Some people say that life’s a highway, or that love’s what life is made of. Some say that you start living when you start breathing. And there are those that say life is just a stinking pile of crap and that it has no meaning since we’re all going to die anyway. Well, I don’t concur with these people. To compare life with such a mundane thing or to attribute a physical action to the start of life is preposterous. Life is not mundane. It is full of meaning, but no one can completely define life. But for me, life is music. Life is music in so many ways. Music is not mundane; it takes special understanding and emotion to completely appreciate it. It has rhythm. It has meter or beat. It has high and low notes. Its tempo hastens and slows down. As such, my life is a never-ending playlist that sounds on God’s MP3. Let’s look through it, shall we?
Now Playing: Vivaldi’s “Primavera”
The music starts on February 28, 1993, 4:15 PM. My shrill cry was first heard at Trinidad Clinic, Pamplona, Las Piñas City, Metro Manila. I was the first-born of Nestor Florente Rayos and Billma Rayos. They named me Florence Ryan, Florence from my Dad’s name Florente, and Ryan from a kid my parents took care of for a little while before Mom had me. They said I was a rambunctious little baby. I have no memory of bouncing when I was born, so I guess they didn’t say I was a “bouncing little baby.” I had dark skin and pudgy cheeks. When I was born, they all immediately said I looked exactly like Dad when he was still a baby. I retained my similarity to his looks up to now.
When I turned a year old, my parents gave me two gifts. One of them is “Sherman”. He is a brown teddy bear wearing a yellow-and-red striped sleeping gown and a sleeping cap striped likewise. I always had him with me, and up to now, he lies on my bed. He used to sing, but his vocal chords expired a long time ago, so he’s mute now. Another gift (annoyance would be a better name for her) is my younger sister Nessel Cyra. She was born 20 days before my first birthday, so every year, there are 20 days in February when we have the same age. On those days, she doesn’t call me “kuya”. After that year, our youngest sister was born. She’s rather saintly, and so Mom named her Holly Marie, from “Holy Mary”. We used to tease her “kalbo” or “holly-maw” until she gained hair.
*to be continued*
