepare me for the wonder of the Château. It is absolutely breathtaking. What struck me most was the utter indulgence of the royal lifestyle, the vastness of the grounds, its combination of being both colossal and meticulously ornate -- all within a time of famine and later, disasterous military defeat in France. Wandering through the estate, I thought of Lully and his Ouvertures and the many European pilgrims who flocked to Versailles to be entertained in the lavish opera house. Imagine the gaeity of stepping to the Courante whilst ever so slightly waving a little fan!











The outdoor grounds stretched on all four sides beyond the eye could see. It was still and majestic.









_______________________________________________________

Paris, again.

This time I saw the Marsais district, the Latin Quarter, Isle de Saint Louis, the Notre Dame (I prefer St. Paul's in London!), Moulin Rouge. Ate the customary moules frites, duck confit, raw oysters -- and, surprisingly, had some of the best classic Cantonese dishes in Paris Chinatown.

Florence.



An angle shot of the Duomo cathedral in the Piazza del Duomo. It took six decades to complete, and is the third largest cathedral in the world. The Duomo was constructed to express the bridging of Greek and Gothic architecture, and remains as a symbol of Italian Renaissance.






Streets of Florence.



A wall of wine.



Of course, truffles.



A replica of Michelangelo's "David" outside of the Academie, which houses the original inside.



Entrance to the Uffizi Gallery.




Piazza della Signoria.

Daddy, me, and London.



Dad and I having lunch at Covent Garden.



I took Dad to the Barbican to hear Nelson Friere with the BBC Orchestra.



Here we are at the Royal Opera House to see Tchaikovsky's "Sleeping Beauty". It was delightful! The set, costumes, and dancers were exquisite.

_____________________________________________

Daddy, me, and Florence.





Dinner at "Le Barrique", a Florentine restaurant with a French name and a Japanese chef. We met a beautiful couple at the airport whose hospitality will always be remembered. They recommended this restuarant, owned by their best friend Alessandro (in the photo), and told him to give us special treatment and a big discount! I had a smoked ricotta and spinach ravioli with pumpkin puree and shaved parmasan, and for the main course: Duck. For desert, Alessandro brought us marscapone drizzled with a balsamic reduction, served with chopped walnuts and dried dates. It was to die for.



Dad and I having a café latte break.



Eating lunch on the patio in Pisa. We briefly made a stop in Pisa to see the leaning tower. Other than that, there is nothing to see in Pisa -- and it literally is, simply, a tower that leans.


Will post more photos of London and Florence another time. Buona notte!

Idiocy, according to the Oxford American Dictionary, is "extremely stupid behavior".


The other day, I came to the realization that I missed:

1. Argerich/Dutoit at the Royal Albert Hall
2. Lang Lang/Mehta with the Berlin Phil.

Need I say more. I am filled with grief.



Hence the window-shopping:

Ah, Camden.


Camden is for the potheads, goth, freaks, tattoo and/or piercing-addicts, runaways, and foreigners trying to make a living. It is at times urban, at times fantastical, and always provocative. Camden stalls sell costumes, jewelry, bongs, vintage wear, leather goods, fake designer handbags, and thongs that resemble the British flag. Tourists visit Camden and bring home t-shirts that read, "Good girls go to Heaven; Bad girls go to London".

It is not posh. But it's electrifying, and I love it.


On another note, Andras Schiff came to the Academy to give a lecture-recital on Beethoven's last three piano sonatas, Op.109, 110, and 111. These three sonatas are considered some of the most sublime music written, ever. In the piano world, Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier are thought of as the Old Testament, and Beethoven's Piano Sonatas are the New Testament. Such music has been known to humble the proud, to temporarily make one a better human being.

So how can it be that musicians are some of the most arrogant, self-important people I know?

The answer, to me, is simple: Music, even in all its glory, is not God.




Pinar, Andras Schiff, myself.