My first memory involved music
It was in San Diego, after my parents left for work. A sunny day, though for some reason, I seem to remember the colors of the room muted. Sunlight sifted through the shades, forming shadows of train tracks along the walls.
I was crying incessantly because I didn’t want to see my parents go. I was hysterical. I felt like I would never see them again. I don’t understand why I felt that way, but I guess when you’re a child, your perception of things are heightened exponentially.
My great-grandmother, Aurora DelPilar Pasos, went into the room and handed me a toy harmonica. I immediately stopped crying. With my eyes, I asked her what it was for, and she answered.
“Do this,” as she pretended to blow into the harmonica, “and it makes a sound.”
At once, my breathing became calmer, and my heart beat softer. I held the harmonica in my hand, not realizing until later that this gift would set my life’s course.
