Music has always been a part of me. Ever since I was a child, I imagined myself in a band, strumming a guitar and feeling the rhythm flow through me. I started playing guitar in elementary school with my boy classmates and friends because, funnily enough, my father never taught me, even when I asked. That passion only grew through high school and college.

It was in college that I first played on stage as a rhythm guitarist during a battle of the bands competition. Over the past two years, I’ve played twice with two different bands. During the second time, I was just two weeks away from the end of my first semester in my second year… and I found out I was pregnant with my first child. I almost didn’t want to show my face at school anymore, but I couldn’t let my band down. So there I was, on stage with a big belly, turning my back to the audience to hide it. That was my last performance before stepping away from school and everything else for a long time.

Motherhood became my world after that. I loved it deeply. My days were all about my baby, work, and responsibilities. I worked as a customer service representative to provide for us. Even though I wasn’t playing music anymore, I stayed close to it like attending gigs, meeting new friends, and cheering from the audience. My dreams of being on stage faded quietly, but I was content just being around music.
Life moved on, and so did my heart. My first relationship ended and it taught me one painful but beautiful truth: you can’t force someone to grow with you, you can only love them as they are and let go.

Eventually, I met another man, an artist who used to be a musician too. Things moved fast, and within ten years, we had four more kids. Yep, five little humans! Life was busy, messy, but full of love. And through all of it, music never really left our home. My partner and I would jam on weekends, play guitar together, or have karaoke sessions. He used to say, “One day, when the kids are older, I’ll play in a band again.” I always laughed it off. I thought we’d be too old by then, with back pains and all. 😀
But I was wrong. Now, I’m in my 30s, he’s in his 40s, and we feel young like nothing has changed, except for the lessons life has taught us and the little humans we now call our crew.

One day, friends of ours invited us to a fiesta at their house. They set up musical instruments, and we jammed. We had such a good time that we didn’t leave until almost midnight. On the way home, my partner confessed, “I’d like to go back and play in a band.” I immediately said, “Go for it.” He was hesitant, but he felt my support.

 
He didn’t have an electric guitar at the time, but he remembered how a good friend once told him he could borrow his Stratocaster anytime the same friend who used to encourage him to play again. When he reached out, the friend kept his word right away.

The wild part? I didn’t expect him to invite me to play as the rhythm guitarist. I even told him I wasn’t technically that good, but he insisted, seeing potential I hadn’t fully recognized in myself. I decided to trust his judgment and go for it. He then reached out to other band members, and by September, we were having our very first practice.

Our second practice hit a snag. No guitar for me, and our vocalist who had one I could borrow wasn’t around. So I ended up just watching the others play and filled in as the vocals. But in my head, I knew it was time: I needed my own guitar. This was getting real, and I could feel the energy with our bandmates. By the third practice, I had my very first Telecaster in hand and I was over the moon. 🙂

It was an incredible experience—the first in so many years. Playing again brought back memories of youthful freedom and reminded us of the joy music has always carried. It felt alive, nostalgic, inspiring and it felt amazing—like stepping into a memory, but this time, with more gratitude and peace.

And that’s when it hit me:
Nothing is ever really too late.
You can always start again.
You can pick up where you left off.

Whether it’s music, art, or anything you once loved—don’t think it’s over just because life happened. Sometimes, life just paused the song for a while.