The Song I Couldn’t Sing

This morning at 9am, on my usual walk to Hola for coffee, the air was suddenly filled with loud music.

Next to me sat a new customer, a 70-year-old Chinese uncle. Two bottles of beer on the table. His face was red, a little dazed, completely unbothered by the world. The music was so loud that people kept turning their heads. To those who didn’t understand it, it was just noise.

To me, it wasn’t.
I recognized “Stairway to Heaven,” followed by a familiar Hokkien song. The uncle sang out loud, without restraint, without embarrassment. His soul looked like it had drifted somewhere far above the café, somewhere light and free.

I loved the music too. If I weren’t shy, I would have sung along.

Then it hit me. I couldn’t.
I didn’t know the lyrics.
And in that small moment, something gentle clicked.

Maybe learning a new language doesn’t have to start with textbooks or apps or pressure. Maybe it can start with joy. With melody. With wanting to sing along instead of standing quietly on the side.

Perhaps this is a quiet nudge from the universe to pick up a new hobby. Karaoke, maybe. Learning lyrics. Letting music become my teacher.

Because when you learn a language through song, you’re not memorizing words.
You’re borrowing someone else’s joy until it becomes your own.

PS I write books too. They live here:
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