There’s this idea of two hearts, in the Azores- the archipelago my father is from. I myself really don’t know how widespread of a thing it is, I only know that as soon as I first heard of it, I began to feel something about it was important. The idea of two hearts fit so perfectly into my idea of myself. For the Azorean origin of this, all I know is that there is an instrument called the viola de terra, which exists within a family of Portuguese guitars with two hearts, associated with saudade music. The two hearts represent the hearts of the people who have emigrated from the Azores, and those who stayed behind. 

For me, it serves another purpose. Though I likely wouldn’t have always phrased it this way, I always connected with this idea of two hearts- or multiple, integral parts of myself that aren’t always really present. I would say now, that growing up I had two hearts- one was at the home I was raised in, rural suburbs of North Carolina. The other was off at sea, searching for my roots in the islands my parents came from- Puerto Rico, and the Azores.

I held on to this kind of idea as a child- it was a bit magical, some way of coping with the lack of identity I had, the lack of feeling “in place” all throughout my childhood. Ultimately, it meant I was incomplete, broken. In a metaphysical sense, I was missing a heart. As I grew older, that sense of emptiness only grew stronger.Every version of myself I tried to be felt intrinsically contradictory to what I had been, what I could be, what I should be. But eventually, music extended my identity. That extension began to fill in the parts of myself that were incomplete. My second heart, come home to me. 

The guitar, itself, is nothing necessarily out of the ordinary. Its main distinguishing feature comes from the design of the sound holes, shaped in two hearts. There is almost an intrinsic melancholy of the instrument, not only because of the music it is associated with, but just looking at it and understanding the story behind its designs stirs emotion. Designs, and embellishments on instruments, are common no matter what you play. I remember being envious of horn players whose rotor caps had intricate designs, or the saxophones with floral motifs surrounding its bell. But this takes it a step beyond. As someone who had for so long felt out of place, and used music as a way to bridge the gaps within myself, stumbling upon an instrument that I am tied to culturally, yet never actually knew of or learned, that embodied this whole idea of being connected to each other through feeling disconnected, it’s… it just feels important. Just knowing it exists almost makes me feel seen. 

I would love to learn how to play it some day, but I have no experience with string instruments, and I worry if I tried to actually learn it, the experience would cause part of its magic to go away. But still, it reminds me that sometimes, before music is even played, the instrument you choose to play with can have so much meaning, so much purpose, and bring such an important context. I believe that all instruments, all over the world, also innately, essentially, have two hearts. The instrument as one heart, the musician as the other. And every instrument that is broken, or abandoned, must also be full of this melancholy, this saudade, this yearning to find its second heart, to play the music it is meant to play.