Another name for freedom: musics essays example

After long years staying away from my lovely city, Oslo, only a few hours left to be back there. I remember my happy days in Oslo with my family. The place where my grandpa gave me my most valuable present in my life: a guitar. Music went into my heart each time I touched the guitar strings. The strongest passion in my life became my reason to leave my happy memories in my city. The music was forbidden in Oslo. A strange law created barriers between my passion and my city. I preferred my passion.
I had to live somewhere else in the north with music far away from my city. I was happy in the beginning. Playing music freely with people around me enjoying it was the biggest fun. Everybody was into music. I have spent long years in the happiness of the music whereas I was feeling the strangeness of being away from Oslo. What could be the reason behind the music-free city? Was really music a reason behind the social conflict? Were they fighting because they hate each others’ melodies? One did not have to like all kind of songs; however, it did not have to force to fight each other.
One morning, hearing the news from Oslo stimulated something inside me. The news was telling about the people got jailed because of playing music underground. It was wrong. One had to do something and it was me. I had to go back to Oslo to show everybody including the people who set the music-free city law. I needed to prove them that music gathers people around a social happiness. In the same day I have left the city and took the first train to Oslo.
I needed to be careful. Everywhere was full of patrols searching for instrument. They were tough to people. I placed my guitar where no one could see. We were entering the train station. I stood up, grabbed my guitar in a bag that no one could imagine a guitar in it. I walked out of the train. I walked all nigh non-stop. If I could go to my grandpa’s house before the sun rise, I would be safe. I did. I was in front of the door. I rang the bell and my grandpa pulled me inside with a quick move. He cried and hugged me. I told him what I wanted to do. He was nervous; but, he knew that someone had to do.
I met the people with music love underground. We played long hours without getting scared. Every day and every night more people joined us. Everyone in the city was talking about us. Finally, the police heard about us. One night they came with a lot of guns. We had only our instruments in our hands. It seemed to be a simple bad ending at first until the police realized the thousands waiting outside. All was shouting “ Music is our freedom!!!”. Yes, it was their freedom and they wanted it very badly. They got it. We all were free again and we were believing in “ Music is freedom” more and more.