I am grateful for my guitar. There's nothing I love more than visiting my grandpa on his hospital bed, but it pains me more than words can describe, quite literally. What pains me the most is the language barrier that exists between us. Unfortunately, I never learned how to speak Spanish, a regret that will forever haunt me. I've done my best to recover from this fault, preparing pre-translated messages so he gains a small understanding of how much I love him. Nonetheless, hearing his frail voice attempt to converse with me as I desperately try to understand him to no avail is truly depressing. After one of my visits, I couldn't take it anymore, and on the car ride home, tears started flooding from my eyes as I engaged in a full-on meltdown. As much as it pains me to say, my mind was set on never seeing my grandpa again, as the pain our awkward interactions inflicted upon me sent me into a state of depression. I often played my guitar for hours on end to cope with the fact that I couldn't bring myself to visit my grandpa, despite longing to see him more than anything. My father, noticing my increased playtime, interrupted one of my guitar sessions to console me about the hardships I had been facing due to my grandfather's limited time. However, he left me with an extremely peculiar idea. He wanted me to visit my grandpa, but he didn't want me to talk to him. Instead, he suggested that I play one of my grandpa's favorite songs on the guitar. I initially brushed off this idea as foolish, but I soon realized it was the only way I could bring myself to see my grandpa again. I mustered up the courage and found myself walking into that hospital room once again. My grandpa's weary eyes met mine as he reached to give me my usual hug, thus marking the start of the awkward silence that often occurred during our visits. I immediately began to tremble, making me clench my fist, only to remember that I held my guitar in one hand. Instinctively, I raised the guitar to my chest, which prompted my father to urge me to play one of my grandpa's favorite songs, "Malagueña," which I had been practicing. My grandpa's eyes initially filled up with confusion as I struggled to play the notes through my anxiety. Nevertheless, as I persevered, my fingers began to find the right strings. I looked up to see a heartfelt smile that had been absent from my grandpa for so long. Shortly after recognizing the song, he started humming along to the melody. His face glowed with color for the first time since our visits began. More things were said in that moment than could ever be spoken. I could see that he finally understood how much he meant to me. As I continue to play my grandpa's favorite songs on my visits, I realize how fortunate I am to have my guitar. I am grateful that my guitar granted me the ability to see my grandpa. I am grateful that my guitar has given me a voice, allowing my grandpa to know how much I love him. Lastly, I am grateful for the memories my guitar has created between us. Even after his passing, I will continue to play the guitar, sharing our favorite songs and reliving our best moments. I am forever in debt to my guitar. Thank you. I am committed to UC Berkeley and currently sit on the UCLA waitlist.