Rediscovering my First Love

It was a sunny summer morning. I was greeted by a kind face. He led me to that small, blue room with that black piano. Right there and then, I knew that one - the one I would like to spend the rest of my life with.
Music.
I don't know when I exactly fell in love with music but I knew even before I joined that fateful singing contest when I was in grade two, that I had a passion for it. I have this longing to hear and make music.
When I was still much, much younger, what I would remember about my afternoons is the radio playing 90's music as I sing along with it though I can't remember if I can even mutter a word.

As time passed by, I joined that fateful singing contest just for the fun of it. I won once and I never won again for the next few years.

There was one summer when I was supposed to just bum around, when my mama suggested that i take on classical voice lessons in this studio that she knew of. I was joyful. It was something I knew would be worthwhile.

That morning finally came. That small, blue room with that black piano became the playground of my being. Being there raised up all kinds of emotions in me. I would be worried about not getting the notes right. I would be glad every time I was able to make my teacher smile. I guess there was always that innate desire in me to touch people with music - to use this talent to reach out to others.

Everyday, I would go home with the new lessons that I've learned. I would tell my papa all about it on the way home and he would listen to my endless chatter.

Eventually, the summer came to an end and so did my voice lessons. It was capped off with a recital. It was the first time that I've witnessed such a wonderful display of music in its many forms. I admired the people who played and sang and hoped for one moment that I could be like them one way or another.

It wasn't until a year later that I've decided to pursue my voice lessons again. Yet, from that time when I set foot on another more spacious room with another black piano, I began to feel that desire to learn more- to hone this talent of making music. The music school was near our home and so I would walk down the street every Sunday with a smile on my face carrying my song pieces. It eventually ended with another recital. That recital was another milestone. It signified the end of my beginner's voice lessons.

I was not able to pursue it further though. As the years went by, I spent more time on my academics and less and less time for music. I would join choirs once in a while. I joined choirs for the mass or for competitions. Each time I practiced, the passion just continued to burn, only slightly dimmer. I wanted to reach out with music but desire proved to be not enough.

Eventually, we arrive at the present. I'm a college freshman trying to adapt to the demands of University life. I've decided to join the dorm choir initially because it was my habit to join whenever there is a choir in my midst.

This choir proved to be an eye opener. It broke the state of ennui of my existence. I just realized that I was half-dead all along, going wherever the winds take me. I was not living until I rediscovered the passion I have lost. I began to get to know music all over again. I remembered the times when I had less things to worry about. I remembered that summer when talking with my Papa about my voice lessons was enough to complete my day. I remembered the times when I made my Mama proud every time I sang. I remembered the times when I made people smile and praise God every time we sang during the mass. There were so many memories of music and joy in the early years of my life. It was then that I knew that I was capable of touching others with that music all along.
These realizations just happened on the most typical Thursday evening. A practice session with the choir. Right there and then, I saw that this music has hands of its own, touching those who opened themselves to it. This Music is always willing to love if only we allowed ourselves to be loved by it.