A few months ago I had realized that whatever I will be doing in the next 5-10 years, I will excel and become very good at it. A while ago fate has decided to pin me here in Tainan for about half a decade more. Therefore I know I will be scientifically fundamentally sound. My tennis will continue to develop. I will be one of the best cyclists in the world to ride a spontaneous-breakdown Giant bike, to the beach or/and in the storm. Now I can even add baseball-columnist to it as well, as long as the project stays alive.
However, one element of my life was left out: music. Music is one of the irreplaceables, parallel with exercise/sport, and philosophy. A few tracks of rising songs can wake me up in the mornig, another few can rejuvenate me past the latter half of the day, and some heart-pumping tunes can drag me through the tracks. At night when darkness set in, a few touching melodies can swirl my mood into the whirl of sentiments. As an audience of music, I still wait for the day to lay on the lawn beneath the starry night, and to be embraced by the waves that cannot be put in words.
Yet for the years I’ve been here, or even dating back to the days in Kaohsiung, I have been much more of a listener over a player. I often heard a great song that I would love to appreciate with my own fingers, yet was too frequent and too exhausted to even unwrap the guitar near the couch. And the inspiration turned into pity; the moment became the past.
A while ago I was drawning in a few of those sentimental songs again; I wanted to do something about it before the impression slipped away again. I put a txt file on my desktop to record the songs that I would like to play, so at least I will have something to recall upon in the future. Last week when I finally got a few minutes to finger the chords, the high E string was broken.
Was it God’s will? Because with the broken string, I learned a few songs that I did not require the E string, and it led me to the guitar shop to pick up a new string and a guitar holder. Being in the guitar shop brought back those memeories of the amateur guitar player back in 2002, pure and naive. The memories turned into waves of emotions that rushed through my blood; the long hybernating music cells were sleeping no more. With the guitar holder, I’ve placed my guitar right next to my desk, near my bed, so I can watch youtube, strum a few chords, just before I go to sleep. No more unwrapping, no more scrutinizing, no more pity.
Fate has delivered a twist with the broken string; unexpected, and out of my reasoning.
What can I do?
Keep walking, Keep Strumming.
And hopefully, I will understand why someday.