Part 1
Within the confines of a silent, somber room, he puts on the headphones laying pendent on the mic, takes a long deep breath, and…
It was too nebulous to remember or trace the genesis of this bond. Was it during class breaks, when friends would pass earbuds? Or at a party, where joy was untamed? Could it be through the culture itself which wrapped around him, in rhythms like heartbeats under his skin? He would never know, for it appeared in his life so suddenly and at such an early part, that he could not remember being deprived of it. Rap was his antidote, his friend, his escape, his voice where once was silence.
Interlude
“I really like you”
A pause, shy but radiant
“I like you too”
Part 2
He was only an amateur listener then, but rap still became intangible from life. It solidified into something profound and fused into daily routines. There was a genre for every moment: The tranquil melancholy of Lo-fi rap smoothing edges during late night studies, the sweeping flow of melodic rap echoing footsteps with the sound of the beat during walks in the park, the electric sensation of Trap and Drill stimulating muscles in the gym.
He was influenced by friends writing and weaving ideas and realities into stanzas and hooks. It sparked a restless fire within him. Scrap piled up as he scribbled lines and verses on loose paper and napkins, which never seemed to coalesce into the lightning he sought. Attempts ended with his head in his hands, lying in bed and searching the ceiling for answers that memories would not yield.
Until the evening beneath a velvet sky pinpricked with stars, when the cosmos offered a gift. A whim flared across his mind, as vivid and wild as the stars above him, calling out to him. Words cascaded into form, sparking a rush he just couldn’t stop.
Lyrics from his first song (originally sang in Chinese)
“A comet shoots past the sky”
“Reflecting the longing in my eyes”
Interlude 2
“I hope this moment lasts forever”
“Just you and me”
Part 3
She was special, a masterpiece in a world that seemed monotonous--- a spark or a singular note among the static. As the autumn wind stirred the leaves, their whispers danced and swirled around them with the colors of rust and gold. he held her close, as the world fleetingly reduced to the two of them, an embrace that spoke louder than words. There, in that sanctuary, he poured his soul, each confession like a leaf on the river, the river of love. His vulnerable secrets, which he never dared confess, now fell from his lips, each one caught and cradled in her understanding.
Her eyes, deep and eloquent, held the sophistication of something unspoken, yet infinite. Melodies of moments they shared entwined in the air around the, through lyrics, and by note. Warmth bloomed in the empty spaces of chords, as if her presence alone could instill music with life. Guitar strings that played beneath his fingers resonated with newfound purpose, trembling with touch as he composed songs spoken only to her.
His heart raced with an unnatural, soft urgency as he wrote. Each stanza a page of their shared story and each note a heartbeat echoing with devotion. She listened as he sang, eyes closed to drink in the melodies as if they were sunlight. Beyond their little realm, the world faded until all that was left were their intertwined souls and tender harmonies he created.
Lyrics from him to her (originally sang in Chinese)
“We are the best interpretation of creations in heaven”
“You are the secular angel, the one to give me redemption”
Interlude 3
“I’m not into you anymore”
“Why?”
“I don’t need a reason.”
Part 4
It was autumn once more, and the world hadn’t changed. Leaves still fell from trees in waves of amber, blanketing the park where their laughter once mingled with the wind. There were still couples, like they once were, who walked together, hand in hand. The couples sharing the warmth as an unspoken testament to the season of love. He walked past them, the consciousness of each step wrought upon him, then a mask of calm drawn tightly over his face. Underneath that composed façade, his heart still ached, and the hollowness inside felt boundless.
There was an emptiness neither friendship nor family could breach, a void left bleeding where there had once been light. He still made rap songs, fingers tracing over the guitar strings echoes memories of making beats, but every note spawned memories he wished to forget, weighing heavily on his chest. The river of love which once surged so full of life had long since dried, leaving a cracked and desolate expanse.
Music became his sole language, the one medium where words came unhindered by the weight of regret. His verses grew melancholic, a pained reflecting of the shadowed parts through the rhythm and flow of rap. A strange salvation.
He sat in front of his desk once more, pen in hand, scribbling on paper lyrics that seemed laborious to write. He wondered if love was meant to be as ephemeral as the autumn wind that carried the fallen leaves. Moreover, were the memories they cherished bound to fade into a bittersweet echo? Or were they like seeds buried underneath the sleets of winter frost, awaiting the warmth of spring to bloom once more? These questions lingered unanswered, as he moved on the next line.
“In the silence between beats, there lies a truth that no chorus can capture,” he wrote on the crinkled piece of paper, pausing as the gravity of those words settled in his heart. Life, he realized, was like the raps he had wrote--- some joyous and lively, some mournful--- and each song played a part in making who he was as a rapper, and as a person. Maybe he would never comprehend why the river of love had dried up, and why certain voids stayed unfillable. Yet, the drought had also taught him to find water within himself, crafting melodies of longing into art.
Thus, as he recorded his last verse in that somber and silent room, he let the final chords of his song reverberate through the room, accepting that his music expressed more than just a reflection of what was lost. It was a testament to growth, declaring that even in the shadowed chapters of existence, creation was still possible. The act of creating, of weaving thoughts and emotions into sound was, in itself, an answer--- an affirmation that life, with all its fleetingness and impermanence, was a masterpiece waiting to be sung.
And it was then, that he understood.
His newest unpublished song (originally in Chinese)
"It is autumn again"
"and flowers of longing have also bloomed in my heart"