“Music speaks what cannot be expressed,
soothes the mind and gives it rest,
heals the heart and makes it whole,
flows from heaven to the soul.”
My mother was my first music teacher. She taught me the basic formation of the fingers to form chords. She also taught me the proper way of strumming the guitar. It has never been the same after that. Through constant practice, before I knew it, the noise I was producing became refined melody.
The more I learn about music the more I became motivated to practice and study more. During those times, I literally slept, woke up, drank, ate, and took a dump with my guitar. I would not want to miss a minute without it by my side. I was in high school when I bought my first electric guitar. It was also a time of my growing angst towards the world. I was introduced to metal, grunge, and punk. Spell Metallica, Nirvana, Tool, and Wolfgang.
In college, I joined an organizational pool of musicians. I was there that I met a lot of music enthusiast that some eventually became my band-mates. They were my brothers and sisters in music. My musical taste even became more diverse as they introduced me to Jazz, Blues, Soul, Funk, and Bossa Nova.
We performed everywhere: events, birthdays, debuts, weddings and rock concerts. We won a lot of cash when, at one time, we joined an acoustic battle of the bands sponsored by a local radio station. "Study hard, Jam Harder!" - that was our motto.
In all those times, I always refused to play for money. My principle has always been "music as a means of self expression." It was always about sharing the gift.
It is depressing to realize that for a very long time now, I have not played my guitar. What is even more shocking is the fact that and I do not plan to play it anytime soon. In fact, I do not even know where my guitars are now. They are probably sleeping with cobwebs somewhere. Are they safe from humidity and moisture? Are they even in their guitar cases? I could not care less.
The first time I realized this problem was when, not long ago, I was asked by my friend, "When will be your band's next gig?"
I caught my self answering my friend this way, "I've already retired."
It was the day Music died.
Music died the same manner God died: People stopped believing him. People stopped needing him. People stopped worshiping him. Disenchantment ruled their hearts.
Music is dead. It died. It's dead. I killed it.
But I will not leave his dead body yet. I am embracing hope that someday, just like Jesus, it can resurrect itself from the dead.
I am not leaving just as yet.
I'm praying for a miracle.
Photo credits:Rocks to Rockets and Aganons.