On my morning walk, I heard this melancholic Chinese song. The man was almost screaming — not singing — it, but there was a tune, a deep melody in his words. I didn’t have to look at him to sense the desperation in his voice; his song filled the air with a new kind of grief: a pain that made itself known beautifully without involving those who heard it.
I walked on like the others, telling myself it could be like the laughing therapy where people are supposed to laugh out loud to dispel their worries. But there was also this niggling thought in my head that offered me a different explanation. How many of us actually cry out loud these days? When did you last see someone sharing his pain with a friend — face to face? We have begun to hide behind the momentary applause we get from our posts, shutting out people and problems, but growing more alone.
There probably isn’t any way to go back to a less distracting life; so for the time being, it may be wise to master a good melancholic song.