Ever since I was a baby, I’ve loved music more than anything. I don’t know why, but there’s just something about it that makes me feel so wonderful. I’ve always been a unique person; always wanting to wear unique clothes, doing unique things, and having unique possessions. Before my dad died, the last thing he had bought for me was a Nintendo64 and The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Of course, at the time, I was too young to really understand how to play the game completely, so I basically just always messed around with the little virtual ocarina. I wished I had a real one, but I figured that since they were from a videogame, that they had to be nonexistent.
A few years later, after still not being able to beat the game, my best friend went to a local medieval fair and brought back two little pendant ocarinas with Triforces imprinted on the front of them. Of course, they looked different than the ones in the game, but they were still ocarinas, and I had fallen in love with them. I don’t know exactly what draws me to them. Maybe it’s the remembrance of my dad and the sentimental value of the first one I received as a gift? Or maybe it’s just because they’re uncommon and each one is unique, along with my love of music? It’s hard to say. There’s just something –some kind of power-- behind them that draws me to them.
Long ago, in a Korean village, there lived a young girl named Min Ji. She was gorgeous, and had long, dark-brown hair, and gorgeous brown eyes. She lived alone in a small house with her husband, who was known for being a music teacher and instrument maker. They lived a happy life, but one day a messenger boy brought Min Ji bad news: a war had broken out, and her husband had to leave home to take part, and he had two days to report for duty. Min Ji wanted to spend those two days with her husband, but instead, he stayed up all day and night, not doing anything but molding clay.
The two days passed, and it was time for him to depart. Min Ji was silent, as she watched her husband set his bags down near the door.
“Min Ji,” he said, “I wished nothing more than to be with you before my departure, but the whole time I was working with clay, I was thinking of you, and made you this.” He held out in his hand a small, round piece of dried clay, with four holes, and a painted pink flower on top. “I made this ocarina just for you. I hope that whenever you miss me, it will bring you comfort.”
He placed the ocarina in her hands, kisses her on the cheek, grabbed his bag, and left without saying another word.
For several months, Min Ji kept the ocarina on a string around her neck, hanging right above her heart. Every time she thought about her husband, she would softly play a short tune. She wasn’t completely sure why, but it’s soft, mellow tone reminder her of husband, and always made her smile in the end. It brought her enough happiness to make the months that her husband was gone, feel more like just a few weeks.
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