Keep your elbow up and your arm relaxed. Don't stop until you are as close to perfect as a human can get. Fight for your right to play. And once the season ends, start all over.

These words resonated with me for the following 15 years. The person who said it was the most independent, strong woman I've ever known, my mother. As a violinist, she taught me how to change the world with music. There was never a time where we didn't sing or play an instrument to brighten our day.

My father had passed when I was a baby, but she had taken care of me with all of her strength. However, she died at the beginning of January this year due to cancer. I am now eighteen and it is September. I was born and raised in America; however, my father's parents resided in Japan. He, himself, was only half Japanese, making me mostly English.

My mother's features passed down to me, giving me fiery red hair and ocean blue eyes. Contrasting with the stereotype for red-heads, I actually have tan skin. That is the only evidence that connects me with my deceased father. Growing up by the beach in the States, I had a peaceful childhood.

Carrie, my rebellious best friend, has been my bodyguard since I was nine. Every moment in her life was filled with violence until my mother found her. She taught Carrie how to be free, and the three of us lived with love. However, after the moment my mother died, Carrie was forced to live with her father once again.

Now alone and with no money, I searched for anyone else that I could live with. My only option was my grandfather on my father's side since my mother cut all ties with her family for reasons unknown to me. I sent him a letter a month after my mother died and he allowed to take me in. Packing only some clothes, my violin, and a picture of me and my mother, I traveled to Japan.

The only dream I have in life is to make people happy with my music, just as my mother did. As I practice my violin every day, I work to achieve that dream.

I woke to the sound of my alarm ringing. The sun creeps into my room, directed at my bed. The first thing I do is shower and brush my teeth, then I prepare for day's worth of violin practice and working at the local cafe shop a few blocks away. For months I have been searching for studios to allow me to record my own music on their label. However, the music industry is tough if you are unknown.

Plus it is almost impossible to make progress with my music when I am working to help pay the rent and taking care of the house itself. I refuse to be a freeloader since my grandfather was so generous to take me in. After all, I am a stranger to him even though we are blood-related. He insists I go to To-Oh, a college with high standards that is near my neighborhood.

I've looked into the programs and they do have a music degree, but I don't have the intelligence to get into a school like that. The only thing I am useful for is music and cooking. Speaking of which, it is time to start practicing my violin. As I go to grab the case, I notice a slit on the bottom of it. It is an old case, but it has always held strong over the years.

It was my mother's violin and her case, so I refuse to get rid of it. I go to the kitchen and search the drawers for anything to sew it back into one piece. When I return, I start to get to work. When I grabbed the open fabric, a piece of folded paper slips out. Opening it, I examine the letters written on it.

Dear Evelyn,

If you are reading this then I have already passed.

My child, you will do amazing things in your life.

Do not let any chance pass you by.

There is something you must know about my father.

His name is Quillsh Wammy and an amazing inventer.

After my mother had passed, he ran an orphanage for the gifted.

This is for intelligence only, however. So I never fitted the category.

Because of his unbearing expectations, I left England to live my own dream, not his.

One day, I'd like you to present yourself to him so he can see the wonderful child I raised.

I don't know where he is anymore, but I'm sure you will cross paths.

For he is my father after all, and you are his granddaughter.

I've left this note to encourage you to live for me.

No matter the reasons, don't let life pass you by.

With Love,

Elizabeth.

Tears filled my eyes as a powerful force weighed my heart. She knew she was going to die too early? In a haste, I look for anything else she may have hid in there. After a minute of searching, I pulled out a photo of a man with light brown hair and a small mustache with glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. Beside him a small girl held his hand, smiling as if she had never seen pain in her life.

'I love you too, momma.'

December

It was a slow night at the cafe. I was in the middle of cleaning the pastry dishes in the kitchen when I heard the bells on the entrance door jingle.

"Eve! There's a customer at the counter!" my boss yelled from her office.

"Yes, Ma'am!" I yelled back.

"I told you to call me Kiko!"

"Sorry, Ma...I mean Kiko"

I ran to the front desk to greet the customer. I stopped dead in my tracks to see an elderly man with white hair and a white mustache with glasses sitting at the bridge of his nose. He looked similar to the man I saw in the photo. He stared back at me with confusion in his eyes, then looked away immediately to scan the menu.

"May I have a strawberry shortcake and an apple pie, please?" His words broke my trance and I blushed. It's so rude stare like I just did.

"Yes, sir. Would you like me to add anything to drink with that?" I wondered if he recognized me at all. I do look almost identical to my mother.

"No, thank you. I'd like to take this to go." he said with a soft smile. Maybe, he's not the man in the picture. As I boxed up the cake and pie, I try to build the courage to ask him if he had known my mother. Once he paid, I finally found my nerve to ask him, but before I could get a word out, he grabbed the boxes and rushed out the door with a "thank you."

I felt stupid for not asking sooner. Have I missed my chance to meet my grandfather? Was he even my grandfather? He did look like an English man, but why was he in Japan? Would he know Japanese that well if he was just on a vacation? It took me months to learn the basics and I live here. My mother never said where the orphanage he led was at, but she's from England.

Maybe I'm thinking too much. He's probably not the man from the picture. What would be the odds of running into my English grandfather in Japan?