MW / Serenade

12:00:00 AM

To these three men, who serenaded me during my Dumaguete trip with eerily beautiful music that haunted me and broke my heart with a kind of pain I have never heard before, this is a promise that I will write your stories someday.
At the airport was a blind man singing to a crowd that didn't pay any attention to him. He had a small donation box beside him, for the community of the blind. In my head I wondered if he has been blind all his life, or if there was a time that he could see. I tried to think about how he got started with music - who taught him how to sing and how to play the guitar. I imagined what his life is like, being in perpetual darkness, relying on all other senses to find his way in the world.  
The saxophone has just as much character as the man holding it, and I wonder how or where he got it.  I'm not sure if it  was the state of the instrument or if he just didn't really know how to play, but the music he made was not what you would hear from, say, a Charlie Parker or a John Coltrane. But it was still music, and it moved my heart in ways I did not expect. I felt a tug at every note, and I found myself sharing his life, his pain. 
If the stories were true, my father used to serenade my mother from her window, singing his heart out while playing the guitar. This image made me wonder if this man has a wife, and if he serenaded her, as well, to win her heart. But his story is radically different from my family's. He looked every bit tired and beat, and it shattered my heart knowing that the same music I've come to love and enjoy is barely keeping him fed and clothed. 

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Hello, reader! Thank you for wasting your time reading my blog. I do hope you enjoyed whatever you stumbled upon. :)