This morning in Tampa started just like any other.I made my coffee from Blind Tiger Café down on South Howard and sat by the window scrolling through messages. I was halfway through replying to my cousin back in Shanghai when my phone buzzed—an unknown Florida number. I hesitated but picked up. It turned out to be the owner of a small art gallery in Ybor City; apparently, I had left my sketchbook there last weekend after their open mic night. I didn’t even realize I’d lost it.
Driving over felt strangely sentimental. The street murals near 7th Avenue were still as colorful as ever, and the faint smell of roasted Cuban coffee lingered in the air. The owner, an elderly man with silver hair, smiled as he handed me the sketchbook. Inside was a folded piece of paper that wasn’t mine—a note from someone who must have seen my doodles. It said, “Your sketches of the old violin player reminded me of my grandmother’s guzheng back in Beijing.”
That line hit me. When I got home, I took out my guzheng, brushed off a little dust, and played “High Mountains and Flowing Water.” The strings sounded almost like the waves near Davis Islands—soft yet deep.
Later that evening, I shared a short clip of my playing in a local Tampa Facebook group. Someone commented that they used to play erhu in college and missed it dearly. It’s funny how music connects strangers who might have passed each other at Publix without ever saying hello.
If anyone around Tampa enjoys Chinese instruments or just wants to chat about art, music, or the quiet beauty of solo living—feel free to message me.
Terrace Park
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