My Ghost Story

“I am not afraid of ghosts. Why? I do not believe in ghosts, because it is my belief — based on past readings of the Bible, though I am not a religious person — that human beings who die either go to heaven or hell, not linger here on earth as ghosts. It’s pure hogwash, fiction, myth, wild imagination!”- Wilson Lee Flores, Phil. Star columnist

“Ghosts don’t exist, the Bible says so.” Yeah right. And the world was created in seven days. Personally, I wouldn’t claim to know anything about the afterlife, with it not yet happening and all. The Bible states that when we die, all souls go directly either to heaven or hell. So what? A lot of what’s said in the Bible aren’t factual. And I can never deny what happened to me and my family 18 years ago.

November, 1992. My family went to Cabagan, Isabela to attend a funeral. My grandmother had recently died from cardiac arrest. It was instantaneous and unexpected. She was merely having a hearty dinner with my aunt when she suddenly clutched her chest and fell off her chair. She was dead before they could get her to the hospital.

After the burial, there was one afternoon when I took a nap. There were three of us in the bed; my 10-year old cousin, my brother, and me. I couldn’t get any sleep because my cousin was wildly thrashing in the bed and I was getting hit in the head. Should I get up instead? I could end up dead. Then I heard my aunt call my name. She needed someone to accompany her to town and buy some stuff needed for the night. And so we left.

We came back around 6pm. The entire household was in disarray and I could hear people shouting frantically from inside. Me and my aunt wondered what was going on so we rushed inside. A crowd was gathered in the room where we took the afternoon nap. I saw my cousin was seated at the center of the room and he was shaking uncontrollably, with a very high fever. His mother, one of my aunt got hysterical. A local “albularyo” was knelt beside him. “Kunin n’yo ‘yung damit na suot ni nanay nu’ng namatay sya.” , she called out calmly. My aunt darted right away to my grandmother’s personal closet and took out a white blouse and a black skirt. She handed these to the albularyo, who then placed the items on top of my cousin’s head. What happened next felt as if the earth gave way from under me and swallowed me whole.

“Na’san na ang mga anak ko?” were the words that came out of my cousin’s mouth. But it wasn’t his voice that we heard; it was my grandmother’s.

“Nanang!!!” my aunts and uncles pleaded, upon realizing who was talking. I stood frozen in my place beside the doorway as I watched the whole thing happen. My grandmother (who was physically my cousin) reached out to my aunts and uncles and spoke to them one by one. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could see my grandmother’s gentle hands as she caressed her children’s heads while she spoke. “Pasensya na kayo,” she surrendered, “kailangan ko na’ng umalis.” Her children surrounded her and wrapped her with their arms, trying desperately to keep her from leaving. And then she was gone.

When my cousin finally came to, they asked him if he was aware of everything that just happened. He had no recollection of anything. What he remembered was taking a nap, when all of a sudden he sawnanang outside the window and in the yard waving at him, urging him to follow her. He said that he immediately stood up and ran after her but no matter what he did he couldn’t catch up. All he could see was her back turned towards him, and the white blouse and black skirt that she wore when she died. He followed her right to the cemetery where her body was laid, and saw a light coming from the heavens. She stood directly under the light, and he saw my grandmother raised upwards into that light where she disappeared. That was when he woke up.

Many years later, we still get to talk about what happened that day. I for the life of me cannot fathom any other explanation. I couldn’t imagine my cousin capable of such a ruse; he was to young and naïve for that. My grandmother came back from the grave to say goodbye to us one last time. This is what I believe.

A Death Borne of Shame (February 8th, 2011)

Retired General Angelo Reyes offed himself today in front of his mother’s grave. I wonder what could have been going on in his head. Perhaps he was apologizing for falling short of the man his mother wanted him to be. Perhaps he felt ashamed for his frailty and fraudulence. Whatever it was that went on in his mind, I can only guess. I have only known two people who have committed suicide because of shame. The first one was my neighbor who raped his own stepdaughter. Angelo Reyes is the second.

I would like to divulge an observation. While extremists in other countries are willing to strap bombs and blow themselves to smithereens for their beliefs, Filipino terrorists are content with merely leaving a bomb behind and detonating them from afar. While foreign politicians and businessmen who become involved in issues of graft and corruption will kill themselves than face their guilt and shame, their Filipino counterparts will vehemently deny any allegations even if the evidence is staring them right in the face.

