The Day My Music Died

Some memories never disappear. There is always some memory in the accordion file hidden in our mind. There are several memories for entering our 6-foot special nursing home. Some people are great blessings, memories of some people may lose hope, memories of some people will destroy our dreams. In my mind, I am always passionate about music. The beat's rhythm is the blood of my veins. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds and I can taste the sweet sound they left on my tongue. My soul 's voice echoes through the corridor of my heart.

Today 59 years ago, an airplane accident became headline news. It is called the day of the end of music. In 1971, Don McLean immortalized him with a song that reviewed 30 years of music. I thought that we used my song to know this day. People and events can change the world but music exists ... I think that we focus on thinking and of course analysis. Our song is reviewing the history of about 3000 years.

I have not cried so much since my 3rd grade. In a very rare case: during my pray ceremony when my mother finished the Jesuits on my 27th birthday, the last day of my high school musical "musician" I was absent from high school And I met my wonderful actor When my first dog Iris died, I was reassigned to my favorite job even though I liked college days. When my therapist told me that I could see the pain of my burial, when I was in a burning temple, there was no reason for my mother's eyes when there was a sourness of a temple security guard, a hug But my tears are few and far away

When my mother, my mother's mother died in Nigeria at the end of June, I was present at a meeting in Italy. When she was in a coma, I was not with her, or when she died three days later, I was not with her. When my brother conveyed this news to me, I called for sympathy with my mother and other families. According to Muslim customs she was buried in the day of her death and I could not attend her funeral. My mother, a friend who visited Houston also miss the funeral. I turned on the computer and started looking for my grandmother's photos in the folder. During my annual trip to Nigeria during the past few years, I went to Sagamu 1 hour northeast of Lagos where she was born and spent most of her life there. In these interviews, she will say: 'Sit next to me. I want to feel your hand. Near me. I hope your skin will touch my skin. "I am always happy to sit with her and shake hands with her, then I took a picture.