THERE'S much to be said about the healing virtues of music. It was American singer-songwriter Billy Joel who once said: "Music in itself is healing. It's an exclusive expression of humanity. It's something we're all touched by."
At the tender age of 7, a severe bout of asthma resulted in me constantly being ferried to clinics and hospitals.
I struggled to breathe, incapacitated in my own bed envying with all the bitterness that a young child could muster, of other children my age who lived normal lives with school and play.
While the world trusted the doctors and modern medicine to solve my ailment, my mother, desperate to help her daughter, had her own ideas.
Sitting next to me, she urged me to sing to cope with the acute discomfort. As we sang offkey in unison, what seemed like a simple effort by a parent to distract a small child was in fact my first glimpse into a new superpower that was transformative and unparalleled by anything I'd experienced.
Of course, today I understand what my mother surely understood; that with music, my body could access abilities it couldn't otherwise during my healing process.
From that moment on, my journey with music was never the same. Music, for me, is not only a profound expression of one's humanity but it has the power to be a healing force.
That little piece of history flashes through my mind as musician Jeshurun Vincent Fatianathan recounts that moment in time which forever changed his life.
At the age of 19, Jeshurun discovered he lost his hearing in his left ear. "I woke up one morning and found myself partially deaf," he begins softly.
There was no precursor to his devastating hearing loss. "I was fine one day and then the next day, I was unable to get up from bed. It happened without warning."
The ensuing silence hangs like a shroud over our table. The diminutive man seated across the table nurses his coffee, a smile never leaving his face.
As he gathers his thoughts quietly, the weathered guitar case that lies on an empty chair catches my gaze.
Seeing my eyes trail to the worn-out case, Jeshurun lifts it and points out the flags sewn on the tattered cover.
"That's Myanmar, Afghanistan, Vanuatu, Egypt, Iran, Uzbekistan and that's Maldives," he reels off each country one by one, his voice laced with pride.
He has every reason to be proud. He'd recently been recognised by the Malaysia Book of Records for having travelled to the most countries — a whopping 102 nations in just about six years. He goes on to tell me that it would be exactly six years this August.
With a guitar in hand, the music-lover had been travelling far and wide sharing his gift of music and messages of hope to anyone who would listen.
"Have hope," he tells people. "Don't give up your dreams. Live your life to the fullest no matter what your situation is," he says. "If I can do it, so can you."
He knows what he's talking about. After all, he's no stranger to disappointments and life's unfair curveballs. The hearing loss was devastating and he admits to a deep depression that haunted him for a long time.
"The depression was suffocating. I felt like it would never go away," he recalls candidly.
He eventually decided to fight back and continued to pursue music. The extraordinary thing about Jeshurun's hearing loss journey is that he found a way forward at every stage.
Once he accepted his deafness, it was no longer a source of shame and he was open about it from then onwards. Music was the catharsis he needed to carry on.
"God held me back from sinking deeper," he says simply. And from that moment of true despair came an extraordinary hope, an artistic commitment.
"It was impossible for me to leave this world until I had brought forth everything that was within me," he adds.
DEVASTATING LOSS
He relates poignantly about his late mother's encouragement when he was just a young boy. Stuck with the dreaded recorder (the bane of most aspiring music students), he admits to not being able to play a note.
Educators had seized upon the inexpensive and comparatively easy-to-learn instrument as an ideal vehicle for teaching the rudiments of music — a legitimate enough use, but one that has led many to view recorder-playing as a distinctly amateur pastime, and not exactly an instrument to spark off a music career for potential musicians.
The music that came out was discordant, he recalls chuckling.
"While other students moved on to play complicated pieces, I could barely manage Mary Had A Little Lamb!"
He loved music and dreamt big dreams about being a musician. "But I couldn't master the recorder," he remarks sheepishly. Until, he says, he heard a church song he loved and taught himself to play the tune on the recorder in no time. His mother, he adds wistfully, was his first audience.
"She encouraged me to pursue this hobby and sent me for my first music lesson. I was told I was too young to play the instrument. I was asked to come back again when I was older," he recounts softly.
Silence hangs in the air. The diminutive man seated across the table nurses his coffee, his smile never leaving his face. His eyes are sad. On his last trip, he had intended to travel to South Africa from Egypt. "I received a call from home telling me that my mother wasn't doing too well so I cut my trip short and returned home."
It was a blessing in disguise of sorts. Not long after, the pandemic swept through the world, stranding thousands of travellers when the global lockdown was imposed.
The worst news would come not long after. "My mother had already been diagnosed with cancer and the prognosis wasn't hopeful. The doctors had said she'd have at least between three months and a year of survival. It was devastating but we thought we'd still have a little time left to spend with her."
In early April, his mother, who was supposed to have been discharged from the hospital, was inadvertently exposed to one of the doctors who was later diagnosed with the coronavirus.
"She was fine on that day, texting us that she was okay and in good spirits," he says quietly. She had to be placed in an isolation ward as a result of the exposure.
"I won't deny that it's been really tough," he admits. "Our last message from her was 'I'm okay' on a Saturday. On Sunday, she passed away."
