silent music

On the way to graduate class, high noon. Caught a jeepney to Katipunan. Sat next to a heavily built lady. She had a guitar with her. Passed a glance to all the other four or five passengers. A pair of women, talking loudly, as if they wanted the whole world to hear their conversation. How annoying. An elderly gentleman trying to calm the extremely fidgety grandson on his lap. A young man, fast asleep, his head lolling down to his chest.


Then the lady beside me started to hum softly, tapping a beat on her knee with her fingers, and bobbing her head to the unheard tune running through her mind. Ah, silent music! Her fingers started to form the guitar chords; she ran them over the covered frets of her instrument. From the serene look on her face, she had drowned out the rattling voices of the two indiscreet women seated across her, the high whine of the little boy, the soft snoring of the sleeping young man, and the random noises of the city around us. All that existed and mattered was her silent music.


Painful envy ran madly through me. I remember the guitar I’ve had since heaven knows when, kept in its case, gathering the dust of the many passing years. How many times have I tried to learn to play and failed? How many people have tried to teach me and failed? I remembered all the unborn songs I wanted to play on that guitar, all waiting to be freed there in my head. Why did I never learn? I keep telling myself that it’s because too many things get in the way. My fingers are too short, I don’t have time to practice, there’s always something else that’s more important I should do, etc. etc. etc…. But the guitar is there, at the foot of my bed, waiting, waiting for the silent music it was destined to play.

(posted elsewhere 20 Aug 2005)