Everything fun with Miriam & Rachel

12/28/2025

12/16/2024

wonderful xmas piano music time Cheryl Tanedo💞

10/03/2024

Miriam Cherian
September 13, 2024

A Christmastime Catastrophe

E to G to A to F. E to G to A to F. The first notes in the treble clef of “O Holy Night”, which I would be playing in a few short hours. I anxiously thought about the time ticking down, dreading the moment I would have to play the song. It was almost as if I already knew how the Christmas performance at the church was going to go…
Eventually, I changed into a simple white dress and leggings, left my room, and waltzed down the stairs. After I’d practiced the song again and again, for good measure, I sat at the dark brown piano bench and let thoughts crowd my mind, running my hands over the fabric of my dress. Soon, my mom would come back all the way from Singapore. She’d been on a work trip there for about 2 weeks, a shorter time than I had been learning my piece. At the moment, I’d have much rather been traveling the world than worrying about a performance. See, when I would have to perform, it wouldn’t only be that I had to play the song on the piano, it was that I had to sing lyrics along with it as well.
Once I’d turned those thoughts over in my mind for a minute, I made myself get up and wandered into the living room, only to find my little sister Rachel sprawled across a black sofa, watching TV. “Are you able to get off the screen and get ready?” I asked her.
“In five minutes,” she responded lazily. Why do I even try? My annoying sister was always a good distraction no matter what. I settled down on another couch.
An hour later, I heard the familiar click of the front door opening. My mom had come back. We didn’t have much time for pleasantries, though, since we had to leave soon. My mom put her stuff down and got ready quickly.
“Have you got everything?” my mom asked me once she was good to go.
“Yes,” I responded, a tiny bit annoyed. She hurried Rachel and I through the garage door. I opened the door to her red minivan, which slid automatically with a whirr, a fearfulness rising in me. Through the window, I could see my grandma bringing my other little sister Anna to the car. Next, my mom rushed through, calling my dad to come as well. A few minutes later, the door shut with a thud as my dad came through. He climbed into the driver’s seat, and we were off.
“Are you feeling ready?” my mom asked immediately.
“Sure,” I responded sarcastically, but by sheer facts, I should’ve. I’d practiced for a while, and I’d dedicated myself to this piece. Despite all of that, though, it still wasn’t enough. I thought about all this as we turned out of the neighborhood, rubbing the leather of the seat anxiously, my eyes fixed on the window. I had this distant look I got when I was deep in my own head. It hadn’t been snowing much that winter, so everything just looked bleak and gray without the mysticality of snow. The thing was, I only felt stage fright toward playing piano, and I’d only felt it recently. In fact, I’d had a solo for the spring choir concert just months before. Why won’t this feeling just go away? I felt relieved that our church wasn’t very close, so the drive was a bit long.
However, tree by tree, minute by minute, we got closer, and suddenly I was pushing through the door with a light woosh. My family and I entered quietly, setting our bags and music down, yet my mind was as loud as could be. That was when the first pieces of my catastrophe began to come together, as my mom and I walked toward one of the leaders in our church.
“So she’ll be playing on that black piano in the corner, right?” my mom asked.
“No…but we can set up one of the electric pianos for her,” he replied. I was taken aback. An electric piano? The weight of the keys are different, and I’ve never practiced this song on an electric piano, I thought. This is not good. This can’t be good. With the church leader and my mom, I strutted up to the piano once it was set up.
“What about the music stand?” I wondered aloud as it was nowhere to be seen.
“We can place a spare music stand, and you’ll play standing,” he explained. More things that were changed? I’d never even played a song standing, not even in practice, but I didn’t say anything about it. Quietly I sat in my seat as the service began, trying my best to keep track of how far it was from my turn on the agenda, ruminating on the onslaught of changes that had come. 6 events. A choir sang. 4 events. I came up and read a section from the bible. 2 events. 1 event. MY TURN.
Clop. Clop. Clop. I tentatively walked to the front of the room, to the piano, feet pushing one in front of the other on the rough dark blue carpet. I couldn’t walk too fast or too slow, otherwise I’d have looked too nervous. The air was tense as I came back around the piano. As I settled my fingers on the piano, I felt the glossiness of the white keys, but I also felt the unfamiliarity of standing while playing. Finger one on E. Finger five on C. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. There were a painstaking few seconds of silence, the air crackling, before I forced myself to press on the first note.
“O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining…” I began to sing. Elation mixed with my nervousness. I was doing it! I hadn’t messed up! I could get through this performance!
“It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth. Long lay-” Panic seized me. What was I doing? I’d stopped playing the song, my mind going completely blank on the song I’d practiced for weeks. I stared out over the small crowd, embarrassed and ashamed. This was exactly what I’d been trying to avoid.
“Do you want to try again?” the leader asked, breaking the silence.
“S-Sure,” I responded shakily. I hastily set my fingers down again, trying to grasp onto any semblance of calm that I had.
“O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining-” I stopped again, panic choking me, completely taking over my thoughts. I was supposed to have gotten through on at least the second try.
One last time, with eyes set on the piano, I tried again. “O Holy Night! The stars-” I froze, my eyes wide. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. There were so many eyes staring at me, so many people who had seen my mistake.
“Um, can I take a break?” I squeaked out awkwardly, my throat tight, my voice raw, too embarrassed to even be in the room anymore.
“Of course,” the leader responded, and then I tried my best not to bolt out of the room as I exited.
An hour later, I was sitting and sulking, away from the service, my head in my hands. Everything had fallen apart so quickly. People came and went, trying to comfort me and offering their condolences.
“It’s just that you’re a perfectionist,” someone explained.
“We’re all here for you,” another assured.
No matter what they said, though, I couldn’t shake the feeling, because I was mad at myself. In turn, I wasn’t looking for forgiveness from others, I was looking for it from myself. I was so, so mad that I’d made a fool of myself, that I’d wasted all the hard work I’d put into this song.
Of course, it was only more embarrassing to have all these people seeing me in this state, distraught and upset. I was trapped in my own head, trapped in this place. Now I knew even thinking about a performance would make me afraid that I would mess up again. Now I felt as if I could never perform on the piano again.
At the same time, however, I had an inkling that there was a world in which this hadn’t happened. Where I’d never been as panicked, where I’d come into this whole thing with a bit more optimism. Where I’d never even messed up.
Even though I can think about it all I want, I can’t turn back time. When things don’t go as planned, all someone can hope is that they’ll become better for the mistakes they made. That they will be stronger than they were before. At that moment, all I could hope for was that I’d stop feeling so down on myself. Now I hope that I can learn to let go of my panic, or at least to fight it, because that’s the only way to move on.
If my nervous thoughts are butterflies, I hope to learn to let every one of them fly off into the distance.

