Nocturne #3 – Right Channel Only

You know, for the past few years, I’ve become so well-meaning, so tolerant, so darn bunchula (cuddly/good-natured), you could almost use me as a pillow. So, naturally, just when I think I’ve brokered a peace treaty with life, Fate itself decides to, ever so elegantly, whisper in my ear: “Surpriiise, bitch!” Only this time, the whisper was strictly mono.

A few days ago, on a drive from Tbilisi to the west, my ear got blocked something awful. Since then, I’ve discovered that my left ear didn’t exactly lose its hearing; it just went on an extended, unannounced vacation — didn’t even bother to submit a leave request. I tried everything, every shamanistic ritual you can imagine. I even had them pour some sort of kislata (acid) into my ear canal, thinking maybe it would just burn through whatever was wrong. The pain was unbearable (turns out it wasn’t acid, just sulfur, but it sure felt like acid). But — you wouldn’t believe it! Relief? Nope. More like a system shock!

Now, I hear the world at half volume, watch movies with half a soundtrack, and catch only half the compliments (hopefully the good half). It’s like my brain’s audio interface got switched from “Stereo” to “Mono, Right Channel Only.” I’ve become “Zurab-Lite” — the limited edition of the original Zura, bonus features not included. At first, I swear, I thought my favorite headphones had died; I nearly declared a period of mourning. Then I paid closer attention and realized — it wasn’t the headphones, it was me who’d been “halved.” Last night, listening to music on my speakers, Hans Zimmer magical live in my right ear with all his orchestra and drive, while in my left, Mickey Mouse was humming some vague tune in the bathtub, underwater. Seriously, the energy imbalance is so off, I reckon my left ear is about to launch its own independent, lo-fi blog.

Today, a friend tells me, with a face so serious I almost awarded them an honorary doctorate in philosophy: “Zura, don’t be scared, don’t worry! Look at Beethoven, right? Deaf, but he composed masterpieces! Goya? Blind, yet he painted, and how! Just look at his works before he died!” Thanks, my erudite friend, for that incredibly comprehensive consolation! I almost started composing my ninth symphony right then and there, with cotton swabs, on a napkin. Inspiration hit me so hard, I wanted to cry — either from their words or from my “I-can-only-half-hear-the-world” predicament.

Then at night, as usual, my brain decided to host its own film festival. I dreamt my ear problem was some cosmic virus called “Audio-Smudio-Deficitus,” and I, in the role of a cyber-quack, was trying to install “Norton Anti-Ear-Problem 2025 Extreme Edition” on my brain. It kept asking for updates, but for some reason, only in coffee beans.

Anyway, what can I say? Music is my religion, and my ear is the main temple of that religion, where every note burns like a holy candle. And if even one window of this temple shatters, meaning, if my hearing drops by even a tiny percentage, I think I’ll go straight to heaven — not because I’m a saint, but because life here on Earth, without my beloved melodies, simply becomes… unbearable!

So, Fate, if you can hear me (hopefully in both ears), I have one wish: Let there be ear! Both of them, this time! Otherwise, I swear, I’ll compose such a “Nocturne of the One-Eared Man,” even Beethoven himself will jump out of his grave to give me a standing ovation… with one hand, of course.