Warmth

Optimism No Comments

It was raining when I woke up, the sky was gray, and it’s cold. I was thankful. Many say a beautiful day is a sunny day, yes, a bright, warm day is a beautiful day, but so is a dim, cold one.

I was in the hospital this afternoon—no, nothing bad happened to me—I was there with my friend Xiao, to visit another buddy who’s getting some minor operation. While waiting, we decided to buy something to eat from the convenience store within the hospital compound, as Xiao was complaining that he hadn’t taken anything since he started his day. So off we surveyed Family Mart, and since he was really good at convincing me to get something to eat too, ’cause he said he just can’t get his fill while I’m just staring at him, nice guy, I decided to buy siopao (meat/veggies stuffed in soft-white flour, oven-baked, originally from China—correct me if I’m wrong) anyway.

Even before finding this convenience store within a hospital (Xiao couldn’t believe there’s one, because, “It’s risky to eat in a hospital”,haha), we already saw this comfy-looking cafeteria across it; Going out of Family Mart, we proceeded to its vacant seats.

Now, it’s not everyday that you sit in a cafeteria, eat your snack, and see a piano playing on its own, with the ivory and ebony keys moving. But there it was, creating music in this cafeteria in a hospital, as the earth rotated on its axis to complete yet another day. Well, with the technology that we now have, and yeah, we’re in Japan, it’s not impossible for a piano to play on its own. But it was just amazing. Xiao took some pictures, and after I finished my siopao, I got a vid of it too.

While we were there, sharing jokes, and talking about things in passing, I kept on looking at the self-playing piano. At first glance it was beautiful, and it really was, but the longer I sat in the cafeteria, I noticed that it’s lonely. Incomplete. I would still prefer a pianist playing a piano, than a piano playing by itself. Well, the music produced by this self-playing piano may be more accurate, more precise, as it was obviously programmed to create faultless arrangement of sounds, than that made by an imperfect pianist; still I felt that its music was empty. I didn’t know why. The music was good, but without warmth. It’s like man without a soul. It was like the person that I was.

Not until I decided to be hopeful, to become an optimist, that I felt I have something inside. Before that was an endless repetition of days—busy or lazy, everyday was just hollow, devoid of meaning—sunny days and rainy days and sunny days and rainy days again and again. Empty just like the music of the self-playing piano. But now I’ve learned to appreciate everyday, and be thankful for it, and love it, whether it’s sunny or rainy. My optimism has made me grow, and fresh, and whole.

Now each of us has this thing that completes us, makes us alive. Some call it passion, others ambition, others family and friends, still others would name it success. As for the self-playing piano’s music, for it to be unempty in my ears, it needs real human hands—the hands of a child, a nurse or a doctor or a patient (since it’s in the hospital) maybe, Xiao’s hands or my hands (since we’re also there, wink wink), or a pianist’s hand. It doesn’t really matter. It just needs warm human hands to strike the keys and make music, music that though imperfect, is nonetheless whole in my ears. That’s it, warm human hands. Warm.

For every person’s completeness is characterized by an inner warmth—passion, ambition, success, family and friends, call it whatever you want, as long as it completes you. As for the piano, it’s the hands of a human being. As for me, it is my optimism. It is the bright, sunny day inside me during beautiful, cold rainy days. It is my God.