I imagined how the leaves of the white birches at home must all be emerging now, and as I walked, I pictured my small village up in the mountains. I recalled the spring when I left and my younger brother stayed behind. The village had only a single small school for compulsory education. There was no sixth-form college, and so at fifteen I had to leave the village, the mountains and my home. In that sense it should have all been expected. About a year ago, my brother left home too.

When I came home to visit, I felt I didn’t fit in, especially when my brother was talking happily with my mother and grandma. I’d often escape out of the back door, wander aimlessly through the forest just beyond our house, breathing in the thick green fragrance and listening to the leaves rubbing against each other. Only then would I finally relax. As I trampled the dirt and grass, and listened to the birds calling in the treetops and the distant cries of animals far off on the mountainside, my perpetual queasy sensation of being out of place and not knowing where else to go would gradually melt away. Only on these solitary walks would I finally feel welcome and at peace.

To my joy and surprise I discovered something similar with the piano. A feeling of acceptance, a sense of harmony with the world. Words were not enough to express my wonder at this, so I sought to express it through sound. Perhaps I was also trying to replicate the atmosphere of the forest through the medium of the piano.

A small sign on the pavement led me down some narrow stairs to what looked like a basement venue. At the entrance, I handed over my ticket.

‘Go in and find somewhere to wait for me,’ Mr Yanagi had said when he’d handed me the ticket the day before, but it was hard to know where an appropriate somewhere was. The ticket said a drink was included with the price of admission, so I decided to get one. The rest of the crowd seemed a little older than me and cooler, too. By cooler I mean that some had dyed hair – blond or red – or spiky hairdos. These people were hip and had confidence, totally unlike me. I felt a little awkward mixing with them and stood to one side.

Sipping my ginger ale from a paper cup, I studied a poster with the names of the bands that would apparently be playing. Seven bands – none of which I’d ever heard of. I wondered which one Mr Yanagi had come to hear.

The ginger ale was overly sweet and I left half of it. I didn’t know where to throw the liquid away and put the cup back on the counter. The woman behind the bar glared at me. I had no idea what to do in this situation.