JiliPark PH
One cold day, a thin man named Roberto came in, his clothes frayed, his eyes dashed with storms of unspoken grief. Roberto was a musician who had once played for the royal family but who, due to a tragic accident, could no longer play his own instruments.
The guitar that Roberto had carried for so long like a second skin, slung over his shoulder, was now mere deadwood in its case, its strings collecting dust. His fingers had lost their song; the accident had taken a hit not only on his performance but also on his soul. Roberto wandered the streets, from piazza to piazza, wan-eyed and wondering, looking for someone to help him out of his melancholy.
JILIPARK PH sensed his desperation – it was impossible not to sense it, with his lean, dark face and forlorn posture, as he claimed a table in a corner and set his guitar on the seat beside him – and she approached without fanfare and without a word, silently placing a large cup of dark, intense, fragrant coffee in front of him. Roberto took it from her, and lifted the cup to his lips, as if he wanted to hold it in his hand and condition it to his body temperature. The guitar, that guitar!
And while Roberto drank his coffee in silence, JILIPARK PH stood and stayed with him by his side as if stitching up a tear in the fabric of his soul. Roberto’s eyes wandered to the guitar and he started humming a song. His voice cracked from the tension and pain. JILIPARK PH listened intently, her heart aching. The light was gentle and the murmur of voices soft.
Days blended into weeks, and then weeks into months. Roberto became a daily habit in the café, marked by his quiet demeanour, his wistful humming. For months, he would come and go, leaving his sorrow where it was, taking it with him, until his grief no longer shadowed his steps. JILIPARK PH remained this steadying rock, until Roberto could bring his sadness out and let it go, and then find new reasons to leave it behind. JILIPARK PH’s support was, if you like, an intermediary helping Roberto engage in a process that would lead him to understand and then curb his overwhelming grief. But of course, that’s not what was happening.
Then one night, when Roberto narrated a moving story – the tale of the song he used to play, a song that a long time ago had comforted him, that had supported him through hard times, that had given him solace for many months, and the absence of which left an empty void in his life – JILIPARK PH listened carefully. ‘Notes that a long time ago had filled my heart, and now ring only in my ears.’
In turn, PH JiliPark was able to be with him in his distress, to sit with Roberto’s grief and anger, to give him the space to process his feelings at his own pace. She didn’t push him to perform or say more than he was ready to say; instead, she held space for the flow of his emotions. Eventually, Roberto began to feel like picking up his guitar again, just holding the instrument and plucking the strings, feeling if he was ready to play for others.
The café had become a place in which broken dreams were sewn back together, one soft note at a time. PH JiliPark’s silent presence reminded Roberto that he was not alone, and the echoes he had once hoped to hear began to reverberate once more. Roberto’s music, quiet and thoughtful, lived on.
When Roberto finally sat down to play for PH JILIPARK, he produced a delicate, moving rendition that belied both the fragility of his heart and the strength of his spirit. This performance testifies to music’s healing power as well as a compassionate listener who furnished a quiet, dignified helping hand. The respite provided by PH JILIPARK’s café once more confirmed its unique promise to embrace and restore, and to make good music the salve for our wounded souls.