[Music] This feeling can wait, penetrating the soul

Author: Jeffi Chao Hui Wu

Article Date: Wednesday, July 23, 2025, 8:40 AM

I have always said that I am "musically blind," unable to read sheet music, not understanding numbered musical notation, and even the spelling of chords is something I memorize by ear. Yet, it is precisely this person who has never received professional music training that has repeatedly played the same piece over a thousand times. This piece is "Right Here Waiting," which is called "此情可待" in Chinese.

This is not a piece I picked randomly, nor is it for performance, showmanship, or to attract attention. I play it because it has always penetrated the deepest part of my soul.

The first time I heard it was during those years when I wandered alone in a foreign land. Every day I rushed around the edges of the city, and at night, when I returned to the temporary room I rented, the empty space had no lights, no people, and no return date. I cooked alone, ate alone, went to the bank alone, and struggled with life alone. And that line, “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you,” felt like a response to my lonely life, as well as a promise that had never been fulfilled.

At that time, I couldn't play this piece yet; I could only listen to it repeatedly and imagine it over and over. There is an emotion hidden in the melody, something that cannot be put into words, but it is like the wind, like an echo from afar, crashing into my heart time and again.

The real start of playing this piece was after I developed the habit of practicing in the early morning. I would wake up at 4:45 AM every day, arrive at the Sydney seaside around 5:00, and practice standing meditation, Tai Chi, the Golden Rooster Stands on One Leg, and Yi Jin Jing... After about 1.5 hours, my energy flowed smoothly, and I felt refreshed. Then I would sit in the car, pick up my guitar, and play the first note amidst the sound of the waves and the glow of dawn.

The entire piece uses only six basic chords, without any fancy techniques or strict attention to rhythm. When I play, I never consciously think about the melody; instead, I let my fingertips touch the strings in harmony with my breath and vital energy. It’s not me playing the piano; rather, the sound of the piano guides me into a certain flow of emotion, like standing still at a certain moment, completely motionless, yet feeling waves surging within.

I say it penetrates the soul, not just because it is beautiful. What truly moves me is the dialogue between this piece and the body. That state of "heavy," "loose," and "quiet" is precisely the foundational structure I am most familiar with in my Tai Chi practice. It is not about standing firm through willpower, but rather naturally settling after achieving structural balance; it is not about thinking through the rhythm with the mind, but rather the internal rhythm of the body governing the fingertips. This piece is like my vital energy structure speaking, with the melody becoming the sound system of my internal meridians.

Many people think that playing the piano relies on technique, but I have found that truly moving melodies are created with "body warmth." When the body's structure is aligned and the breath flows smoothly, the sound of the piano will naturally convey emotions. While others rely on their skills to perform, I depend on the calmness that comes from standing still. When playing "This Love Can Wait," I am using the softest part of my life to exchange emotions with myself and the world.

It has recorded many moments: after practicing in the early morning, sitting in the car playing it, the sun not yet risen, the waves gently tapping the car window, my heart as calm as water; one sleepless night, as I played, tears began to flow; thinking of an old friend, when I played the last note, I felt as if I had been struck by something, unable to regain my senses for a long time; and countless ordinary days, it has been like a silent friend, accompanying me through the turmoil in my heart.

I play this piece to calm myself down. It is to reunite with my past self, to tell that person who was alone in a strange city, "I still remember." It is to confirm: I have never lost that feeling.

"The Waiting for This Love" was originally a song about love, but for me, it gradually became a mirror of life. I am not recounting an unfinished romance. I am simply telling myself: after all the hardships, I remain the same, this tenderness still exists, and I am still willing to keep it.

More importantly, through this piece, I confirmed one thing: what is most moving is not the technique, but "truth." Just like in Tai Chi, the most important thing is not how beautiful the form is, but whether the body is truly relaxed, truly open, and truly grounded. No matter how well an instrument is played, if the emotions are not conveyed, it is still empty. And I, even as a musical novice, as long as my heart is open and my hands are warm, the strings will not deceive.

Today, I would like to invite you to listen to my version. It's not for likes, nor is it a performance. This is just a very real and peaceful part of my life. If you are willing, please enter my video account and search for the fingerstyle version of "This Love Can Wait."

You don't need to listen to the entire piece. Perhaps just the first ten seconds will make you understand—this is not a "performance"; this is a person in the wind, at dawn, after practicing, using their fingertips and vital energy to say, "I am still here."

In this chaotic world, we all need a bit of tranquility. If you happen to be searching for that peace, that distant sentiment, I am here—always have been!