I just picked up a pianist friend who came from Japan tonight. I had to wait at the airport for an hour before he finally showed up, then we had to wait for an hour before our bus arrived, that was 7.15 pm, and then we had to put up with Jakarta's traffic jam for 2 hours before finally heading to Bandung. 3 hours later we got to the hotel where my friend will be staying for a week, which is sometime after midnight, and at half-past midnight I came home.
My friend is going to have a solo recital on Thursday, and on Friday with another baritone friend. I was happy. I couldn't care less about getting some financial reward out of all those 5-hours sitting in the shuttle, but I was happy.
How do you measure happiness? My parents are not happy. For the hundredth time, they can't understand that I can really feel joy and elevation and all those shiny adjectives only by meeting new people and talk to them about music and stuffs. They can't believe that I'm actually fine not being paid for this because I simply want to help my friends and my community. They think I've lost my mind.
But how do you measure love? It's absurd. I don't want to put price on things I love. They're invaluable. And parents should understand that. They've been there, done that. They must have gone over that moments where they would just do anything for their kids without expecting any financial remuneration. It makes me wonder, though. Do my parents put price on me?
But it's all so clear to me now. I've been delaying making any plans for my life. I still haven't decided where I want to live. I just know what I want to do. I know that classical music is my calling. And I know that I can do so many things for it. But if my parents want me to stop doing it because they say classical music won't strive here and that it's ruining my life, then it's obvious to me. I must go somewhere else where I can make a living with it. I love teaching so much. I want to do it for the rest of my life. But if I have to live only with it for the rest of my life, I don't think I'll be happy either.
Love is never a choice. You can't really say why you love certain things or certain people, and you can't choose who and what you love. But you always have options about it. You can choose to leave, or fight for it. Whatever I decide, I want to keep my options open.