My basic observation is that Filipinos generally have a lust for life. Power, zeal, money, these things that people in other countries tend to prioritize, they only come second to how Filipinos value living. That’s why to us, family is so important. That’s why the top causes of suicide in the Philippines revolve around relationships. Some kill themselves because they can’t be with the ones they love. Others kill themselves because they don’t want to be a burden to the ones they love. Almost always about relationships. Never about shame or guilt or beliefs.

Angelo Reyes’ death, although sad, could signal a cultural change. Of course, being this highly publicized surely helps, but what it primarily shows us is a man who broke from the pressure. We see a man who found no other means of escape. In the sidestory, we see two Filipinos who will no longer be bystanders and have chosen to stand up for what they believe is right. And we see that what they’ve done are causing others to follow suit as well.

I admit that it is premature to say that all these things will lead to a 180-degree turnaround for our country, but I can’t deny that I feel a change coming. And I like this type of change, because it is a change in morals. Sure, other countries may be surging financially and economically, and maybe that’s what most people would wish to happen to our country, but I don’t care that much for money (if I may quote the Beatles). All I’m saying is, I like how this story is unfolding, and I can’t wait to turn the page and find out what’s next. My nipples are all hard from the excitement.

Scott Garceau is a Douchebag

in accepted society, sex and religion are like oil and water. or more appropriately, gasoline and water. it’s best that they stay away from each other, else they’d end up corrupting the other to utter uselessness. i’ve been following the news lately about the church dipping its fingers on the issue of Reproductive Health. personally i oppose the church on this one. the church has incessantly been whining about how this move by the government will end up subverting the morals of the masses even more. they present cases of other countries that employed such drastic measures being unsuccessful in doing so but actually, what they’re presenting are merely half-truths. let’s face it, the masses are stupid. we’re talking here about people who go to church without knowing what ash wednesday is for. people who think that sexually transmitted diseases can be cured by drinking large quantities of buko juice. people who would soon exchange their health, their dignity, their souls, just so they can earn a few measly bills that are soon spent and gone along with their sensibilities. in the human spectrum, there will be those who easily understand, and there will be those who need to be whacked in the head just to get them to listen.

here’s one truth that the church will never tell you. one main reason for the constant increase in our country’s poverty level is because the poor keep fucking and shelling out babies without regard for its future.

on the streets i’ve seen a naked kid being scolded by his mother over nothing. the mother, holding an infant in one hand while slapping the boy with the other, has a swollen stomach. she is shouting at the kid, “putang ina mo! putang ina mo!”

one of the church’s many roles is to act as a parent to its people. sadly, the church has been one passive parent. they’ve been content in merely informing people about what it calls as god’s family planning methods. apparently the stupid masses weren’t listening. and so while the church was talking, the people were fucking. now here comes the government presenting one simple solution: let’s give out condoms. all of a sudden the church throws a fit over an issue which itself has failed to resolve. it’s like a parent covering the eyes and ears of a child who’s at the end of watching porno. it’s a useless move. the damage has been done, the decadence implanted. there’s really no use in safeguarding a child who’s already been morally compromised. the stupid masses will never learn, so the option here really, is to choose between a stable or a poverty-stricken society, both turning up morally decadent in the end.

every life is important. everyone has a right to live. but a life born into an environment where it is unable to achieve its full potential could just be the same as killing it. sure there are exceptions, the ludwig van beethovens and the manny villars, but how often does that really happen? i for one am not willing to take that chance.

In Dreams

Ever since college I have made it a point to write down my dreams. I have this handy-dandy notebook that’s sort of my journal and I have a whole section dedicated to my dreams. Through the years, I have become picky of which dreams I should write, so as a result, the volume of my writing has decreased since then.

But through the years, something has changed.

Have you ever smelled something in your dreams? No? Well, I have.

Have you ever felt drowsy in your dreams? No? Well, I have.

Do you remember the beginning of your dreams? No? Well, I do.

It seems that writing down my dreams has triggered more of my consciousness when I’m dreaming, making me extra-aware so the things that seem impossible in a dream state have become possible to me. What’s more, I am more creative when I’m half-asleep/half-awake. I have written countless tunes that way.

There are even times when I’m aware that I’m dreaming, and when that happens I can control the outcome of my dreams.

I have achieved dream control.

Perhaps entering other people’s dreams isn’t too far-fetched. So watch out for me, in your dreams.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!!

