I have an undying commitment to music. My father became a musician at the age of 12, whilst my brother yearned to become a rapper – a SoundCloud rapper. However, the industry was nicer to my father than it was to my brother.
Coming from a country where the musical talent isn't as valuable as we think it is, my father managed to make a living out of it. He worked in so many bands and groups, headlining concerts all over the world: the US, Spain, South America, you name it. He lived making music; he was music. However, as he kept growing, jobs began to fade, and so did their fame. With time, my father became a music teacher in two schools, and the director of the martial band of my country. But with this, he was happy.
My brother was never lucky enough. A constant battle between my parents and brother was fought for so many years. In my country, my brother wasn't going to accomplish anything. Many of the national artists are laughed upon. They usually migrated to the US in hopes of expanding their talent. A couple months later, they all returned with their dreams shattered.
They begged of him to drop off this futile dream and chase something that would actually benefit him and his future family. He was a college dropout, intent on making music. Their voices were muffled by the heavy beats of the songs and lyrics he'd compose.
I, on the other hand, never had this love for music like they did. I never enjoyed the idea of learning how to play an instrument. I never enjoyed the idea of singing in front of a crowd. I never enjoyed the idea of maybe one-day giving life to my writing. My commitment to music has always been entirely different from theirs.
Instead, I prefer to turn my ear, and let sweet melodies drift me away. Instead, I like to absorb lyrics and bloom with their messages. Instead, I like to let my entire body flow with the steaming beats and flows voices, rather than just letting my fingers do everything. Instead, I like to let myself lose to it in a way that they never did.
My father never instilled this crave for music in me. He said he didn't want me nor my brother to follow his path. He wanted for us to go out and find something that will help us financially in life. He wanted a career for us – a future that might never fade away.
Sure, I did learn how to play a couple of instruments while growing up – the guitar, the recorder, piano. I even participated in many concerts during my elementary years but, I never enjoyed any of that as much as my father or brother would've. I've always thought that this gaping difference between us is something that made me different from the rest of them. And sometimes, I'm not sure if that is something good or bad.
The original look. 
A hot dog in the making. 
The famous sign. 
A baseball team comes to eat after a game at the Dreams Park. 
Me, age seven, drinking a milkshake before watching the weekly fireworks shoot off at the Dreams Park.
The view of the restaurant from inside the Dreams Park's gates. 
