Hey everyone,
I never thought I’d be the kind of person to pour my heart out on social media, but here I am, sitting in my dimly lit room, heart racing, and feeling the need to share something that’s been hiding in the corners of my soul for years.
It all started yesterday afternoon. I was cleaning out the attic. A mundane task, right? This time, though, something felt different. Maybe it’s the changing leaves or the scent of autumn that makes us reflective, but as I rummaged through boxes of old clothes and faded photographs, I stumbled across an old, dusty record player.
I’d almost forgotten about that thing. It was a relic from my childhood, a beautiful mahogany piece that my grandfather used to play in the evenings when the world seemed simpler. I remember sitting at his feet, watching him place the needle with the utmost care, like he was handling something sacred.
I decided to bring it downstairs. As I set it up, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. I searched for the box of vinyl records that accompanied it and found one of my grandfather’s favorite albums: Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Handling it with the same reverence he did, I placed it onto the turntable.
The moment the music began, something clicked inside me. It was like a key turning in an ancient lock. Memories that I had kept buried surfaced with a force that left me breathless. I remembered sitting in that same room, much smaller, my grandfather’s voice soothing as he told me stories about his youth.
But there was one memory—more vivid than the rest—that demanded my attention. It was a rainy evening, the kind that makes you want to wrap a blanket around your shoulders and sip hot chocolate. I was curled up on the sofa, watching my grandfather. His eyes were closed, a serene smile playing on his lips as he listened to the music. At that moment, he seemed so vulnerable, so human. I had asked him why the Moonlight Sonata made him so happy.
He had paused, his fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as if reaching for the right words. “It reminds me of where I come from,” he had said softly, “of dreams I had once. But most importantly, it reminds me that it’s never too late to find your truth.”
Back then, I didn’t understand what he meant. But as I sat alone, the sonata weaving its magic around me, I realized the truth he was trying to impart. All my life, I had been chasing shadows, living up to expectations that were not mine, ignoring the whispers of my heart.
I had buried my passion for music, convincing myself it was impractical, a relic of my past. But in that moment, I knew—my truth was music. It was the language my soul spoke fluently and passionately, and I had silenced it for far too long.
A flood of emotions surged through me—grief for the time lost, fear of what others might think, but also an overwhelming sense of liberation. I felt as if shackles I hadn’t even realized were binding me had fallen away, leaving me raw but free.
Today, I took the first step. I signed up for an online music composition course. It’s a small step, but it feels monumental. I want to live authentically, to embrace the melodies inside me, and nurture them into something beautiful and true.
Thank you for reading, and for being part of this journey with me. I hope you too find the courage to listen to your heart and uncover your truths, no matter how deeply they’re buried.
With all my love and gratitude,
Lila