Enveloped Ideas

june 30 at the hard rock cafe makati. i gots to play there for the launch of the dawn tribute album, 'enveloped ideas'. the dawn is pretty much one of the bands i most respect; these guys are very forward thinking. they never want to do the same thing on every album, they experiment with their craft and they've came out with a lot of interesting tunes. and having buddy zabala formerly of the eraserheads as their bassist didn't hurt either.

i played for two bands this night; one for my band switch and the other as a session guitarist for playphonics. switch covered 'difference' while the latter covered 'tulad ng dati'. there were 15 bands who played that night and my bands were number 4 and 13 on the list. talk about unlucky numbers, eh?

playphonics was the first to play. everything seemed ok during soundcheck. even the tech guy gave me the thumbs up. but as soon as i played the intro lick, the aforementioned tech guy suddenly rushes to the stage and turns my volume down. now i can barely hear whatever i'm playing. i know the guy was only doing his job, but i still think he's an idiot.

nine bands later, it was switch's turn to play. was surprised that idiot tech guy didn't mind the grating levels of my guitar this time around. idiot. i think we played a decent set. once again switch was the rotten apple of the bunch. my friends noted that we were the noisiest band of the night. i consider that a huge compliment.

Never Too Old

Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks? This summer, I learned to paint. Microsoft Paint, that is. It started out when my little cousin Grace began doodling on my laptop. I sat beside her and watched concernedly if she might be doing anything destructive. But to my surprise, she knew exactly what to do.

"What's that you're drawing, baby Grace?"

"Si Kuya Glenn 'to."

This is what she drew:

I got curious on what she was drawing, and how she was doing it. As I watched her draw, I was also getting familiar with Microsoft Paint. I watched every stroke of the key and every click of the mouse. So, when she was done, I tried a little drawing myself. Voila, my first masterpiece.

After mastering Microsoft Paint, I needed a bigger challenge. I sifted through my cousins' treasured kiddie magazines and found an artwork that matched my level of virtuosity. Behold, my magnum opus.

Naturally, I bragged to my little cousin what I did, but she was left unimpressed. She immediately saw that I wasn't able to make an exact replica of dear old Spongebob. She pointed out to me that Spongebob's body should have curves instead of straight lines. She noticed the necktie was askew. And his face was too small. Leaving her sight with a wounded ego, I vowed to blow her mind away when I show her my MAGNUM magnum opus. I rummaged through the pages of her magazines again, and when I saw what I thought would impress her, I slaved on it the whole night. I perfected my craft, and this is the result.

Well, we all know what happened next. Did I blow her mind? Of course I did! Did she shower me with praises and concede to my innate virtuosity and genius? Not in this lifetime. Instead, she made me draw something of her own choosing just so I can prove that I was the one who did the drawing. And to make sure of this, she sat beside me and watched me draw. There was no fooling this little missy, you can bet on that.

And so, after wasting a whole afternoon on the laptop while being guarded by little miss terror, i drew this:

Finally, I made her believe. But still, those praises that I was waiting for will have to come another time. Maybe in a year or so.

I'm betting on never.

Playing for God and the Devil

It’s been a whirlwind two days, April 7-8. One of the biggest pitfalls of being a musician is the travel to where you’re playing and barely getting sleep on the way there. I’ve been lucky to get some naps, and that kept me from keeling over while playing. The funny thing about the last two days is that one day I’m playing for a praise and worship at a youth convention, then I’m playing a metal gig with really heavy bands(sound-wise and physically) the next. Here’s a rundown on how it went the last two days:

April 7/ April 8

left Manila at 6:30am/ supposed to leave Manila 2:30pm, delayed at 3:30pm

got there by plane/ rode a van

total of 2 hrs. traveling time/ 6 hrs. total

stayed in a bunk house/ rested in a hotel room

Camsur Watersports Complex, Naga/ Brad’s Bar, Olongapo City

Catholic Youth 26th National Convention/ Colt 45 “Shred to Slam” tour

surrounded by the spiritually enlightened/ surrounded by smokers and drunkards

girls wore modest clothes/ what clothes?

person with closed eyes signifies praying/ if someone’s eyes are closed, they’ve passed out

Sure, I got home drained and sickly and unable to sustain an erection, but I’m not complaining. It’s the music that brought me to the irony between these two gigs and showed me their staggering contrast. That’s all I really care about.

In Memoriam, FrancisM

I was at the NU Rock Awards held last October 30, 2009 at the World Trade Center with a couple of musician friends. Halfway through the event, there was a serious moment when they showed a video presentation about the people in music who passed away in the span of the year. We saw flashing on the large video screen, images of the legendary bassist Dondi Ledesma, front women Tara Bosch of Saffron Speedway, Annabel Bosch of Analog, and the Eguid family. I was so deeply mesmerized by the images I was seeing that I suddenly found myself snapped back to reality when one of my friends nudged and whispered to me, “Ba’t parang wala si FrancisM?”