On April 5 this year, Jeshurun lost his biggest fan and staunchest supporter. "It was hard seeing her suffer for the past year, but the only consolation I can get is that she's no longer suffering. We had to somehow find our strength in God," he shares stoically.
He pauses before adding heavily: "My biggest regret is that she wasn't around to see me receive the award from the Malaysia Book of Records. I wish she lived long enough to see me grow even further as a musician. Her faith in me was not unfounded."
COPING WITH LOSS
It was his parents' faith in him that kept Jeshurun going. "My family stood by me constantly and encouraged me to carry on when I lost my hearing," he attests. His partial hearing loss was due to a sudden viral infection.
"That was devastating," he confesses. "I always wanted to pursue music. Hearing is all — it defines me. Suddenly it all changed. Society is unthinking. There's black and there's white. Hearing. Deafness. And nothing in between."
He was advised to give up music and accept his disability. "People told me that it was some form of punishment meted out by God for something I must have done. There were so many negative words. I was told I'd never be the same again and that I'd never play music again."
Depression sank in. One in six people suffer some form of hearing loss. There's no reason to suppose musicians are magically exempt from that statistic. Yet you wouldn't hear of it. Hearing is an essential tool for a musician, and human beings are not very good at understanding subtleties — that it's possible to have hearing loss, yet still hear enough to continue being a musician.
It took a long time for Jeshurun to grasp at that possibility. "I sunk into a depression and couldn't deal with the challenges. I grew quiet and withdrawn. I didn't feel normal anymore. I felt I couldn't possibly pursue music, being deaf," he shares.
But he decided not to allow his hearing loss to prevent him from living life to the fullest. "I studied, got a degree in finance and continued to pursue music. I had always told my mother that I wanted to be a musician," recounts Jeshurun.
But life was to deal him another blow. Jeshurun lost his younger brother to a tragic road accident in 2014. "He was my closest friend," he says simply, wincing. Again, it was a sudden loss.
"When we received a call that he met with an accident, we didn't fully grasp the extent of it," he recalls. He received the call at 5am and the family rushed to the hospital.
"It's hard to even comprehend how someone can be here today and gone the next day," he remarks.
It took a while for him to recover from the loss. But his brother's passing made him realise that life was fleeting and that it was up to him to make the most of it. It ultimately became a call to action.
"Today suddenly has such potency. Who knows what will happen tomorrow? I must do what I can now. No more putting things that matter on hold for an uncertain future," he says, shrugging his shoulders.
"Find your own way," he tells me. "And keep finding it. The time is not tomorrow. The time for action is now."
JOURNEY OF HOPE
He threw himself into music and went on to complete a music album in June that year. He dedicated the album to his late brother.
"My brother's passing made me think of what kind of legacy I wanted to leave behind. I realised that he was proud of me and got to know only after his death that he'd shared my music with all of his friends. He was one of my biggest encouragers," he says softly.
In August 2014, Jeshurun had the inspiration to take his music across the borders.
"I had only RM200 with me at that time and decided to buy a ticket to Myanmar." He didn't know anyone there and didn't even have a travel itinerary planned.
But somehow, he adds, God seemed to be in the midst of it. Just 12 hours before he boarded his flight, he managed to secure a contact with someone who promised he'd arrange for a friend to meet the musician at the airport in Yangon.
He remembered travelling for hours to a remote village just to meet a lady and her son.
"They were going through some tough times and so I just encouraged them with my story," he recalls simply. He then found himself travelling to more places and doing the same thing — playing music and sharing his experiences.
The trip was a success and led to Jeshurun continuing his travels to other countries while juggling the demands of a full-time job. There were still naysayers who didn't understand his passion.
He was told that he was crazy for "wasting" his money on travelling and on strangers who wouldn't care. But the 33-year-old says that once he shared his experiences from his travels, his family was more than supportive and encouraged him to chase his dreams.
As he travelled on, the reception grew warmer and soon Jeshurun attracted the attention of not just audiences at cafes, schools and universities, but the local media and ambassadors began to warm up to this young man and his tattered guitar case.
"When I began to be featured on national television and newspapers in some countries, people back home began to gain a new perspective on my purpose," he says, grinning, before adding wryly: "… and a new respect, as well."
Jeshurun has the tanned, weathered face of someone who spends a lot of time in the sun, with sparkling eyes and a ready smile. Life has thrown many curveballs but he has taken them in his stride.
There isn't any trace of sadness on his face. He looks like a man fulfilled, I point out and he laughs, agreeing.
"Life has a way of refining you. My experiences have shaped me to be who I am today — and I'm grateful for that. My life is an example of why you should never let go of your dreams and hopes. Things may be difficult but it's not impossible," he says earnestly.
He plans to continue his travelling once the travel ban is lifted. "When I sit down with different people, my life changes. I realise that there are good people in the world and I've met some amazing people in my life," he explains, telling me that these are the experiences that inspire him to share his stories and influence more people in the world.
As I watch him leave, carrying his battered case in hand, I can't help but realise how profoundly impactful his simple story of life, loss and hope is.
Strumming his guitar in strange lands all around the globe, Jeshurun is intent on sharing his gift as long as he can and proving that as long as there's life in you, there's always hope.