My teacher is crazy

“Everything in the world already exists, you just have to be at ease with yourself enough to discover it. ”

I await this course every week. We have a music teacher that is quite tortured, and quite a genius. Rocking grey-ish hair and pretty Ray Bans, always equipped with red Converse shoes and a wit to his smile, he’s always ready to pull you down to earth when you need it, and send you to the stars when he can. And for an hour and a half, now reduced to an hour and fifteen minutes, you don’t feel like you’re in Lebanon anymore, and you don’t hear the honks and the cars and the cursing from the outside. You’re willingly trapped in a bubble of musical safety, where the appropriate amount of importance is finally given to the things that are actually important to your eyes like movies and music and art and creation. We celebrate Bach and Louis Armstrong and all the decades in between them. My teacher is crazy. Crazy with love for his course, crazy in love with his music, his art and his muse. He’s crazy because Lebanon drove him crazy but he’s crazy enough to scream his opinion back to mindless judgements. He’s crazy enough to stand up  in front of a class of seated ignorance, and he’s crazy enough to agree to stay in a country that hasn’t always greeted him with acceptance.  I don’t think I’ve ever met a more perfect blend of crazy in my life. So much more needs to be said in this post but I’ll keep it short. Without crazy, we wouldn’t dream of change.

“Art isn’t only the paintings you see and the music you hear. Art is everything around you. It’s everything you do in your life.”

I live for those quotes.


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