I couldn’t believe how I could have missed that. How could I possibly forget about the death of one of my biggest heroes? The question bothered me so much that I started to get frustrated and angry, both at myself and at the screen before me. I thought to myself, did they really forget about Francis Magalona? I looked around to see if anyone else was wondering the same thing. But before I could deduce anything, the lights began to dim and “Kaleidoscope World” started to play. And finally, there on the screen were the images of the Master Rapper, seemingly larger than life. The crowd became unusually quiet. I looked around again, and this time I could clearly see a few eyes around me welling, because their tears were reflecting the light coming from the screen. I admit I became a tad teary-eyed myself. The presentation ended with the photo of FrancisM where his back was turned and facing us, both arms raised, proudly showing off a tattoo of the three stars and the sun on his nape. If I were to pick any image that could encapsulate Francis Magalona and what he stood for, I feel it is that picture which represents him best.

How could i possibly forget his influence on me? I remember when “Mga Kababayan Ko” hit the airwaves. It was the first Tagalog song I memorized from start to finish. Back in grade school, I along with four of my classmates, would huddle on a bench during recess and try to best each other by rapping along to his album, “Yo!” on the cassette player. By the end of the week, we pretty much got the entire classroom memorizing. I remember we rendered the tape unplayable after more than a month of repeatedly doing the same thing. We didn’t know it yet, but the seeds of patriotism were being planted inside us right then and there.

How could I possibly forget his songs? “Meron Akong Ano”, “The Man from Manila”, “Ito ang Gusto Ko”, and the track that peeled away the indifference that covered my eyes, “Three Stars and the Sun”, are all ingrained into my memory. When it seemed that the only themes that rappers wanted to talk about were sex, drugs and “gangsta”, FrancisM chose to ride against the tide by talking about his roots, his country and his people. Unlike any other rapper during that era, his lyrics were simply devoid of gimmickry. His words provoked without being confrontational. And the stories he told, they hit closer to home. Perhaps that’s why his songs can still be heard playing on the radio, while those of the rest seemingly faded away as easily as they came. Nowadays, largely because of his exceptionality and excellence, FrancisM has become the high standard by which every Filipino rap artist is measured.

How could I possibly forget his grace? Though I never had the chance to actually meet the man, I’ve been fortunate enough to talk with people who were fortunate enough to know him personally. It may seem too good to be true, but I’ve never heard them talk a single bad thing about him. They said that FrancisM will give you his undivided attention whenever you speak to him. They said that FrancisM would go out of his way to spend time with you or help you out. They said thatFrancisM was always willing to impart any piece of knowledge or advice you may need to help you get your legs sturdy, be it in life or in career. If people who knew him were an indication, it would be easy for me to say that Francis Magalona was a genuinely unselfish man.

How could I possibly forget how he changed my life? As a boy, the tiny flicker of patriotism i felt for my country was fanned into flame by his words that proudly declared his unwavering belief in the Filipino. “Blessed is the man whose land and heart are one”, went one of his songs. No truer words spoken have struck a chord within me the way those did. It may seem foolish and arrogant, but listening to his songs gives me the hope, the pride and the strength to make me believe that I too can make a difference.

It’s sad that Francis Magalona passed away so early. I remember feeling numb with disbelief on the afternoon of February 6, 2009, when I heard them announce his death on TV. I still feel a pang whenever it crosses my mind that I will never hear a new song from him again. I console myself with the thought that maybe his death was God’s way of telling us that FrancisM has done enough, and that it’s time for the rest of us to pick up where he left off. That we should finally do our part. That we need to take responsiblity and find the strength within, in order for us to live our lives with dignity and worth as Filipinos.

One of the things I wish I could have done in my life is to have met the man in person so I can thank him for showing me the way, for giving me something to believe in, and for the hope that he generously shared with each and every single one of his countrymen. His songs will forever be my reminder that words and music have the power to affect people’s lives, and all it takes for that to happen is to just listen. May his soul rest in peace, the one and only Master Rapper, the Philippines’ very own, my hero, Francis Magalona.

