Why do I call him Mr. singing?

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Mr. Canto never betrays us

Time is a river that flows inexorable, bringing with it memories, emotions and thoughts.
Today, I invite you to take a dip in the past with me, to relive a crystallized moment in my memory and in the words that I wrote exactly nine years ago on that November 9, 2015.

Rereading your writings after a long time is like meeting a younger version of yourself.
We find ourselves face to face with dreams, fears and reflections that perhaps we had forgotten, or that perhaps have evolved over the years.
It is an experience that can be nostalgic and illuminating at the same time.

In the following lines, I will share a piece of my past with you.
A text that I recently rediscovered and that I decided to publish today, without changes or censorship.
It is a journey through time, an opportunity to reflect on how we were and how we changed.

I invite you to read these words, to look for the echo of a past era between the lines and perhaps to find some of yourself in these reflections that I wrote from jet ten years ago.

Why, after all, isn't this the power of writing?

Capture a moment and make it eternal, allowing us to relive emotions and thoughts even after years.

So prepare for this journey through time. Let the words transport you back of a decade and, who knows, perhaps you will discover something new on yourself and the world around you.

The night of Mr. Canto

Trinity (CN) , 9 November 2015

My name is Albert and I live in this small town near Turin.
Tonight, while the silence enveloped the deserted roads, I woke up with a start, the heart that beat the dusk and the made of sweat.

The dream that torn me from sleep was vivid and disturbing: people who used sound like a weapon to subjugate others.

I got up, still shaken, and I turned on my old laptop.
My fingers began to flow on the keyboard, giving voice to the thoughts that crowded my mind.

As I wrote, I heard the figure of Mr. Canto emerge, an entity that represents everything that singing means for me. I retraced my journey with music: how I gave me life, as I allowed me to express myself and build myself.

"Mr. Canto gave me and never taken," I wrote, thinking about how the Canto tool has always been a source of joy. "Mr. Canto is what I am," I continued, realizing how deeply the singing has shaped my identity.

The hours passed quickly as I immersed myself in reflections. I wrote about how Mr. Canto taught me that teaching means to love, how he made me understand the true meaning of passion.

"Mr. Canto always indicates to me respect for us in general," I have digested, thinking about how music is a universal language that unites people.

At dawn, I realized I spent the whole night writing. Re -reading my words on the computer screen, I felt overwhelmed by emotion. I had put black on white not only my thoughts on singing, but also my fears, my defeats and my deepest desires.

I got up from the chair, stretching me. Despite the sleepless night, I felt strangely reinvigorated. I looked out the window, towards the streets of Trinity who were slowly animating. This November 9, started as an ordinary day, had turned into a moment of deep introspection.

While I was preparing for the day, I promised myself to remain faithful to the teachings of Mr. Canto. I know it will not be easy, that there will be falls and moments of doubt. But now I have a reminder, a personal manifesto to return to difficult times.

"Adhering every day to this feeling is a continuous climb," I murmured between me and me, "but it is a climb that is worth facing."

Maybe one day, I will reread these words and remember this special night, this revelation of Mr. Canto. I wonder what I will think of this moment, of these reflections. But for now, I live in the present, grateful for this experience and for the gift of music in my life.