It was a Monday night in mid-October. The air was filled with the smoke of multiple cooking fires and there were people crowding into every nook and cranny of the long alley; some looking for food, while others browsed the racks of clothes and jewelry hoping to find a bargain. The local barbershop was filled with Americans singing out to the Lord with out-of-tune voices to the beat of two old guitars. And on that night, a rock star was born, and that rock star is me.

Wait, what?

I guess in Asia, anything is possible. If a bunch of random 20- somethings can get together in barbershop in a dark alleyway known by us all as “Ghetto Street” and draw big crowds of people-young and old alike-just by singing loudly in English than the sky is the limit :). The best part is that all of our songs were praises to God and we got to raise His name on high that night because no one understood what we were saying. We were able to share the love of the father with many people in that barbershop in a safe manner, simply because no one spoke English. Sometimes the language barrier comes in handy.

A half-hour later our concert was over. They all clapped for us and we shook hands, collected our dinners and headed to an apartment to watch a movie. Everyone of us looks back on that experience and smiles, because for one night at least, we got to be rock stars.