Other Worlds

It rained this morning, and on my way to the bus stop I stepped in a puddle. My socks got soaked, my hair was dripping, and I was shivering so much I could have sworn even my heart was shaking. But I did something that made none of that matter- I listened to music. I put in my earbuds and was transported to a world of peace. A similar thing happened later, during a class of mine. “You may listen to your music,” said the instructor. So I casually put in earbuds and hit play.

It was such a clear sound, such a sudden transformation, that I thought surely other students heard and felt what I did. After looking around I found that no, they did not, it was just me in my own little world.

I will write a follow-up post on this later. Right now, beloved reader, I am far too tired to explain the magic of today. My head throbs and a cough and fever plagues me. Yet I am laying here in the dark, on my bed, listening to this same song…

And I am in another world.

Sad Sunday

I woke up today quite naturally, having had the treat of a full night’s sleep, feeling sad. “Why should I feel sad?” I thought to myself. “Did I have a sad dream?” No, I remembered my dream, and it was quite humorous. “Is the weather depressing today?” I pushed myself off my bed and to the window and found that, while it was a bit cold out, nothing was particularly dark or unhappy. In fact, reader, the sun was shining and I heard the chirps of a bird that has recently settled in near my bedroom. Why was I so sad then?

I ventured out of my room (which, I admit, is quite rare for me to do on the weekend) and to the kitchen, shivering a bit at the cool tile on my bare feet. The lights were off. One of my two cats was asleep under the blast of the heater, looking content. I realized my family was not there. Instead, there was a note. It read:

We’re going to the store for a bit. Your aunt and cousin are coming here this year, so we need to clean the house before Wednesday. Please clean your bathroom.

-mom

“Great! Family for the holidays should cheer me up!” Though I thought this sincerely, I still could not shake the deep frown that had forced itself upon me. I stepped outside, still barefoot, and was met by a welcoming breeze.

In case I haven’t made it clear enough, dear reader, it was cold. It is still cold. It will probably continue to be cold for the next few months, actually. And yet I stood outside, barefoot, barely dressed, surrounded by wind stripping me of any warmth I might have had. I stood there, growing colder and sadder, until my phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered
“Harmony? Hey. What’s up?” A not-quite-friend replied. The two of us had boring conversation…until she mentioned the death of her uncle. A heart attack, she said.
“None of us were really surprised though,” she added. “He pretty much lived alone and was really fat and stuff.”
I answered her ramblings with disinterested grunts and hums.
“I don’t think anyone really liked him that much either.”
We finished our conversation soon after.

Of course, there is a reason I’m writing about the deceased uncle of an almost-friend. No one seems to miss him…so maybe it’s my job. Now, reader, I am not one to get overly emotional, especially over complete strangers, but hear me out here. Maybe this morning I mourned the uncle no one particularly cared for, because who else was there to mourn for him?

Maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Maybe I’m reading too deeply into the situation. But there is a chance that I’m not. So I ask you to consider that, reader. On those days that you feel some unreasonable emotion, like sadness, or confusion, or joy, consider that maybe there was no one else to feel it.

~Harmony

Music (empty rambles)

I think I will be posting here far more frequently than I first decided on. And, really, what’s the harm in that? Honestly, I think it’s a good thing. This is a place for you, lovely reader, and for me. For you, it is a look inside the mind of a stranger. For me, it is a way to unscramble my thoughts and share it with a stranger. Are we really strangers though? We have the same words in our head- maybe at different times, in different accents, but the same words nonetheless. I am thinking them, then typing them. You are reading them, and in your head you hear a voice saying them. Or maybe you are blind and you are not reading these words but hearing them. No matter the situation, we are sharing these words. So hello, reader, and welcome to my mind.

I’ve been thinking about music a lot lately. That isn’t so surprising, since music has been around me my entire life. My father is a musician, my grandmother as well (though she has been focusing more on visual art in her old years). Instruments have been offered to me since as far back as I can remember. To some I said yes, to others no. Currently I am taking flute lessons and a guitar class. I still play around on my precious piano, and lately have taken to bass.

But…something bothers me, reader, and it does not just relate to music but dance as well. Recently I have just…not wanted to. I have not wanted to play or practice instruments (or the dance I will be preforming in a week or so). I want to put every instrument in my home, which might I say is a LOT, into a corner and cover it with a thick sheet! Piano? No! Flute? NO! Violin? Well…maybe. My point is that I have, for some reason, been completely disinterested in music. Why now of all times? Have I simply grown tired of the same old sounds? I admit that I did not really want to pursue guitar, and flute has become more of a chore as of late, but piano? Piano was the first instrument I gravitated towards. My musical slump drove me to ask my father (while he was, amazingly, sober. A rare sight indeed) if he had ever had a similar situation. The answer was yes, and it lasted for ten years. So I was further saddened by the situation. My guitar teacher said that she had not had an experience like my own, and my flute teacher advised me to “power through it.”