The Ballad of Sgt. Pepper and Major Tom

long before sgt. pepper led a band of lonely hearts, and long before major tom freefalled in the vastness of outer space, the two military men were stationed in the 54th light infantry division of the army and fought alongside a war that was easily forgotten. they both never really stood out as soldiers of that war; they received no medal of valor, no purple hearts or what-not. but nobody could really blame them, for young as they were, they already had plenty of other thoughts racing through their head, and winning the war for their country was not one of them.

it took a few weeks in the barracks before the two actually got into a decent conversation with each other. perhaps it was because they couldn’t find other soldiers as unfocused on the war as they were, that they were drawn to each other. and they seemed to hit it off fine. their initial conversation went something like this:

pvt. tom: (looking over pvt. pepper’s shoulder) hey pal, you seem awfully busy writing in that notebook of yours, is that your diary or sumthin’?

pvt. pepper: (looks up, a bit startled) nah, just something i’m putting together for when i’m out of the army.

pvt. tom: really?

pvt. pepper: yeah.

pvt. tom: wow, planning that ahead, huh? uhh.. care to tell me some?

pvt. pepper: nah, it’s nothing interesting, really.

pvt. tom: (fidgeting sheepishly) no, i, ah,um, i’d really like to hear it. truth is i’ve got plans of my own, maybe you’d like to hear them too.

private tom eased himself beside private pepper and eagerly looked at what was on the notebook.

pvt. pepper: well, okay. see this here, it’s a piece of music i’m trying to finish for a big band sort of thing, with all the drums and strings and trumpets and stuff. when i’m done with my service i plan to start a band. nothing epic, really. just something i’ve wanted to do for the longest time, but i never really got around to actually doing it. but then the war came and i got drafted, so here i am, finally having the time to do what i want, but not really doing what i want.

pvt. tom: oh, did you go to music school? how many songs have you wrote?

pvt. pepper: no i’m pretty much self-taught. i did have an uncle though who was a first-class pianist, and he taught me what he knew about music everytime i stayed with him in the summer.

pvt. tom: so i see. well, i meself don’t plan on waiting for this war to end, but no plans of leaving the army though, not yet. i heard the government was building a space program. have you heard about it? i’d like to maybe try out to see if i’ve got the gall to become a spaceman. they have a word for it. what’d they call it? astronaut or sumthin’.

pvt. pepper: (chuckles) you plan on seeing aliens up there?

pvt. tom: heck, no. nothing like that. i just wanna see what the world looks like from up there. you see.. (pauses unsurely) i think that i’ve seen everything in this world i’d care to see. and frankly, i don’t like what i see. it’s just too crowded here.

pvt. pepper: crowded, huh? that’s a bit out of the box, don’t you think? but hey, you got yours i got mine. i hope you’re not planning on moving to the mountains and living like a straggler for the rest of your life.

pvt. tom: heck no! (forlornly looks skyward) i’m guessing outerspace is so much better.

the two became close friends after that, and throughout the war, they both found comfort in each other’s company. then the war ended and they were assigned to different divisions of the army. around this time the both of them were promoted as staff sergeants. one day sgt. tom got a call from sgt. pepper and this is how it went:

sgt. tom: sgt. pepper! what a surprise! heard you’re still in the army, i’ve been hearing some good things about you.

sgt. pepper: oh, drop the title, will you. yeah, i’m still here. seems the higher-ups found my disinterest an asset to the military. listen, i called you up because i heard some good things about you as well. i heard you got accepted to the NASA space program…?

sgt. tom: yeah, that’s right. i’m starting training in a month! and i’m getting married soon, and you can’t not come to the wedding, ya hear?!

sgt. pepper: well that’s even greater news! i’m there in a heartbeat. big congratulations! so, when do i get to meet the future mrs.?

sgt. tom: oh, we’re having a little get together with the families two nights from now. you’re welcome to drop by, bring a date along if you like.

sgt. pepper: uh-huh, that’ll be the day.

sgt. tom: still can’t get along with the ladies, huh? you know what, instead of a purple heart, i think the army should come up with a new medal for the likes of you. how about a lonely heart? what d’ya think?

sgt. pepper: hahaha, you’re one to talk. if i remember correctly, it was you who spoke about how much you hated the world.

sgt. tom: aww, c’mon man, don’t be like that. i didn’t say i HATED it, i just don’t like it, that’s all. besides, i don’t feel that way anymore, not since i met the future mrs. tom, know what i mean?

sgt. pepper: well then i guess you’re one lucky little bugger to have her. i can’t wait to get to know her.

sgt. tom: alright. so i’ll see you two nights from now?

sgt. pepper: yeah i’ll be there.