04/19/2024

Spring concert for Miriam
🎵Medieval Strings

04/17/2024

Spring 📸:by Miriam

03/17/2024

02/22/2024

First picture: Lily’s in our grandma’s garden
Second: water color painting of the same by Miriam

12/21/2023

Christmas 2023🎄

10/24/2023

Sharing a story I wrote as part of the school project-
The theme included “power of friendship “ and “overcoming disability”.
It is a bit of a sad story- I think I was influenced by the book series I read recently- “Hunger Games”😕

Miriam Cherian
10/23/23

Dear Diary,
How to start? Well, my name is Sofia Whitlock, and today I turn 13 years old. I have no idea why my parents would give me a diary as a birthday gift. I mean, why should I record my memories, thoughts, feelings if I’m not going to be able to share them…You know what? I should just cut to the chase. There’s no beating around the bush. If my parents have given me a diary now, it is more likely than not that it’s because I have diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma.
You don’t know what this is, do you? Then let’s start from the beginning, all the way back to when I couldn't possibly imagine the life that I have now. Honestly, even now I find it difficult to grasp on to the reality that is mine.
It all starts during the third period on a gray Monday in October. We’re in the middle of a read aloud when the phone goes off. Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! My LA teacher, Mrs. Roberts, starts for the phone. She picks it up with a click, and then proceeds to talk to the office. “Oh okay, thank you…Sofia, your parents are here to pick you up. Please head down to the office.”
I wearily get up from my seat, gently putting my book back on the table. My best friend, Fiona, raises an eyebrow at me.
“What’s happening?” she whispers. I shrug in response. I don’t recall my parents saying they would pick me up from school last night, so what could it be then? Did they just forget, or is it a surprise? I’m not in trouble, right? I’m sure I did nothing wrong.
I steadily weave through the tables of the classroom, and as I cross the threshold, Mrs. Roberts exclaims, “Have a great rest of your day, Sofia!”
“You, too.” I quickly respond. When I finally reach the school office, my parents stand in front of me, and instead of greeting me with a smile, they don a look of concern on their faces.
“Hi Sofia, we’re going to the doctor’s now. She said that she wanted to discuss last week’s checkup with us. All right?” Mom says.
“Okay…” I reply. We go to the back of the office and exit from there. The whole way to the car and then to the doctor’s, we all remain silent. I feel as if there is a tension between us, but I’m not sure why. We pull up to our town’s main hospital, startling white and gleaming despite the little amount of sunlight. Until we see the doctor, my memory blurs, but I vaguely remember a wristband slapped on to my wrist and thoughts growing more frantic. It can’t possibly mean anything good to have to visit the doctor out of the blue.
The door to Dr. Paul’s tidy room creaks open, and after greeting each other, we settle down into plush chairs.
“Sofia, it’s great to see you again. How have you been doing?” Dr. Paul makes a shabby attempt at smiling.
“Good…” I say.
“Great! So when we looked at your results from last week’s checkup and blood test, we noticed something a bit off,” she starts, gaze directed at my parents. She then averts her gaze to me, and something about the way she stares at me makes me uncomfortable. “We think you have…diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma. It’s a brain tumor with a very low survival rate. We’ll need you immediately admitted to this hospital to make sure. I’m so very sorry, Sofia.”
I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even think. I am paralyzed with fear.

