Lessons meant struggling to run a long black bow on the strings of her mother’s violin. Its mahogany color had faded in time, but its sound still hummed pure. When Amorsolo was born, his mother had looked at his son’s fingers and knew that like her, he was born to be a violinist. So everyday, she patiently taught Amorsolo the stringed instrument and he patiently learned. After lessons, Amorsolo could still be seen playing the violin in the field, his face toward the sun. At first, the townsfolk were amused at this smitten child, and thought he was merely infatuated. But when the years passed and he had become a young man, the people realized that Amorsolo’s ardor went beyond mere youthful fancy. Some people called it a waste of time, but Amorsolo called it love. |
