Especially in the spring the birds of Lesvos have the loudest voices on the island. Piew, piew, here comes one, settling in an olive tree. Then something flutters from tree to tree, chirp, chirp: a flurry of brown feathers, or do I also see blue? Blackbirds, nightingales like true divas. Coo-coo, coo-coo, the almost meditative sound of cooing doves. In the Netherlands, this bird is not well-liked because it has settled in the bastion of humans: cities, where, without litter boxes, it does its business on window sills and any protruding bits of concrete. But here on Lesvos, I do like these birds who calmy sit on the power lines philosophizing.

Cancer tumors at most make the lungs sing, literally peep-peep. A sneaky sound that doesn’t compare to a birdsong.

Here comes the wind: whooo whooo. He goes through the trees, playing with the leaves, which then produces a soft rustling sound: kss, kss. An orchestra in formation, while the birds form the background choir: pspeejo, pspeejo. The island is rarely without sound, unlike the Netherlands where car traffic never lets the country be quiet. When the wind does not set a rhythm and the birds are sleeping, there is still chirping or the gnawing of insects, krnn, krnn, the beginnings of a soft opera. And then there is the tjut tjut of the pygmy owls who only perform at night.

Cancer tumors can also make your throat produce sawing sounds: grr, grr, softly, when you’re lying asleep.

Orpheus was a beloved musician who made people happy and joyful with his songs. When his wife Eurydice ended up in the underworld due to a fatal snakebite, he managed to persuade Hades through his music to release her. She was allowed to follow him to the upper world, however he was instructed to not look back. As he could not resist his curiosity, Eurydice was forced to remain in the underworld forever. Orpheus was so inconsolable that he no longer touched his lyre.  The Maenads, nymphs, followers of Dionysus, who lived for song and dance, became angry with Orpheus for no longer providing them with music. They tore him to pieces and threw his remains into the sea. The head and the famous lyre washed ashore at Ancient Andissa, the city of that other well-known musician of antiquity, Terpander. When you stand on the beach there, where the walls of the old city still partially stand, the waves, the wind and the busy chirping of bee-eaters seem to provide a continuous performance of Orpheus’ work.

I have raging tumors in my body that would love to tear apart my lungs. But I won’t just be thrown into the sea. And I will not leave behind any music. At most, just some words.

I am not a musician. But a musiclover nonetheless. I am not a birdwatcher, don’t know much about birds, but I am a fervent listener to their eternal concerts. Birds create a kind of minimalist music with repetitive notes. Just like one of my favorite pieces of music: Canto Ostinato, by the Dutch composer Simeon ten Holt.

I had the honor of knowing him. He called me the Pirate Girl, as he came to present his music on my radio show Polaroid that broadcast on the pirate station GOT in Amsterdam. I had the honor of accompanying him to Los Angeles, where he helped students at CallArts rehearse this beautiful piece for four pianos. When I send the tonal notes of Canto Ostinato into the olive grove, the birds are silent for a moment, but then start chirping along, as if welcoming the sound of this strange bird into their midst. This composition is tailor-made for them: small series of notes that chase each other, repeat, or tumble over one another.

Cancer tumors cannot produce repeating notes. They just march on, gnawing at my life and not making me happy.

How I would have loved to see Canto Ostinato performed here on the island. Under the starry Greek sky, where the piano notes would be rocked by the babbling of the Aegean Sea, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees and in the distance the tinkling of wandering goats. Yes, I know, Simeon, you didn’t like the variations that emerged on your beautiful piece. But I am sure that the background choir of Lesvos would delight even you. Your music makes me happy and helps me endure the cancer.