Scene Street

Music is on again. He sighs, grabs his jacket and wallet and slams the apartment door shut.

He steps on a quiet, quiet street. In a quiet, quiet town. It’s late night in Helsinki. The winter in Northern Europe only has one melody — cold. A gust of cold wind hits him and he curls up himself even more in his jacket. He suddenly starts to miss home. He shakes his head, tries to dislodge this horrible idea.

Antonio Damiãno moved to Helsinki two and a half years ago. He grew up in a small Portuguese town near Lisbon named Pedra do Ouro. Antonio enjoys everything about Pedra do Ouro. He loves the sun, the beautiful beach, the cerulean and borderless Atlantic, and, especially, the restaurant of his family that makes the best cod in the entire world.

But there is just one thing he detests. Music. He never liked music since he was a toddler. He was always a quiet and imaginative person. In his free time, he liked to sit on a quiet corner and immerse himself in his own little world -- a place where no one else had access to. His mind got agitated and his body got erratic when the music was on. However, the musical nature of Portugues makes music a ubiquitous and essential part of their life. They sing at home, sing at school, sing at dances, sing at balls and sing at beaches. When music is on, Antonio just wanted to disappear.

He just doesn't like any music.

A faint yellow light slowly illuminates his shadow. He looks up. An old Volkswagen Beetle quietly slides pass him and disappears at the end of this quiet alley. Over his shoulder, the neon red sign of the metro station projects on his jacket. For a sudden second, he feels laughably holy.

Antonio’s parents are both Portuguese folk music lovers, so they tried everything to make their younger son love music as well. They took him to a psychotherapist. When he came out of the office, his parents thought Antonio is cured. Turns out Antonio didn’t start to love music after the visit, but rather the strawberry flavored Sugus candy from the doctor's office instead. They tried to award him with pocket money if he listens to music. Antonio took the money, suffered for 2 hours in front of a record player and bought a bag of books. His parents' “Award Therapy” didn’t exactly work out like they thought: Turns out Antonio didn’t give up his prejudice on music, but deepened his adoration of José Saramago. Even when Antonio turned 15, they still didn’t know why such a perfect musical couple would have a child that hate music. They believed the psychotherapist’s word that their son are just “mentalmente incapacitado”. Antonio definitely didn’t like this phrase.

So Antonio quickly started planning to move away when he turned to the age he can legally drink. A couple more arguments with parents, a couple thousand miles away from home. The last and most violent quarrel, his dad told him that he is his “worst child”. That night, he grabbed 300 Euros, two pairs of trousers, a thin jacket and his dad’s car key. The next morning, when the first rays of the morning sun broke the horizon, he said farewell to his beloved town. That day, when the 16 years old Antonio stepped on the plane to Helsinki, he promised himself that he would never make the return trip. When the plane lifted off on 30,000ft, he looked down. Below him, Pyrenees Mountains and the Castle of Lisbon are shining.