An empty street, an empty house
A hole inside my heart
I'm all alone, the rooms are getting smaller
I wonder how, I wonder why
I wonder where they are
The days we had, the songs we sang together

And oh my love, I'm holding on forever
Reaching for a love that seems so far
So I say a little prayer
And hope my dreams will take me there
Where the skies are blue
To see you once again my love
Overseas from coast to coast
To find the place I love the most
Where the fields are green
To see you once again
My love

To hold you in my arms
To promise you my love
To tell you from the heart
You're all I'm thinking of...

I know, I know. The vast majority of people I know would say that Westlife is a mushy boyband that has built much of its career on cover records. Looking at the bigger picture though, I think they gave us quite a number of good songs, especially when they started out. Who doesn't know Swear It Again? Or the "uplifting" (quite literally) Flying Without Wings? Bet I got the critics there. ;p Anyway, the point of this post is not for boyband-exalting-cum-defending, or boyband-critic-bashing, but simply to share how this song took on a new meaning for me a couple of weeks back.

As part of university orientation, I went on a visit to a branch of the National Autism Society Malaysia. Autism is defined as 'a disturbance in psychological development in which use of language, reaction to stimuli, interpretation of the world, and the formation of relationships are not fully established and follow unusual patterns'. The home we visited housed almost 10 teenage autistic individuals, and it was an experience indeeed--each of them displayed very distinct individual patterns of behaviour. Some were extremely loud, and some barely made a sound. Some were more open to people; others not so, one even preferring to fidget in a corner.

It was in this corner that I saw a very special young man, who happens to bear the name of someone dear to me. He refused to make any contact with anyone else, preferring to huddle in a corner beside the TV cabinet and mumble to himself. We did not see very much of him until the final activity when everyone gathered together, and the teacher invited him to sing. And his favourite song? You guessed it--Westlife's My Love.

It was amazing--he raced into his room to get his "microphone", which was an everyday object (somehow I just can't remember what is was right now), and he raced back out again and sat on a chair as the song began. As he kept his eyes on the ground and sang the song word for word on his chair, I couldn't help but marvel how special music must to be to this young man's heart, so special that it can get through to him like no one else can. And just when I thought I'd seen it all, he surprised me again--when moving from the bridge to the "high" chorus--by standing up, throwing caution to the wind, and singing with reckless abandon. It was beautiful to watch, how he lost himself and was a completely different person in the song. If I were a member of Westlife, I'd be honoured. :)

Even after the applause had died down when he was done, the applause in my heart went on. I still remember how this young man looked when he sang the song, and today, My Love carries a much deeper meaning than just a picture of the sentiments of a long-distance relationship. It makes me much more thankful for what I have been blessed with; and it makes me wonder at how amazing God is--that people with disabilities are gifted with remarkable talents, in order that they may bless others in their own way, just like this autistic young man blessed me, beyond what I could possibly have imagined.