Guitar

My fingertips are sore. Each time I touch anything, I feel a tinge of pain. It's as if the skin in the tips of my fingers have been hypersensitized to pick up every minute texture it encounters.

And I like it.

I like the thought that I am suffering in pain for arts' sake. Whatever the hell that means. You see, my dear ladies and gentlemen, I've decided to embark on the journey of learning how to play the guitar.

Let me be the first to admit to you that - although my mother named me after the patron saint of music, St. Cecilia, in the hopes that I grow up to be a musical prodigy - I have never displayed any significant musical inclination whatsoever.

When I was little, my mother made me take piano lessons during one summer, but I only attended a few weeks and then stopped because I wanted to go with my parents to their vacation trip. I never picked up where I left off.

But music is not an alien thing to me. In fact, being such a universal concept, I don't think it can be alien to anybody at all. In my maternal side of the family, there are those who can sing or play instruments. My grandfather, who died long before I was born, was a musician. According to older relatives, he played a wide variety of instruments, but was most known for his saxophone solos.

Now, I'm wondering why I didn't get some of those genetic traits. Lolo didn't have any formal musical education, he just knew how to make music instantly - like magic. It seems so unfair that I have to refer to a book on how a 'C' sound is made. Or how many upwards and downwards strums I should make to have the correct rhythm. Or which strings to pluck.

I sometimes feel like an impostor trying to learn something that ought to be natural. Just sometimes. The other times, I just feel so damn good that I'm finally doing something I've always wanted to try out. I've had soooo many to-do list or want-to-do-list that were buried in forgetfulness.

Buying my first guitar this week was awkward, to say the least. My sister Mae and I originally wanted to go to Opon or Lapu-lapu because these parts of Cebu is practically synonymous to well-made guitars. But we ended up just mall-hopping since we were both chicken about riding the wrong jeepney or bus and getting lost in these areas which are unfamiliar to us. And since we have no expertise in the matter, we were asking the wrong questions ("Does this one come in any other color except green?", "Don't you have one with that one's body color, but this one's pick guard?") One would think we were buying shoes and not a guitar.

The guitar I got is dark brown/maroon. Its weight is lighter than most of the other ones I checked out. I peeled off the repulsively-designed pick guard that it had. It looks pretty sleeker now.

Enough of that.

So now, my fingertips are sore and my roommates are getting deaf with my practice.

Life's good.