In the middle of a three hour argument, we reached this conversation:
Me: Would you just shut up and listen to me?
Him: If you insist that I am every bad man in the world, I will play so today to meet the discription and I am not going to let you talk when you are upset.
Me: Fine! Then I am not upset, can I talk now?
Him: If you are not upset, SING! Prove it and sing.
Me: I don’t know any songs, I forgot them all.
Of all the things he bedazzeled me with in the past year, the one thing I never admitted out loud was how fastinated I am with his ability of memorizing lyrics. Every single time we drove and he started singing along with the radio, I struggled to do the same with no use.
I recall those days when I was a high school student and music was my only home. In the 9th grade, we had a teacher who tried to invite me to a theology class in the mosque where her father was the Imam. I agreed at the beginning as all the requirments were fine by me starting with what I was required to dress and ending with stuff she described as the keys to heaven, which did not seem difficult at all as I was already doing them. The one thing that kept me away is how she dedicated time in each class to keep us away from music. To my childish pure soul back then, anything can contradict with faith except music. I was willing to be deprived from anything but music.
Years later, I found out that what stole my amazing ability to memorize lyrics was not faith or religion classes. My daily struggles did.