When I was young I grew up with everyone around me turning heads to books. It’s not all that bad but then all I had was the outdoors. It had nothing but people and cars bringing nothing but noise and ruckus. Everywhere I turn to there was nothing but noise overlapping the sweet sound of nature.
There is a nearby jail near our old hometown and I usually stay at a local charity place to help out other people. In this place, some prisoners who are about to be set free from jail, come to this place and help out with the place, doing household chores as their form of disciplinary actions.
I do not remember all of their stories but one. There was this convicted fellow, for murder, who claims that he was set up and had to serve time that wasn’t his.
I for one do not believe anything I hear right off the bat but this guy certainly got to me. I remember the first time I saw him, he had this smile in his face that paints out bliss even though he had to endure all those years. This smile is for certain that it is not due to his nearing freedom, it was because of something else.
I was really curious of how this man managed to keep that smile.
At around lunch time, when he had his break, I did not see him pick up spoon and fork for he had no food with him and still he smiles. The reason behind this left me in awe. It was when I saw him pick up an old small guitar that I knew how he keeps that smile. He was not alone in this world full of noise. He had his music with him all along.
I wasted no time and sat quickly in front of him without even noticing that I did this out of spite. The music he had with him filled me with joy and I felt a new passion spring out. The sounds coming out from the guitar he was holding got me mesmerized and brushed away my skepticism of this man.
I did not realize how fast time flew by or just how short his break was. He had to go back to doing chores for people leaving me still lost on what to do. As days pass by, I waited for him on the same spot where I saw him hoping that he’ll be there playing his guitar.
The week after he started teaching me how to play the guitar. My fingers are short and stubby so I never really got it at first but he did not give up on me. He spent his breaks teaching me and right before going back to his cell, he’d spend more time teaching me. This went on for a week until he was gone. I learned that he had gone back home to his family that was long waiting for him to come back.
Now I understand why this smile has never left him as it has done on me. My passion for guitars that sprang that day gave me another reason to face this world full of noise and get through the hearts of other people, using only this string instrument known as guitar.
I have built my world, passion and career through guitars, and as I start a new chapter of reinventing this string instrument, I will always remember the day that a very unlikely fellow led me to where I am. today.Read More