in the years to follow, sgt. tom got into the space program, got married and climbed up the ranks and became major. meantime, sgt. pepper remained as a head of new recruits in the barracks. they’ve had casual and sporadic meetings over the years, but nothing really interesting was said. fast forward a few years later, and we have major tom calling up his old friend sgt. pepper on what was probably the most significant day on the major’s life:

major tom: pepper…

sgt. pepper: tom!

major tom: i’m gonna be launched into space in five hours.

sgt. pepper: yeah i know, i’m watching it on tv right now! aw dear ol’ chap, i’m so happy for you! i know how much you’ve wanted this. it’s finally going to happen isn’t it?

major tom: yeah.

sgt. pepper: you sound a bit out of sorts.

major tom: it’s nothing. it’s just that things haven’t been running smoothly at home, you know? i mean, i love my wife. but with the baby coming up and this mission taking up most of my time, i feel a little disconnected from her, and i don’t think she and i understand why. but enough about that. so, i heard you’ve been put in charge of the army’s band division? is that true?

sgt. pepper: yeah, you heard right! it’s not exactly what i imagined it would be, but i’m doing something i love for a change. and i’m naming the division after your idea. i’m calling it The Lonely Hearts Club Band. what do you think?

major tom: i take it you must really be enjoying yourself.

sgt. pepper: i’m not really working with my dream musicians, but i have no complaints.

major tom: glad to hear that.

sgt. pepper: i’m starting to get worried about you, old friend.

major tom: no no, don’t worry i’m gonna be fine.

sgt. pepper: if you say so. shall i see you when you get back to planet earth, then?

major tom: yeah, i’ll see you. bye.

sgt. pepper: bye.

and that was the last conversation they will ever have. i guess you already know what happened next to the both of them. if you don’t, then this is where you can find out for yourself:

the story of the shuttle launch and its tragic ending are documented on the David Bowie song, “Space Oddity.”

Sgt. Pepper’s music was discovered by the Beatles. they recorded his songs and released them as a full length album entitled “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” and is considered by many to be the greatest album of all time. Sgt. Pepper died alone at the age of 64.

but still, i guess in the end, they both got around to doing what they wanted to do with their lives.

The One Thing

I’m a failure. I’m unhappy. I have to aim higher. This is what people tell me because when they look at me, they think that I could do so much better. From my family to my relatives to my closest friends, I assume they say this because they think their own lives are way much better than mine. They give out a lot of advices, telling me that I should look for a steady job and raise a family. They tell me they only want what’s best for me. Come now, wouldn’t that be grand?

But what if what they want is none of what I want?

I’ve been there before. I had a job, had a girl whom I thought was “the one”, but a big chunk of me was pulling me away from all that. There was always this nagging feeling that there was something lacking in my seemingly perfect picture. It was telling me that I belong somewhere else. That I should be doing something else.

“Please stop loving me! I am none of these things.”

It was only when I’m immersed in music that I feel complete. If I’m listening to it, if I’m playing it or creating it, these are the only times I feel so powerful; that I am capable of majesty. When I come across a great song, it feels like I’m with someone who understands what I am. It feels like I’m talking to a kindred.

And so I pursued my passion. I gave up everything I’ve ever known and dove head first into the raging uncertainty. All I was armed with was my guitar, and my only ammunition was a heartful of hope.

“If I fail/ if I succeed/ at least I lived as I believe.”

And now here I am 5 years later with nothing to show for all my efforts, pennyless and without a significant other. Yet it don’t seem to touch me at all. I am immersed in music, and that is all that matters.

“And that’s all you are? A musician?”

“I got one thing. Same as you.”

“Really? Well, apparently you know me better than I know you.”

“I know that limp. I know the empty ring finger. And that obsessive nature of yours- that’s a big secret. You don’t risk jail and your career to save somebody who doesn’t want to be saved unless you got something- anything- one thing. The reason normal people got wives and kids and hobbies, whatever. That’s because they ain’t got that one thing that hits ‘em that hard and that true. I got music, you got- this- the thing you think about all the time. The thing that keeps you south of normal. Yeah. Makes us great. Makes us the best. All we miss out on is everything else.”

I can’t say that what they say about me doesn’t affect me. Truthfully, it hurts like hell. But it’s not because I’m insulted by what they’re saying; it's because they don’t understand. And God knows I tried to make them understand.

“They did not listen, they’re not listening still. Perhaps they never will.”

It pains me that those of my own flesh and blood cannot understand me. It pains me that the only solace I can find is in a song. But in the end, the opinion that really matters is that which I have of myself. Three things I know for a fact: I am successful, I am Happy, and there's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be.