Music of the Heart

Music of my Heart

"I don't care who you are, if you successfully play the music of my heart, then I will love you."

- Dandelion

It all began on a rainy, winter day, just near the beginning of February. I was heading to one of the places I love the most: the music room.

All my life, music has always been the constant guardian I had desperately needed. Starting when I was a kid, after I lost my parents and friends, and all the way until I am now.

I've self- learned most of the instruments based; I had no money to have a tutor to guide me. But I guess you could say that that was one of the reasons, I fell in love with music.

Silly, isn't it? Falling in love with- not a person, not an animal, not even a thing you could touch- music? Something so abstract but you can still feel it passing through your very bones and seeing imaginary notes in the air?

I've always believed that inside a heart, there's music. The music of the heart. I've already found mine, of course. It's the softly melodic ones- the ones that can make you sleep after a stressful days, the ones that can make you calm down after the whole day panicking, the ones that just can envelope you into a tight and warm hug.

After I've found the music of my heart, it all became easier to communicate myself through music. Music isn't about memorising the notes on sheets, it isn't about hitting the right notes, not forcing yourself to feel the emotions. No, it isn't all of that. Instead, it's part of your body. It isn't an extension; it's like the heart beating, it's like the lungs breathing, it's like the brain thinking. Music connects the body and united it as one, it connects it in a way no one can't, not even you.

But, I mean, that's what I think. I can't say for the other people.

I gripped the old violin I've had since I was a little girl and stepped into the music room. It was quiet; no one was there. Mostly because his was an abandoned one, which is perfect for my case, I never had to pay for any bills.

Then, there I stood in the centre. And imagining as if a crowd of people surrounds me, I played. It was a different feel every time I played; it was never the same. This time, I played of memories and hope; the past and future combined. I played of sorrow and despair than hope and happiness I found after discovering about music.

It felt a long time before I stopped, and by then the sharp sound of the violin echoed around the room and I could still hear the last few notes I played.

I stood there, my hands aching but I didn't care. I smiled to myself, proud and happy. I always felt like this after playing.

Then, suddenly, I heard clapping, applause. I turned around to the sound and found myself staring at the shadow of the person.

I stayed silent, daring for the person to make the move. And he did, he stepped out of he shadows and faced me; he had a wolffish grin on his face. He was holding a guitar which looked like it was new- it's very polished.

He didn't stop clapping until he was in front of me, our faces only a few inches apart from each other.

"You're an excellent violinist. I've heard you playing ever since I was down there." He pointed at the stairs. "And I couldn't help wondering what the sound was, who was playing."

I sat there, stone faced, wondering if he expected my thanks.

Yet he, as if ignoring my silence, continued, "I think you played something original, right? I've never heard of hat before, and it was the most beautiful thing I've heard in my life. I've heard despair and hope mixed together. And really, it takes one out of billions and billions of people to play one."