Gonna stop blogging bout what I ate, what time I shat and how many gulps of air I've had in a day. Huess its boring. Anyway.

There was once a king if a great, magnificent castle. In it, his subjects ate, drank, and made merry all day long. 'Discontentment' was a word of taboo.

Then one day, the king decided to sprite things up a bit. He called upon his messengers to bring an announcement out to his people over his land. He was inviting musicians into his abode.

Not long after, two violinists showed up. The king took a long look at both at them and said to them, "I give you each a month. When that month is up, come back to me. All I require is for you to play something in tune."

The month came and went.

Both musicians presented themselves before the king once more. The king asked, "Who shall be first?"

The first man jumped up, brandishing his ancient violin of a make long lost. No other violin carver that existed could match the skills of the one who had once flexed his scapels on that block of maple wood. He tuned his violin hurriedly. After all, taking a long time to tune was a sign of mediocrity and unprofessionalism. But in his haste, he tuned his G a quarter tone lower. Then he commenced with a self-composed sonata.

His playing was flawless. Ricochets, saltandos. Vibratos, glissandos. Every note melded together to form an entrancing, captivating piece. It was a wonder he had actually composed it within a month. The sound of wondrous music wafted through the palace, and out of it, and every commoner passing-by outside who heard his playing was filled with awe by his talent. Of course, being highly-skilled, he covered his out-of-tune G with deft and nimble fingers. But in the last chord, his finger slipped, and he played a note a quarter tone too low.

"Nevermind, I played well throughout. I'm sure the king won't mind," he thought, "If he can even notice." And and that last idea, he chuckled under his breath, confident of his success.

Then came the second man's turn. He took up his violin. It was a horrible instrument. The strings were close to unravelling, the varnish had either lost its shine, or had been scratched off through years of usage. The bridge was half broken and the bow had lost almost half it's hair. It was quite obvious that this man came from a much more unfortunate background than the former.

Sheepishly putting his violin under his chin, he started to tune. A minute passed. Then two more. The first man started tapping his feet on the marble floor in impatience, and shook his head at the performer's unshowmanship.

Finally, he was ready. He took a deep breath, lifted up his bow up high, then brought it down, and played..

An open G.

And it was in tune.

It is so easy.. Why.. Why can't you open your hearts?