Assorted Fruits In A Basket

I have been writing mostly about the beautiful moments of volunteering with MOC. There are many of those moments, enough for us volunteers to keep doing what we do, and enough for the organization to keep growing with increasing support. These moments make us say, again and again, to each smiling face, "We're glad you enjoyed that; have a wonderful night."

But the hospital is the one place where all kinds of people come together. As my mother (a veteran nurse) likes to say, it is the last place in this world to be out of business. Though most people welcome our visits, there are bound to be some who do not. We respect the wish of those who aren't "up for it", and they generally tell us so nicely. Generally.

Last night we visited a "mixed" floor: geriatrics, orthopedic surgeries, etc. It was one of the most interesting nights I have had with MOC. A middle-aged man said curtly as he headed out of the door, pushing an IV pole, "I don't want to hear it." Another waved his hand at my guide, as if shooing him from the room, "I'm watching TV." And my personal favorite: an elderly man reacted to our introduction vehemently with "God, no! I don't like violins!!" And then there was one my guide did not even want to tell me what happened as he came out of the room, shaking his head in disbelief.

I found these reactions half amusing and half educational. Why they were amusing does not need much explanation here. On the other hand, the experience was educational because these reactions reminded me of the incredible diversity within which we live. I sincerely wish that these people have found other things that bring them joy and comfort.

Ilya and I

Ilya and I spent Valentine's night serenading patients in a hospital we have not visited in more than four months. It was beautiful--the two of us made many people's night a little more bearable, reminding them of another kind of love: one from a stranger to another; one not found in mere chocolates and flowers.

Ilya and I met eight years ago at a violin shop in midtown Manhattan. Although I don't believe in chance encounters, I certainly never expected to meet him then and there. My father, a violin instructor in Taiwan, had asked me to look for a couple of instruments for his students. "Nothing too fancy," he said. The shop I went to was known for just that: nothing too fancy. After picking out a couple of instruments and accomplishing my mission, the friendly shop owner asked me if I would like to try out some of her newly arrived violins, many of which she has not yet heard played. Having a couple hours on my hands to spend, I gladly agreed.

She started bringing them out, one by one. She pointed out the paint work on this one, the wood on that one...none of which impressed my impatient ears, which were searching for the sound they knew they wanted, but have not yet heard. Surrounded by a room full of instruments that were each created with much attention and care, I was starting to feel a little embarassed for being so picky. "Anything else?" I asked, deciding to leave soon.

"This just came in the other day, very new, made last year. It was in a violin-making competition, but didn't make it to the finals." The woman pulled out a case from the bottom of the shelf. "I like the color though," she added.

I don't remember now what I played then--I was preparing several pieces for upcoming concerts--but I will never forget how I felt as the notes resonate not only through the violin, but through me. He sang, like no violin I have heard before; but more than that, he expressed everything I have ever wanted to express but could never find the voice to. My entire body was excited--an electric current ran through my fingers as they danced ecstatically on the fingerboard, while my bowing arm drew in the air colors that came from heaven's own palette. I closed my eyes. For a moment I did not know where I was--no, but I did. I was exactly where I have always wanted to be. I belonged. We belonged.

When I finally opened my eyes, the small shop was silent. Customers stopped their chatters to listen, and an unusual smile hung on their faces. "I want to take him home with me," I said to the shop owner. "Of course," she replied. "I didn't know...I shouldn't have set the price that low."

Five months later, I had a hemorrhage and became completely paralyzed. Ilya sat in the closet for months, waiting for me patiently. When it was time for rehab, together we endured countless moments of despair, frustration, and heart-wrenching notes (if those strange sounds could actually be called notes). So many times I sat, just looking at him. Tears rolled down uncontrollably as I thought not only of the spotlight we shared together, but the sense of belonging he gave me, the feeling of being whole.

As I walked through the hospital tonight, feeling Ilya next to my body, I knew deep in my heart that what we do is nothing short of a miracle. More than my love for music, more than the joy Ilya gives me, is the gratitude I feel for the Love I have been given through these long years of suffering. That Love gave me a reason to endure, a reason to hope, and a reason to reach out. Together, the songs we sing are so much sweeter because of it.

Meeting MOCers

Left work a little early today to take a field trip downtown to visit MOC headquarters. It is quite exciting to finally put a face next to the names of the people who give their all to MOC (well, at least 9 to 5, or 10 to 6) after knowing them for eight months now. Kudos to you guys for all you do! You make the experience that much more special and enjoyable.

And Johnny, I can now tell one of the guides (whose name shall remain unknown) that you are not like Charlie of Charlie's Angels (you know, because you always get calls from him but never actually see him). Not that I have seen him, but you are totally cooler :)

Just A Visitor

A young mother was playing with her baby boy in the epilepsy unit. The baby has the biggest eyes I have ever seen, looking at me with an adorable hint of surprise. My guide explained to the mother why we were there. "Hey, that's nice!" she said. "Last week a musician also came, and I asked if he could come and play for my baby, but he was too busy...He's some sort of celebrity or something."

I asked her if the baby has a favorite song. "Well, he likes Yankee Doodle..."

"Yankee Doodle it is." I put the violin on my shoulder.

"You can play that on a violin?!"

Yankee Doodle came into that dark little room, warmly welcomed by the mother and son. The young mother laughed, both at the fact that the familiar tune was generated by an instrument as foreign as a violin, and from the sight of her little boy, rocking slightly on her lap. The surprised expression never left his chubby face.

It didn't take a celebrity and a top-chart song to bring a little joy to the lonely room. It only took a couple of unknown visitors and a tune that the baby could rock to.