There was once a little boy, who lived in a small town by the seaside, in Romania.
In the late 1990s, he was about 14 years old, he used to put some effort into listening to music.
He had a cassette player and, at one time, he happily discovered he liked music. He really liked Ace of Base.
Prior to that, he listened on a pick-up player, on vinyl disks, songs like Tu, Ardeal, interpreted by Veta Biriș.
He listened to all sorts of music, it made him feel alive.
Time passed. Some bad things happened to him, some joyful things happened to him, people came and left his life, he grew older and older, and stories kept coming, but the music was always there.
Sometimes soothing a wound, sometimes making him understand that the wound that annoyed him so much, and deeply upset him, was for his own good, preventing a possible even greater wound, sometimes enjoying the good things in his life so much that he exaggerated with the joy, and had too much of it (yes, that thing is possible), sometimes just relaxing him, sometimes bringing to his memory things from the past, sometimes helping him imagine a better future, sometimes making connections and finding friends.
At some point in life, the boy discovered Christ, and he started listening to music in the church (Orthodox chants). Time passed, and he once discovered a live show of Jesus Christ Superstar. He understood then that you can have a combination between religion and rock music and not disturb any side. He enjoyed that.
He started going to theatrical companies, doing theater here and there, always trying, sometimes failing. At one of those, he saw a band (Truverii) which kept on rehearsing for long periods of time, until, finally, they’ve launched.
He didn’t like concerts all that much, preferring to listen to music on digital means.
Recently, he was happy to start listening to higher-quality music.
I’d love to tell you the moral of the story, the thing is, the story never ends, it keeps going.
Citește mai multeShort story: The music lover – by Olivian Breda