By Antonio Pantoja
March is such an important month for me. It’s my birthday month. And this year, I turn... old.
Despite having lots of successes and reasons to celebrate over the last few years, I think I’m the saddest person that I know of.
The only other person that I could think of who was even sadder than me was my cousin, James. He was also the most brilliant artist that I’d ever met in my life. James was the sweetest, most kind person I ever knew and ironically, 2 years ago, he was shot and killed by the police.
James showed me how to play music about 20 years ago. He was the best guitar player I’d ever seen. We both had a very tough upbringing and while my mother was a complete lunatic, his was even crazier. I felt for him. He was older than me so, he always had life lessons for me.
One night, James invited me to his house and wanted to show me a song he’d written for his baby. His wife had delivered the baby but through complications, the baby had passed away just as it had taken its first breath. They had a funeral for her and all. It led to complications in his marriage and James was alone. He had written the song once he’d been alone for a while.
James picked up his guitar and played this song for me. He had to turn his back to me to play it. He couldn’t bear to play it in front of someone.
There were no lyrics. But it was the most beautiful and emotional song I’d ever heard.
With tears in my eyes, I asked him when he was going to record it so that everyone could hear it. He said, “No one will ever hear it, it’s just for me”. James told me “You know Antonio, I’m scared one day that I’ll be happy.” I was so confused by this. He continued, “Because then I won’t be able to write beautiful music anymore.”
As much as I looked up to James, he was wrong.
There is so much beauty in this life to be explored. Even through the darkest moments, beauty finds a way to shine through—whether in music, memories, or the love we share with those around us. James poured his pain into his art, but that doesn’t mean happiness would have taken his gift away.
True creativity isn’t born solely from sorrow; it’s a reflection of the depth of our experiences, both beautiful and heartbreaking.
James’ song was his way of capturing something deeply personal, but his life— his kindness, his talent, and his lessons will still live on through me. And through all of us who choose to embrace both the pain and the beauty of living. Let it be a reminder that sadness doesn’t define you.
Happiness is not the enemy of art, nor is it a betrayal of the past. It is proof that we have survived, that we still have more songs to play, stories to tell, and love to give. And that, in itself, is something worth celebrating.
Comments