First Call
August 22. I am finally able to write about the first call after the diagnosis. After a few hours of being numb and in emotional and physical pain, I was able to write a phrase about what had happened to the only person in the world that I felt I could tell. I reached out to my good friend Shuxian. My unconditional friend. We had been to a lot together over many years. Walked long walks. Talked. Took long train journeys. We found relatable stories and built trust.
She made me feel that I mattered at a time when I didn't believe it. I still feel the time when I saw Itzhak Perlman coming on the stage in the theatre. It was my birthday. For years only the annual HSBC text message seemed to remember my birthday. But on that year, Shuxian remembered. I didn't know the program of that concert. We sat on the second balcony. The overture ended and along comes one of my childhood heroes, who I never imagined I could hear live. I heard many of his recordings growing up. I bought some DVDs with my musician friend Bernardo in San Antonio. We had been playing together since about age 8. In particular, as a child, I liked his recordings of works by Jean-Baptiste Accolay and Friedrich Seitz. There he was on the stage. Shuxian had given me the gift of the Perlman sound for my birthday.
On a different occasion, we sat at the very front of the theatre to listen to Huang Mengla perform works by Niccolò Paganini. I did a project about him in the conservatory as a young child. I listened with my grandfather in his clinic in Córdoba. Here we were, front row. The usher brought us a blanket because we happened to be right in front on an A/C vent and it was cold. We listened. I was transported. Then, we run into the performer in the lobby and he recognized us from the first row. He was young.
I used to escape the grind of Hong Kong, crossed the border and played outside that theatre for God, as prayer. For many years, I played Bach works to pray. I played between the library and the concert hall, for God, for me. It was quiet. It was a large plaza. I found myself outside that theatre.
We also listened to the sound of the city from the mountain. The murmur of millions of lives...
Over years, I compiled photographs as I had discovered light. Shuxian was particularly supportive of my discovery and very photogenic. I printed a photography book that I presented to her after a particular dinner at a Spanish restaurant near the Victoria Park., shortly before I left.
Many hours and a moon after the doctor delivered his mechanical diagnosis and kicked me out of his office to face the music, as the saying goes, I wrote a phrase and shared with my friend because I felt that I was only I able to share with her. She called me within seconds and she listened. She helped me by being there, by listening. I felt that this new thing was now part of my shared experience with her, and that I wasn't alone. In seconds, the thing had become part of our experiences along with the cumulative conversations, smiles, tears, and walks. I felt accompanied.
At the time, I couldn't have shared with anyone else. Years later, I shared. I am writing today about the call to articulate it for the first time. The first call was from Shuxian. She was thousands of kms away in an ancient island where St. Paul had been. Thank you dear friend, for making the first call. It was the only call for years to come. The call that helped me know that I was not walking alone.
