Fernando, Don Lawrence Carl A. January 17, 2013

2010 24598 Art Studies 2

Every day, individuals have a multitude of experiences. Occasionally, some of them have huge impacts

on our lives. For the most part, however, a good number of these experiences, if you can even denote

them as such, go unnoticed and are eventually forgotten, leaving no imprints in our lives and selves at

all. Beyond the significant and life-changing events in our lives, we usually fail to see the importance of

the little ones as well. Sometimes, its those snippets and short commercials in the movie of our lives

that talk to us and give us the things that we are looking for the most: answers and meanings, time and

space, relaxation and rest. In simply slowing down ones pace and pausing to experience all that a place

has to offer, details that seem menial actually become meaningful.

Last Thursday, I took a stroll to the College of Music along with several classmates and sat by the parking

lot, directly in front of the wall that bears the names Nicanor Abelardo and Abelardo Hall. It was a

pleasant and cool morning. The sky was painted with a pale gray hue and the sun was partially

concealed by thick bands of white clouds. The occasional breeze was calm, fresh and chilly. Initially, the

place seemed empty and lifeless but as soon as my classmates and I settled down, I realized that this

was not the case. The area was brimming with all sorts of sounds, rhythms, and noises and each one

tells a story on its own.

Outside the college building, as cars of all shapes and sizes passed by, I spotted a few joggers that had

been keeping at it for several laps already. Having seen them during the times that I frequented the oval

to do several laps in my leisure time, some were very familiar. As I looked at them, I could hear them

breathing furiously through their mouths, gasping tiredly for air, and grunting heavily to keep their

bodies going. I sympathized with them; my arms and legs know that feeling all too well for me to be

simply indifferent to what they are experiencing. Beyond that, however, seeing them pushing harder

and harder motivated and inspired me to do the same next time. I regained the desire to jog more

frequently and to play tennis more rigorously.

Inside the building, I heard all sorts of sounds. First, there was a high-pitched tune that was probably

produced by a flute. The melody reverberated in the air as the player repeated several parts of the piece

over and over again, perhaps with the intention of perfecting its dynamics, tempo, and timber.

Seemingly on cue, someone started playing a saxophone several moments later. In contrast with the

thin-sounding notes that previously filled the background, the golden-toned instrument created a

smooth, rich, and full melody, one that slowly became vibrant and abrasive as the player started

improvising. A third instrument was played after some minutes: a tuba. Mellow and round, the tubas

sound was dominant, as it drowned the flutes and saxophones. The musician then proceeded to play

extended notes, while the flutist performed a staccato-filled tune which was reminiscent of Chopins

Chopsticks, followed by a jazzy performance from the saxophone player. I was sincerely astonished; the

contrast between the three instruments ironically added harmony to the melodies that they were

producing. Normally, I wouldnt be interested in such things but perhaps due to being musically inclined,

I was able to appreciate those deceptively random melodies, despite the obscurity of their genius and

beauty. Even nature responded to three musicians, as birds accompanied the flute, the revving of

nearby car engines complemented the tuba, and the bells of the Carillon tower rang several times as the

musical performance echoing from the college hall ended. As I gleefully listened to the tunes emanating

from the building, I thought that the players were probably some students preparing for a practical

exam or a stage performance. From the way that they repeated several parts of their pieces a dozen or

more times, I knew that they were striving for excellence and flawlessness. As a pianist who once played

at a recital, I understood the frustrations and pressure that they were probably feeling at that time. It

was also during this time that I heard a familiar whisper from deep within, a sudden urge to clean the

dust off my keyboard and to start playing once again. Moved by what I just heard, I gladly said yes.

As I stood up and left, I was filled with lots of emotions and realizations. I never thought that simply

sitting down and admiring and listening to the things that are happening in my surroundings could affect

me so deeply. I never expected that such petty things can bring about a driving force that could make

me revisit old habits and hobbies. The ten minutes that I spent at the parking lot of the College of Music

was truly a meaningful experience rich in music, memories, and art.