A world without words Words by Jasmine Ng Illustration by Fiona Tung
M
y father passes me a pack of gum as he drives us to school. My brother can now sit in the front seat, and he turns the radio on to 96.3FM. In a rare moment free of advertisements, Mendelssohn’s Octet in E-flat major plays. The notes become tinged with the mint of the chewing gum. Another piece plays, then an advertisement, then another piece. My brother diligently names everything. Bach Violin Concerto in E major,
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Beethoven Violin Concerto in D. I clutch at the names that are already slipping from my mind’s grasp. My favourites, the ones I hear the most, the ones I play on the violin—those names I can remember. But the countless others that drift through my mind exist to me as faces rather than names. I know them instinctively. Their melodies tumble one note after another out of my mouth when I sing. I long for Bobby McFerrin, who sang “Air on
