I was walking through the subway tunnel when I heard a familiar tune being played on an accordion. Few more steps ahead, and I saw him – a busker sitting at the tunnel side, happily playing his tune, smiling to everyone who walked past.
I did not remember the words at first. The tune simply sank into the depths of my being and brought me back to a time when we used to sit in the hall for chapel sessions and prayer. A time when we wore pinafores and had short hair. When we struggled with white belts and sweltering uniforms. When songs like these formed a main part of our being and identity.
And as the words started coming back to my memory, I reflected on them and felt… Gratitude.
I dug out my wallet and dropped a small amount into his accordion case. “Thank you!” He smiled at me.
“Thank you.” I replied.