October 16th, 2023
Dear Diary,
I’m sorry I have written in this for such a long time. I’ve just been deciding what I want to write in this. Figuring out how to gather my jumble of thoughts into one clean entry.
It’s been 1 ½ years since I found out about my illness. As I write this, I’m in my room, my home for the last time, staring up at the stars through the skylight in my room, laying on the plush blankets in my bed. I will spend the last few months of my life in a dingy hospital room, the same room I’ve been in out of for what feels like a lifetime. For me, it probably is. My mom says I’m lucky. Only 5% of those diagnosed with diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma survive for two years. Though at this point, I’d rather not have to wait so long, because it’s always the same, like I’ve been living a day on repeat. I’m just supposed to suffer through a few more months knowing I will pass away. Every day, my parents bring me pastries from the bakery, and I lay on the bed, a million tubes connected to me. My best friend Fiona comes every day. That’s probably the best part of my day. We just talk about her school work, whatever. It feels nice to be normal for a little bit, and she knows I need that. When I talk to my parents, it’s just not the same.

October 31th, 2023
Dear Diary,
Here’s how a day at the hospital is:
“Hi honey, we brought macarons today!” Mom says all sing-songy.
“How are you doing, Sofia?” my dad asks. I gently take the pale blue box from his hands, brushing my wavy brunette hair out of my eyes.
“I’m doing great, how’s the bakery? Thanks for bringing these, too. You know they’re my favorite,” I reply with a grin. Thoughts of passing away, fatigue, the itching to get out of this stupid hospital bed. Yeah, I’m doing great. Every day I say “I’m great”, or “I’m doing well.” But I’d rather be happy for my parents. I’m already a burden with my illness, why should I burden them with my emotions?
“That’s my Sofia. A real fighter,” Dad exclaims proudly. I devour the macarons, for they truly are my favorite. A silence falls between us as I eat.
“You know, Fiona made it onto the soccer team,” my mom starts. I immediately light up.
“Really! I knew she would make it!” I feel like jumping up, but I’m tied down by the bed.
“She’ll be here in half an hour. The bakery’s doing great by the way. We have to head out now to try some new recipes. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
“I'll be alright. No need to worry about me.” And now I’m stuck on my own thoughts. There’s one thing that keeps coming back to me, no matter what. Why me? Why do I have this fate? What did I do this deserve passing away so early? No matter how long I’m left alone to my thoughts, staring at the same place on the startlingly white walls of the room or watching some boring show, I can’t think of the answer. My deep thought is interrupted when Fiona bursts into the room, her long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Congratulations!” I exclaim. “I’m so proud of you!”
“I’m so happy I made it on the team! I know you would’ve, too.” Fiona plops down on the one chair in the rooms, her green eyes shining with excitement.
“I don’t know about that. You’re such a great player.”
“I'm really, really excited to start playing. The season starts next spring.”
Next spring. Well, what did I expect? That soccer would start next week? I’ll miss most of the season, if not all of it. “Oh…Would you like a macaron? I saved one for you.” I won’t allow myself to think about it any more.
Fiona temporarily grimaces as she realizes what she just said. “Yep!”
“You’ve got to tell me all about it!”
“Don’t worry, I will.” It goes on and on like this for an hour, until she has to leave. Still being able to talk to my best friend might be the only thing keeping me calm right now.