But in a way…this has been a gift. I have been able to, for the first time in my life, fully enjoy music. I have not been automatically pulling each instrument apart, I have not been seeing the rhythms in my mind, I have not been analyzing it! I have been able to close my eyes and smile and listen to the sounds someone created. What more could I ask for?

If I had the choice of being fluent in every instrument or being able to enjoy music purely, I would, without hesitation, choose the latter! Well…there might be a moment of hesitation.

But only a moment.

~Harmony

A Story

When I decided to make this blog, I told myself that I will post once a day, every day. But why not break the rules? I have had a story on my mind for quite some time, and have, after a moment of consideration, chosen to finally write it down. I’m not sure if this could be considered sharing it with someone, but the thought of some stranger reading it comforts me. Maybe you are far away, reader. Or maybe you are close. Maybe you are close enough to see, if I only turned my head slightly. Either way, I hope this story provides you with some entertainment, or at least a way to pass the time. Maybe something to think about before returning to your everyday life. Enjoy.

The moon hangs low in the sky, so low that one might wonder if it was not trying to touch the horizon. Its white light is the only thing in the blanket of black sky that can be seen. Where have the stars gone? Did they ever exist? A young girl wonders this as she trudges through fresh, crisp snow and pushes against a light wind. She wonders where she is, who she is, what she is. Does she have a name? A family? The girl does not know. All she does know, really, is the endless white that surrounds her and fills her boots, the soft whispers of the wind that sing to her, and the emptiness of the sky, save for the moon.

She forces onwards, shivering now. Small bumps rise on her exposed arms, and her perfect teeth start to chatter. The wind picks up, and she holds the end of her thin dress to keep it down. She watches as her boots sink into the snow, one after the other, and her once black leggings become spotted with white. Her hair blows behind her, and her nose and ears begin to sting. She sniffs a few times, unsure if her nose is running or not, then coughs.

Glassy dots start to fall from the sky, joining together to make a soft bed of white. The wind grows angry. The moon rises, only to be covered by a few stray clouds. The girl has stopped shaking. She no longer feels the snow seep into her boots, or the movement of her legs, or the scratching wind. She sees white. She smells the cold and tastes metal. She hears the crunching of her feet in snow and the screams of the wind. The screams are soon replaced by ringing. Has the wind stopped? The metal taste grows stronger. The white that she once saw is fading, slowly, to black. She falls onto the bed the sky has made for her.

Above her, the moon is freed from its prison behind clouds. The wind settles, and the sky clears. There are dots up there, watching, wondering. Who is this girl? Why is she laying there? Why doesn’t she move? The stars watch until they are blinded by one of their own. The sun rises, replacing the moon. The snow melts under its blaze, the wind leaves for the day, and in the distance voices can be heard.

On the news that day, a reporter tells of footprints in the snow. Countless footprints that lead to nowhere and no one.

Above him, a new star is born.

~Harmony

Walking

I sat outside today in a jacket far too light for the weather and thought about walking. I thought about leaving. I thought about consequences.

What was to stop me from getting up, packing a small bag, and walking away from my home? My family was out, my pets were fed, and I could only think of one reason why I shouldn’t leave to find some small, secluded, far away town and start a new life there under a false name. It wasn’t the law, since, technically, disappearing is not illegal, and I have no debts to pay or job to report to. It was not even my family, who would undoubtedly be scared and sad and hurt at my sudden absence in their lives. Was it that I was satisfied with my current life? Not at all! I am not unsatisfied with it, but there is nothing I have now that I wouldn’t forget and move on from.

It was fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of failure, fear of learning that there was never actually the choice to leave in the first place. What would I do if I wandered away to start anew, only to find myself pulled back by friends and family thinking they were helping me? I think my view on my current life would be shattered. I would no longer wake in the morning and make choices, sometimes stupid and sometimes not. I would no longer ask, “what do you want for dinner?” or “which shirt should I wear today?” No, I think I would grow rather depressed knowing that I did not, in fact, have any choice at all. It was the fear of this that held me back, reader. It was not love, or happiness, or respect for the law. It was fear.

So I sat outside in a jacket far too light for the weather and thought about walking.

~Harmony