Han Soo-jin / Korea Times file

One of nature's phenomena that always touched me, since I was a child, was the sight of a ray of sunlight beaming out amidst ominous-looking clouds. It felt like a symbol of hope, as if the heavens were sending a sign of God's benevolence to mortal beings below, reassuring us.

In times of darkness, a ray of hope gives us more than encouragement; it lifts us out of despair and assures us that life is worth living.

The children in the Terezin Ghetto during the Holocaust drew pictures to escape their horrific surroundings, and it was these very pictures that not only brought them hope, but also became their salvation.

When I was going through a personal slump, I played for the legendary violinist Ivry Gitlis, who had heard me several years earlier. After hearing me perform the Fauré sonata, he held his head in his hands and did not look up for a while. When he finally did, tears were streaming down his face. He thanked me, saying that he had been disillusioned with life in general to the point of feeling suicidal, but listening to my playing gave him hope to carry on living.

"This is what you must continue to do, to become a messenger of God and save people like myself — save the world." His words were like a life belt thrown to me at a very unexpected moment. I had gone to him expecting a ray of revelation to lift me out of my slump, but I realized that the darkness that had pervaded my life had transformed into light illuminating the life of somebody else, which had in turn, reflected back to me, creating a positive dimension in both our lives.

Darkness and salvation. These keywords remind me of a lied by Schubert, one that struck a poignant chord in my heart from the very first time I heard it as a child: "An die Musik". Schoder's lyrics, to which Schubert set music, are in the style of an ode:

"Beloved art, in how many a bleak hour,

when I am enmeshed in life's tumultuous round,

have you kindled my heart to the warmth of love,

and borne me away to a better world!

Often a sigh, escaping from your harp,

a sweet, celestial chord, has revealed

to me a heaven of happier times.

Beloved art, for this, I thank you!"

During several years of medical treatment, when I could not play my instrument and was dabbling in different areas, such as translating and helping out with my father's work, I realized just what music meant to me. And when the treatment did not go as planned, resulting in unexpected delays and continued cancellations in my concert schedule, together with a multitude of other "clouds," my outlook on life became very dark indeed. Again, it was music that lifted and revived me from the proverbial "valley of despair." I chose, against doctor's orders, to go ahead with my Chinese debut, playing one of my favorite concerti, the Bruch. It was immensely frustrating, not having played for a long time, and my muscles wouldn't move the way I wanted them to. However, by the time I was ready to go, an old pianist friend remarked that there was a "new fire" in my playing. This was echoed later by the director of Kronberg Academy, who remarked that I had acquired a new dimension. Music had become my salvation.

This is part of the reason why I chose Schubert's iconic Lied as the title piece for my new album with Warner Classics. Because Schubert/Schoder's confession is one that resonates deeply with my own experiences. Because music indeed has the power to transport us to a better world and help us see what is truly important.

Here's to the transformative power of music, and to all those who read this column. May music do for you what it has done for me and countless others.