Monthly Archives: January 2010

16. “What’s the point of holding onto what never gets used?”

So here it is.

Listen to this.

Death Cab for Cutie’s                                    Your New Twin Sized Bed.

On loop for years. From young to now, I’ve listened to this album.

I know what it is to love…I love this band

With a fervor of youthful, pure innocence and a faithful loyalty one can only begin to imagine;

defend I will, this band, with all of me…

I grew up in high school, listening to random bands from all over the country and, in particular, Death Cab; listening to these artist’s words and becoming like a vine grown thick and out of control upon the words and chords of the songs. This attachment I can say is strongest, now, than ever.

The emotions I most connected to and still do, are from the stories of boys and girls that are laced with hidden heartbreak, secluded thoughts, breaths of cold air and no sunlight in times and places where love, beauty and fate are supposed to be abundant and encouraging. The languid strums of the guitar, the beat of the footstep, the vibrating “shimmys” of the electric keyboard reverberate in my body like I am the instruments themselves.

In retrospect, a piece of me lost, this music fills the spot for now…but that’s another story.

I listened to this song as if it was new to the world, his voice like a man’s I have never heard before today. As I walked back towards my bike, parked, ready and faithful,  the chilled Davis wind that grabs around your legs, chest and neck was my companion as I rode back to campus from the humid greenhouse; the wind heavy and my legs were weary.

I heard the line, “what’s the point of holding onto what never gets used?” My stomach dropped. Why? It was an epiphany many would love to break down and argue against; these are the resilient ones. I can’t.

Bitter realization, safety mechanisms and fear prevent me from feeling like there is something more than what I got that fateful day. I guess I’m just scared to feel optimistic in the face of despair and failure, I’m afraid of being let down, again. I’m scared I’m tossing it away and I don’t even realize it.

How long does it take to jump back?

“You used to think that someone would come along.
And lay beside you in the space that they belong.
But the other side of the mattress and box springs stayed like new.
What’s the point of holding onto what never gets used?”

As I biked, I held back tears, I heard myself repeating after him, “And I hope you have more luck with this than me.” I guess when you’ve looped this CD for years, it’s like you are the singer now and you have written these words to make yourself feel something you miss again and again, every time it starts up again.

This song’s beat doesn’t even need words to tell me what it’s feeling. I feel it, I know it too well.

This song is not about relationships that get broken or are lost between two people, it’s the non-existence of relationships between people in general.

If you aren’t going to try, why hold onto your heart, right?

Life is about little decisions you make every day, they eventually add up and create something, good or bad, it’s all up to single moments put together by you. What’s interesting is you never see the beast form, you see it appear before you miraculously one day and you have to take it with you on your journey of life.

This song evoked two of the strongest emotions in me, sadness and fear. A simple narrative of not a boy or even a girl, but a person tossing a piece of plastic away that, in turn, gives rise to a depth of philosophical knowledge, burning questions, confusing meanings that I can only begin to analyze. This is what good music is. It makes you question your life every single time you repeat the track.

I guess to sum this up, I can’t decide whether to just dump it or use it till it breaks…

Ad nauseam, I am confounded by the cunning and perplexing challenges of thought, decision and action.

For now,

“…And I try not to worry, but you’ve got me terrified.
It’s like we’re in some kind of hurry to say goodbye, to say goodbye, to say goodbye…”

14. Love. Fall in love and stay in love. Write only what you love, and love what you write. The key word is love. You have to get up in the morning and write something you love, something to live for. -Ray Bradbury

Wow, what a holiday break. It felt like one of the thoroughly longest breaks ever. I loved every moment of it; the banal and the exciting. Like every winter or holiday break, including weekends, I perused the shelves at Barnes & Nobles and Borders for that one lovely book that would ensnare my thoughts and feelings, if only for a fleeting holiday break. I found it, but I have yet to finish it twice. I read and re-read it. I don’t understand it first and off the bat. Though merely journal entries from a beloved author of mine, I still find it difficult to follow emotionally, physically, figuratively and literally.

I did not read Wuthering Heights again. I stopped this cold and cutting ritual of reading one of the saddest love stories ever written, (in my opinion), and it made my break a little brighter.

As I write this, I’m wasted on coffee, roasted peanuts and water. Going from eating every four hours with my siblings and parents because we’re simply the happiest when gathered around a table and food to fuel the long talks about times when my dad wore bell bottoms, my mum mercilessly permed her hair and when one of my brothers permed his mullet. 🙂

I’m wasted on a high that was low too. My holiday break was a time I cried, I laughed, I wished I were dead and a time when I was reborn. Like every time I’m alone with my thoughts and my philosophy on life, I realize I am too much this way and not enough the other, I am always doing this, when I should be doing that. Life like this should not be shared, it simply cannot be. I walk alone in the fields of what I perceive idealistic, hedonistic, safe and disgusting. Polarities seem be what I am made of, so does this mean I, too, am made of hypocrisy. Yes! I am too much in love with who I can be or want to be or want people to perceive who I can be. Selfish love for myself, my dreams, my aura is something I realized I am too much involved in. I write for what? So others can read. I talk so others can listen, I teach so others may learn from me. Why have I self-indulged my vanity and cloaked and hidden it behind a sheet of idealism that “life can be better if I achieve my selfish goals”?.

When can my words ever be sincere to me?

I have not exhausted this subject, but must return another time to it. I am at a loss for what I want to express and do not want to half-ass the rest. I am too weary.

This morning, waking at an ungodly hour to catch my flight and not sitting down to eat for almost 10 hours has caused not only my mental acuteness to whither, but my stomach to be in an uproar.

I am still feeling the time change and must take rest in the dark caverns of my bed.

I have so much to say about beds, the thoughts are fluttering in my head, but my net is broken from travel and from wear.

For now, as this night passes I think of the friends I made here and I think, soon, we all will be sleeping like we were babies under the same starry sky, we will rejoice in the slumber of our dreams or cower in our nightmares.

I leave this note from Emily Dickinson,

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain.
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Good night.