November 1st, 2023
Dear Diary,
I don’t know what’s been with me today because I just feel…down. My thoughts won’t stop nagging me. What did I do to deserve this? What was the life I could’ve lived? Could I have taken over the bakery, or could I have played soccer professionally? What is so wrong with me that I end up with this fate? I feel like I’m in a rut. That there’s no way out, no choice for me. I already know my future. It’s all been laid for me already, so why should I be sad? Shouldn’t I be used to it? Shouldn’t I accept it? There’s no point to thinking like this, all depressed and alone, yet I can’t stop.
The only highlight to my day is when my nurse, Nurse Hawkins, comes in. She says the best I’ve heard in months.
“Sofia, we think it would be best for you at this point to go outside for at least once a day starting now. I know it can get really boring here. We don’t want you bored for your last few months here,” Nurse Hawkins says with a smile. My gloominess is temporarily lifted. As she disconnects the tubes, the heaviness of the day lightens little by little. “Now we can only go outside for ten minutes, all right?”
“Got it,” I reply. It’s all I can do to not run all the way there. When I get outside, the sun gleams on my olive skin, my brown eyes shining in it. I slink down into a pile of leaves, looking up at the sky. It’s beautiful, a clear blue with the red and gold leaves from trees falling down onto me. I get up and first stroll around, then run through the grass and leaves. I might look crazy, but who cares? For once, I feel blissful. Then it’s time to go.
I reluctantly get up and stride to the room, up the elevator. The ugly stench of hand sanitizer and antiseptic fills my nose. I’ve grown to hate the smell. However, as I’m about to cross the threshold into my room, I feel something tugging at my thoughts. Sadness? Yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Anger? No. Yearning. I feel a yearning for something. I’m just not sure what.. I turn around, facing Nurse. Hawkins. “I can’t go in.”
“What do you mean, honey?” she questions.
“I mean I can’t go in.” My mouth is moving faster than my thoughts. What do you think you’re doing right now?
“Honey, you’re going to have to go in,” she says patiently at first. When I continue to stand in place though, her voice sounds more irritated. “You have to go in now, otherwise I’ll be forced to call security.” WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Turn around, go back inside. But all of it, all my usual responsibility and rationality has gone away in a blink of an eye. I freeze in place, while the security guards approach the room. It all doesn’t seem quite real until one of them picks me up, and out of blue I’ve gone crazy.
“Just leave me be. Just leave me be! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” I scream until I’m plopped onto the bed. Then, my screaming diminishes to sobbing. “Why should I stay here? My life will end soon enough either way.”
My parents run into the room a few minutes later.
“Sofi, what’s wrong? We got called by the hospital. We came here as fast as we could,” Dad asks. For a minute I don’t answer, so I just sob into my lumpy pillow. Finally, I croak out, “I don’t want to die.”
“Of course you don’t,” Mom says, settling next to me on the bed. I slowly turn around and face her, the same brown eye as mine looking at me. As I look calmer, nurses rush in and reconnect my tubes.
“I don’t want to keep saying I’m okay. I hate it because I feel like I’ll never be okay again. I hate laying in this bed all day. I hate getting frailer and weaker. I hate not going to school. Not getting to be normal.” At this point I’m yelling, and the nurses are out of the room. I say the last part of my rant in a voice barely above a whisper. “I hate being a burden to you.”
“We always knew you weren’t really okay. How could someone be okay in this situation? But we knew you weren’t ever going to admit it. We-” Fiona rushes into the room.
“I just got back from school.” She walks towards me, stopping at the bed. “What happened?”
My rant has diminished to sniffles.
“I..I…I’m just not worth it. I’m not worth all of your time.” It doesn’t take anymore explaining to her. “Sofia, I’m not sure what you think of me if you think I would just turn away from you like that. I know, I’ve known every second you got your illness, that if I was in your place, you would have done the same for me. Anyone who would do that deserves to have someone on their side. The way you stay strong for us, it’s almost like we’re a burden for you.” My parents nod in agreement.
And I think, through my turbulent, gloomy, helpless thoughts, Maybe that’s all I need to hear.

March 31st, 2024
Dear Diary,
It’s days or less until my time here comes to an end. Really it feels a minute away. I feel weaker, I feel frailer, and I feel much more fatigued. Most of all, though, I feel at peace. At peace with the world. At peace with this illness that has infected my life. I think in these last few months I’ve realized how lucky I am. Lucky that I survived this long. Lucky to have my parents. Lucky to have my best friend by my side. So lucky to have my best friend. It’s all I really needed. Fiona made me see how I’ve taken so many things for granted, before and after being diagnosed. I no longer reminisce in the past. I’m content with my life now. Maybe it’s good my time ends here, when I’m finally at peace with it. The more I reflect, the people in my life have been so much better to me than I deserve. This life is all I need, all I want.
Well, the desire for sleep’s driving me insane. I guess I’ll turn off the lights now. Maybe for the last time.
Good night.

08/28/2023

Wishing everyone a very happy Onam🌸🌺💐
Onam ( IPA: [oːɳɐm]) is an annual Indian harvest festival celebrated by the people from the Indian state of Kerala- where our parents are from💗

08/26/2023

Toronto, Canada from Centre Island looking to the downtown.