Droplets

(11 min read)

(Take some time to listen for the full experience)

I am lying on the couch, with my phone in my hand.

TYPING: “Busking rules Brussels”

I feel stressed.

Why does it feel like an invisible heavyweight hippo is crushing me?

…

Two weeks ago I made a promise to myself:

On Friday the 5th of June, I’ll be a street musician for the very first time.

Where? In Brussels.

But now, on this particular Friday morning, I am not so sure about it anymore.

A question that had been on my mind for some days has pierced my enthusiasm:

“Are you even allowed to busk in Brussels?”

I had procrastinated on looking this up for days and I notice there is still a part of me today that doesn’t want to know.

What if I just go and play?

Now, it is too late to stay ignorant. I already asked my tree-planting Ecosia browser for the busking rules in Brussels and the answer had just arrived:

And with that, ladies and gentlemen, the invisible hippo had just become an elephant.

Disappointed, I throw my phone to the other side of the couch.

I made a promise to myself…

Busking in Brussels today…

But I don’t have a permit…

…

I look outside my window and see the blue sky with a few white clouds in the distance.

Should it really be in Brussels?

What if I busk somewhere else?

I know that here in Leuven, it is allowed to busk without the need for a permit. But there is not a single cell in my body that wants to even consider that option.

For sure someone I know would pass by and say: “Wow, that ukulele looks so tiny in your long arms.” And that would damage my incredibly unshakable reputation as an extremely cool and chill guy here in Leuven.

Anyway, let’s search for other cities.

TYPING: “Big cities in Flanders where you don’t need a permit to busk.”

Oh, Ghent! Interesting! I don’t know anybody there.

Let me just check the weather app… Oh, quite some rain...

Maybe today is not the day… I could have a productive day at home instead…

But I don’t need a productive day.

I need an adventurous day.

I fold my black raincoat and lay it next to me on this wooden bench. In the background, the radio of some construction workers is distractingly echoing between the trees.

Here I am, sitting in the Citadelpark in Ghent.

I can feel my muscles tense up while a wave of insecurity flows over me.

Come on, Quinten, you really wanted to do this.

I take my ukulele out and hide the ukulele case behind my legs.

Why am I stressing? It is like playing at home! The only difference is that it is outside… in nature… with just potentially some rotten tomatoes thrown at me.

Okay, brain, that is not very helpful.

…

I strum the ukulele softly.

I can see a guy chilling in the grass.

Am I allowed to play in this park even? This is so weird. Everyone can hear me.

I play a bit louder and then…

♪ I was scared of dentists and the dark ♪

The first words of Riptide by Vance Joy come out stronger than expected.

♪ I was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations ♪

A young couple walks by and they turn their heads towards me.

I hope they don’t mind me preferring to have eye contact with the ground.

This is so weird… What am I doing… Who am I to disturb their day?

Okay, let’s just go for it!

…

I surely sang some of the words wrong.

When I end the song, there is a standing ovation, applause and lots of cheering…

…in my own mind, not in the park.

The park, in contrast, is quiet and peaceful as if I wasn’t there at all.

But on the inside I’m extremely proud and ecstatic…

Did I really just do this?!

The radio of the construction workers stops and the few people who are in the park pick up their bags and leave, like some lost ants, trying to find their way back to the colony.

Sh*t. Did I chase them away? Maybe I didn’t play as well as I thought…

I feel a droplet on my hand and see the rain fall between the trees.

So, it wasn’t me who chased them away!

…

Did this count?

I played and sang outside, in a city where nobody knows me.

But did it really count?

Was I a true street musician?

I don’t think so…

I pick up my black raincoat and put it on. The ukulele goes back into its case.

Let’s go to the centre. Where the people really are.

It’s crazy to see so many people out on a Friday…

Sunny packed terraces, narrow streets, and fluorescent vests at each street corner.

On my way here, while passing by the Overpoort, the University of Ghent and Wintercircus, the rain had stopped. Now, I seem to have arrived at something that looks a lot like a public festivity.

A banner hanging between two buildings reads “BRADERIE”.

Okay, so it’s the year market. That explains the crowd.

If I had known in advance that Ghent would be so full of people, I would have chosen another day…

I pass through the zigzag of crowd control barriers and follow the flow of people. I’m keeping my eyes open for the perfect spot while every step gets me deeper into the city centre.

What about here? Hmm, no, this street is too narrow.

This one maybe? No, I would feel too exposed.

The street suddenly gets wider and some trees with a few benches bring some more breathing space to this otherwise busy street. A blue street sign on a corner house tells me that I am at Kalandeberg. If it wasn’t for the jam-packed and rumorous terraces surrounding the benches, it could have been quite a relaxing spot.

My heart starts racing.

What if I played here?

I don’t remember it being this hot earlier today.

The sunrays are reflected by the wine glasses, the cutlery and some shiny bald heads. I guess the droplets of sweat on my forehead reflect them too.

Should I do it?

I hesitate for a moment…

Should I do it?

…

Come on, brain, I’m asking you. Should I do it?

…

…

…

…

No, not here… I forgot to breathe for a bit. My shoulders relax and my feet take me back into the flow of people.

I feel a sense of relief, but also a sting of disappointment.

The street ends at a square, diffusing the current of people.

Finally, some space again.

An enormous wooden roof attracts my eye. It looks like a giant has built a house here, but delicately removed all the walls afterwards, leaving only a few pillars for support.

Rain droplets start clashing with the cobblestone floor again and I sprint to get under the roof as fast as I can.

I’m definitely not the only one with the same idea.

The lost ants have found their colony again.

I open the zipper of the raincoat and shake some of the droplets off.

