I take every opportunity I can to practise my piano technique.
My left hand is not like it was before the motorcycle accident.
It's slow.
It's confused.
It's like it just won't communicate with me.
There's some kind of divide between my left hand and my injured brain.
So, while I'm waiting for class to start, I quietly, secretly, practise my technique.
Nobody want to hear that.
Right?
Well, except for the children.
It's all cool to them.
They like to watch my fingers move across the keyboard in tandem.
They try to emulate me in the upper register, mockingly playing notes at random, hands flying off the piano just like Liberace.
Then one little boy was alone with me.
He's our drummer.
The only drummer.
When there's a performance, he's the man.
He plays with every group, perfecting his chops.
He's pretty enthralled by the piano and I'm pretty mesmerized at his almost perfect timing on the drums at such a young age.
Still, we all want more.
He asked me if I could teach him, 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'.
Only, in he asked me in Spanish.
I had no idea what he was talking about, so he sang the song and I instantly lit up.
"Of course I can teach you this song!"
He placed his miniature hands on the piano and I started to really look at this child.
He has scars on his face, and I can only imagine it's from a rock throwing incident, or 10.
The children love to throw rocks in anger here.
Then looking at the skin on his arms, I noticed more.
His perfect little body was marred with many tiny scars, removing the beautiful dark sheen from his skin that from a distance, seems utterly perfect.
It reminded me of The Thug.
So many scars with so many memories.
But there was one scar I just couldn't keep my eyes off.
Intentional.
On his right hand.
The letter 'B' carved in, never to leave his existence.
5 lines in a fierce formation to create the letter that his name begins with.
I tried to take notice to see if possibly he's left handed, and branding could have been done by himself.
It's possible.
He started by playing the piano with his left hand, so instinct may have said that's the dominant.
But still.
I couldn't imagine this child etching his skin so deep that he has a forever reminder of the first letter in his name.
Such a sweet soul.
But we all have scars, don't we?
His demeanor speaks of so much happiness, but all the children here do.
Including the little tyke in the village who can barely speak, yet he's been taught how to ask for 5 pesos.
Happy child.
He makes me smile when I see his eyes light up upon seeing me.
No matter what, we all have the ability to be happy with our lives.
It's our choice.
My left hand is not like it was before the motorcycle accident.
It's slow.
It's confused.
It's like it just won't communicate with me.
There's some kind of divide between my left hand and my injured brain.
So, while I'm waiting for class to start, I quietly, secretly, practise my technique.
Nobody want to hear that.
Right?
Well, except for the children.
It's all cool to them.
They like to watch my fingers move across the keyboard in tandem.
They try to emulate me in the upper register, mockingly playing notes at random, hands flying off the piano just like Liberace.
Then one little boy was alone with me.
He's our drummer.
The only drummer.
When there's a performance, he's the man.
He plays with every group, perfecting his chops.
He's pretty enthralled by the piano and I'm pretty mesmerized at his almost perfect timing on the drums at such a young age.
Still, we all want more.
He asked me if I could teach him, 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'.
Only, in he asked me in Spanish.
I had no idea what he was talking about, so he sang the song and I instantly lit up.
"Of course I can teach you this song!"
He placed his miniature hands on the piano and I started to really look at this child.
He has scars on his face, and I can only imagine it's from a rock throwing incident, or 10.
The children love to throw rocks in anger here.
Then looking at the skin on his arms, I noticed more.
His perfect little body was marred with many tiny scars, removing the beautiful dark sheen from his skin that from a distance, seems utterly perfect.
It reminded me of The Thug.
So many scars with so many memories.
But there was one scar I just couldn't keep my eyes off.
Intentional.
On his right hand.
The letter 'B' carved in, never to leave his existence.
5 lines in a fierce formation to create the letter that his name begins with.
I tried to take notice to see if possibly he's left handed, and branding could have been done by himself.
It's possible.
He started by playing the piano with his left hand, so instinct may have said that's the dominant.
But still.
I couldn't imagine this child etching his skin so deep that he has a forever reminder of the first letter in his name.
Such a sweet soul.
But we all have scars, don't we?
His demeanor speaks of so much happiness, but all the children here do.
Including the little tyke in the village who can barely speak, yet he's been taught how to ask for 5 pesos.
Happy child.
He makes me smile when I see his eyes light up upon seeing me.
No matter what, we all have the ability to be happy with our lives.
It's our choice.
i consciously choose love above all else
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