I still remember calling him up, my body starting to tense and my legs automatically and frantically pacing around my living room (I'm still not good at confronting and talking to strangers) and finally! being greeted by a playful man at the other end. I still remember being asked what I wanted to learn, and me subsequently regurgitating all the techniques and skills 'good guitarists should know', being content I remembered the fancy terms and all that jazz.
I would pick Aya up a couple of blocks from my house for the guitar lessons my mom willingly paid for (I guess I was making more noise than music, and probably still do), and we would conduct class out on the lanai by our pool. The breeze always reached us best and Aya's trails of smoke exhaled from his cigarettes were free to explore the open air that surrounded us on light afternoons. Aya just made you comfortable by explaining things in his zany way, which was never pretentious considering his credentials (which was one helluva resume), and the lessons always seemed too short, the hours passing as swiftly as my teacher's cigarette smoke, from lips, to the aural atmosphere, to nothingness.
I really did learn a lot from Aya, considering I only had a handful of lessons - 6 max. While learning major scales, their places on the fret board and the blues scale, the A minor pentatonic scale, as well as how to funkify Jimi Hendrix's 'Purple Haze', the real lesson I only learned today. I went to his CD launch, for his jazz record Angelsong, which features a full quartet and a bounty of tasteful jazz guitar solos. After the show, he approached my cousin (the same girl who introduced us) and looked at me sideways, scanning my face that was familiar, with my name on the tip of his tongue. My long, afro-centric that shouldn't adorn an asian man hair style threw him off at first, but we began talking once he recalled who I was and the short time we spent together. His first words?
"Ah its you! The naturally talented bastard"
And it came back to me, how he would call me this every sunny afternoon out on my lanai, my electric guitar positioned on my lap with unsure fingers, and I would blush and focus even harder on the notes I couldn't play. He would always explain how he would have to practice at least 5 hours a day to get to where he was, and he envied me. He also cautioned me that I, like other people of my type, were prone to laziness, and that I should practice even harder than he did. Of course, I did not. I thought he said that to all his students, gave all his students that 'nick name'. Maybe he does, but it still felt good coming from a professional jazz composer, and in my heart I knew there is some truth to that statement.
Embarrassed, just like I was 4 years ago by the pool side, I mustered up the courage to ask for an autograph for his CD. In the CD jacket, he wrote "Keep the fire burning," which may sound cliched to you, but for me, it means a lot. I know I have been blessed with talent, that I should not be lazy and waste. It took me 4 years to realize his most rudimentary lesson. Now, if you'll excuse me, its time to stoke the fire, I still see an ember glowing strong amidst the haze.
