All the Notes Were Blue

I never had to learn any other language except for music.'". It came: the sound of my mum’s slogging footsteps through the kitchen door, the noise of dad’s growling whistle after work, how the radio cracked open on Sunday morning. Almost everyone has their preferred music color, which includes bright reds and hopeful yellow hued notes to warm golden gems. The notes were all blue throughout my existence.

The term blue is not necessarily referring to sadness, as it may happen occasionally. Blue has layers. When the day is neither full nor empty, it appears as if at night. ". The sea, unbounded and unexplainable. This is also the vibration of longing, after the last chord. During my childhood and later years, it seemed like every song I loved had that same color.

The first time I truly understood it was when I was fifteen. I received a CD from my friend that had scratches on it and skipped over track seven. My friend said it's true. As soon as I did it, the song filled my room with something that pressed against me and wouldn't stop even afterward. It was about leaving, empty train stations and saying goodbye too soon. I had never abandoned anything as a child, but the song held resemblance to me more than I could have imagined.

I began learning with sadness. Every phase of my life has had a soundtrack, and every soundtrack has been blue. When my grandmother passed away, I played an old folk song she used to hum. She seemed to have never left me while the melody encircled me like her hug. Headphones were my safety net when I relocated to a new city. Despite walking unnoticed on streets, the music made me feel less invisible. Every note seemed to whisper, as if you were alone, even in the presence of loneliness. ".

I've been listening to blue notes for eighteen years and have come to the realization that they don't just convey sadness. They're honest. They remove the facade of happiness and seek out the truth beneath. They remind me that life's significance lies in not only triumphs and festivities but also silences, departure moments, and minor personal hurts.

I once attempted to escape from it... During my twenties, I filled my playlists with energetic songs that are perfect for parties and promise to change the world. I suggested to myself that I should train my ears to experience brighter colors. And it worked for a while. My dancing, smiling face and ability to convince others of my lightheartedness were unparalleled. When the laughter ceased late at night, I went back to my favorite music, which made me feel both pain and peace. The pursuit of misery did not involve me. It was authenticity.

To me, the most authentic journal is that of music. Despite forgetting your diary a decade ago, the initial notes of e.g. a certain song make you instantly astounded and bring back memories of that day when you turn your phone on. I cannot even hear Leonard Cohen without remembering the first time I was alone in a foreign country, feeling free and completely lost. I cannot hear a single ghazal without thinking of my father's face in candlelight during euphonium chords, his voice keeping me on the edge of silence. The memories are fused within me, unlike the melodies.

I've come to the realization that my world will always be marked by blue. This is not a tragedy but rather an offering. Blue is depth. Blue is patience. The sound of resilience following sorrow is referred to as blue, which means continuing even when you have every reason to do so. The reason why the blues genre was not born out of despair but rather as a means of survival is possible. The sound of a blue note twisting and stretching is often interrupted by someone saying: we survived, and this is our evidence.

I can still hear a spinning record in the background as I write these words. The tune is delicate, the type that doesn't require a response but softens silence. It's dark outside, the light of night fading into daylight. Late night is not yet in use. I consume tea, and it becomes clear to me that my entire life has been spent in this tomb. Not as sorrowful or joyful as joy, but something tender and authentic.

I would not provide a list of artists or albums if you were to inquire about my music's significance today. The invisible thread that connected me to my past, carried me through my present, and will one day resonate in my soul is the one I am aware of. It's a demonstration that beauty can persist in moments of sorrow. I am confident that blue will always be a part of the lyrics of some of us. Why?

Ultimately, blue is not the absence of joy. Why? This is a message to remember that joy and sadness are both fleeting experiences, with every sound becoming less meaningful. Within that echo, we are present.