Now, I’m stuck. Stuck together with the many other people who are hiding from the rain and a lot of things to think about.

I just missed a big opportunity at the Kalandeberg…

Maybe even the only opportunity, if it keeps raining like this.

…

What should I do?

I scratch my forehead, digging for an idea.

What if I’ll play here?

Just do it, Quinten. You’re stuck here anyway.

Okay, maybe, let’s give it a try.

I search for a spot on the ground far enough from the strangers but also far enough from the rain. I know I’ve found the perfect spot when my back can feel only a few soft splashes once in a while.

I open my ukulele case, take the ukulele out and put the case a few metres in front of me.

This time, I want the full experience of being a street musician.

I take a small folded piece of unwritten cardboard out of my backpack.

The thick black marker in my hand wants to write something on it, but what?

“Thank you” is too boring.
“This is my first time” feels like cheating.
I decide to write “Hi, I’m Quinten. Have a nice day! :)”.

I put the marker back, take my wallet, and toss some coins into the case. I have seen some street musicians do that when they got started. Money attracts money, I guess.

This is what will make it feel real.

I see a guy with a black baseball cap walk towards me. He parks his bicycle a few metres from me, takes his phone out and sits on the ground.

What is that weird long metallic tube that’s coming out of his travel backpack? It looks like he brought a paddle to this rainy day.

I try to make eye contact, but he is clearly more interested in his phone, while the rest of his body language seems to tell me he wants to listen.

Here I am.

Sitting on a cobblestone floor outside in Ghent.

With potentially my very first fan.

What if you’ll ridicule yourself, Quinten?

You can still put everything back and do as if nothing happened, you know…

I let the ukulele rest in my lap and close my eyes, imagining being back at the Citadel Park.

You did this already earlier today. I know you can do this.

…

I take a deep breath, pick up the ukulele and start playing.

I sound like a musician doing a sound check right before his performance. Except, I’m not checking if my ukulele is tuned. I’m just checking if my pounding heartbeat wouldn’t hijack the situation.

Let’s play my new favourite song….

♪ Spent so many seasons lost inside my mind ♪
♪ Lost inside my mind ♪

I love this song. “A Little Closer” from the “Dear Evan Hansen” movie.

But it is a difficult one.

♪ Like a message in a bottle I thought nobody would find ♪
♪ That nobody would find ♪

I play a false note and the roof’s acoustics echo this awful mistake loudly.

Disrupted, I completely forget the chords.

But I remember the lyrics.

♪ I’ve been drifting, I’ve been dreaming I would land upon the shore ♪
♪ To a haven, to a harbor that felt so far before… ♪

A wave of goosebumps flows over my spine.

Am I really singing this a capella?

A toddler with her parents stops and listens.

♪ Well, today, today, what felt so far away feels a little closer ♪
♪ For today, today, today, it feels a little closer, a little closer ♪
♪ It feels a little closer, a little closer ♪
♪ It feels a little closer. ♪

Wowww. This felt magical.

The toddler’s mom now takes out her wallet, gives the kid a coin and points at my ukulele case.

No, you gotta be kidding me.

With a coin in her hand, the wobbly kid walks to me. It looks like she could fall at any step.

No, no, no, this can’t be real.

The coin jingles when it falls in the case and the toddler quickly walks back, wrapping her arms around her mother’s leg.

BOOOYAAAH!!! I DID IT!!! I just did it!

All my inner voices are going out of their mind.

It’s crazy! Earning money for playing music!

Now I can proudly say that I’m a street musician.

This was really scary, but also really fun. Let’s play some more.

The rain has stopped again after me playing for almost an hour.

What will I end with?

A well-known song? Or something completely else?

Let’s improvise!

I start slowly and softly with an improvised chord progression. My mouth is shut, my eyes are closed and I try to feel what my hands want to play.

They want to play faster and harder.

So that’s what they do. My fingers start strumming the ukulele harder and faster than they ever did.

♪♪♪

I get in this pure state of flow.

It feels like sitting on a tropical beach with colourful birds flying by, the sun shining, and me just having fun.

I have not the slightest idea of how much time is passing by.

…

After what feels like a few minutes, my hands get tired and I decide to stop. I open my eyes and I’m back on the cobblestone floor.

I feel it in every bone of my body: this was it. This is what I wanted to end with.

A young Asian guy with a stoic face and a white T-shirt under his black fancy button shirt walks towards me.

I feel like I saw him pass by earlier.

He takes something out of his pocket, lays it down softly in the ukulele case and looks at me with a slight touch of encouragement before walking away.

I stand up to walk to my case, curious about what the Asian guy put.

What?! This can’t be true.

A light blue 20-euro bill was lying there, curled up. I can’t believe that anyone would pay me 20 euros for this? 20 EUROS?!

Crazy, this is completely crazy.

I proudly feel part of the club of street artists.

It is such a wonderful experience to play for others.

A small teardrop of happiness is ready to fall, exhausted, to the ground.

I’m proud of you, Quinten.

You showed that invisible heavyweight hippo who is the boss…

Oh yeah, before I forget!

Remember the guy with the black baseball cap and his face glued to his phone?

I asked him about the metallic pole that came from his backpack.

Smiling widely, he told me:

“It is not a paddle, my friend. It is a didgeridoo.”

We bonded quickly.

This is how I got to know Fainoise, a professional street bucket drummer from Mexico, busking in Europe for the summer.

He offered me some cold fries he just got from a stranger.

He told me about the twelve kilograms of coins he carries.

He told me about the parties he had been invited to and the crystals he had received on his journey.

I watched him perform and in a couple of hours he taught me so much about his life.

The life of a street musician.

Thank you for that day, Fainoise.