Melody and memory
Today, I dug up a CD I've had a few years back, a compilation entitled "The Art of Letting Go". I surrendered completely to the way the songs in that compilation swirled my abundant, hodge podge emotions; and then passed the CD on to the hands of other grieving friends in need, like a potent medical formulation. And then while still vulnerable, I recklessly entrusted my heart to someone I hoped would put the pieces back together again --- only for it to end up not only broken but splintered into bits.
Argh! As daddy Eph would say, "The pain, the pain!"
As there are many ways to slice a cake as there are varied ways of bouncing back from a broken heart, I refused to tread the sulking, sobbing path and decided to keep my hands off my sentimental arsenal - "The Art of Letting Go" included.
I refused to be a *normal* broken hearted person and pretended that I was okay. I adopted a scientific aproach to the emotional, and sometimes physiological effects of a failed relationship. I've had enough of waking up in the morning feeling an invisible big boulder on top of my chest. And oh, the searing pain when it seems an invisible spear is piercing and tearing up my ventricles!
And so I exercised, I played badminton a lot and went to the gym regularly. To me, the only way to deal with this is to increase my body's production and release of my favorite neurotransmitter, the endorphins.
Yes, I did and I guess I convinced everyone, including my friends, my family, *Voldemort* and even myself that I was okay. Certainly, I didn't need to listen to mushy songs to get back on my feet. I didn't even burdened my friends with my woes. I kept it all to myself. Dust thus started to gather on top of "The Art of Letting Go". It was fine. I was fine! Everything's gonna be fine.
This morning, I visualized my copy of the album dusting itself off and emerging from amongst a pile of my CDs, victorious that it could still be of use. The resurrection of the album was prompted by a nagging question of what is that song in "The Art of Letting Go" which is about someone who asks, "how can you live without me when I was the one who left you?" In the course of discovering the title of this song, which incidentally is "Without Me" by Clair Marlo, I thought of listening to the CD today. "Why not?"
I was immensely satisfied.
What I love most in this compilation is Stephen Bishop's acoustic rendition of "Separate Lives" originally performed by Phil Collins. It is so real, so sincere, so perfect, the way he sings, especially the part where he pauses in between "someday" and "I might". You feel the pain, the regret, the hope...
You have no right to ask me how I feel...
... And if you lost your love for me you never let it show.
Music has such a magical effect on me and I realize it was foolish to refuse to go through therapeutic song listening sessions, in utter refusal to acknowledge that things are not perfect. Music puts words into unexpressed, unfathomable feelings all locked up inside. It articulates the unspeakable when you do not have any strength left to string the words by yourself. Hypnotic, analgesic, sometimes curative --- music is potent, music is powerful. It could dig you into deeper pits of wailing existence; it can make you feel other emotions which you, temporarily blinded, could not imagine can be felt.
Without me, how can you live without me?
My world is gone and you carry on without me.
Music, as if holding your hand, walks you through the path of experiencing emotions which must be felt, airing issues that must be ventilated, making decisions that must be made.
I've made my life fulfilling to take you off my mind
My head is always willing, my heart is not that kind.
It brings to mind the word "unwind". I suppose it has evolved from other words such as "uncork" which implies the release of something which could be good or bad, depending on how it was made from the start or the timing of its "uncorking". Just the same, as feelings are stirred up, it goes through the phase of dirturbing particles at the bottom to reveal a cloud which eventually clears up once dissolved.
Everything dissolves, eventually.
And now I see that you're so happy, it just sets me free
And I'd like to see us as good friends
as we used to be.
Uncork, unwind...
You're in love, that's the way it should be
cause I want you to be happy
You're in love and I know that
you're not in love with me...
It's enough for me to know that you're in love
now I'll let you go...
Untie.
Argh! As daddy Eph would say, "The pain, the pain!"
As there are many ways to slice a cake as there are varied ways of bouncing back from a broken heart, I refused to tread the sulking, sobbing path and decided to keep my hands off my sentimental arsenal - "The Art of Letting Go" included.
I refused to be a *normal* broken hearted person and pretended that I was okay. I adopted a scientific aproach to the emotional, and sometimes physiological effects of a failed relationship. I've had enough of waking up in the morning feeling an invisible big boulder on top of my chest. And oh, the searing pain when it seems an invisible spear is piercing and tearing up my ventricles!
And so I exercised, I played badminton a lot and went to the gym regularly. To me, the only way to deal with this is to increase my body's production and release of my favorite neurotransmitter, the endorphins.
Yes, I did and I guess I convinced everyone, including my friends, my family, *Voldemort* and even myself that I was okay. Certainly, I didn't need to listen to mushy songs to get back on my feet. I didn't even burdened my friends with my woes. I kept it all to myself. Dust thus started to gather on top of "The Art of Letting Go". It was fine. I was fine! Everything's gonna be fine.
This morning, I visualized my copy of the album dusting itself off and emerging from amongst a pile of my CDs, victorious that it could still be of use. The resurrection of the album was prompted by a nagging question of what is that song in "The Art of Letting Go" which is about someone who asks, "how can you live without me when I was the one who left you?" In the course of discovering the title of this song, which incidentally is "Without Me" by Clair Marlo, I thought of listening to the CD today. "Why not?"
I was immensely satisfied.
What I love most in this compilation is Stephen Bishop's acoustic rendition of "Separate Lives" originally performed by Phil Collins. It is so real, so sincere, so perfect, the way he sings, especially the part where he pauses in between "someday" and "I might". You feel the pain, the regret, the hope...
You have no right to ask me how I feel...
... And if you lost your love for me you never let it show.
Music has such a magical effect on me and I realize it was foolish to refuse to go through therapeutic song listening sessions, in utter refusal to acknowledge that things are not perfect. Music puts words into unexpressed, unfathomable feelings all locked up inside. It articulates the unspeakable when you do not have any strength left to string the words by yourself. Hypnotic, analgesic, sometimes curative --- music is potent, music is powerful. It could dig you into deeper pits of wailing existence; it can make you feel other emotions which you, temporarily blinded, could not imagine can be felt.
Without me, how can you live without me?
My world is gone and you carry on without me.
Music, as if holding your hand, walks you through the path of experiencing emotions which must be felt, airing issues that must be ventilated, making decisions that must be made.
I've made my life fulfilling to take you off my mind
My head is always willing, my heart is not that kind.
It brings to mind the word "unwind". I suppose it has evolved from other words such as "uncork" which implies the release of something which could be good or bad, depending on how it was made from the start or the timing of its "uncorking". Just the same, as feelings are stirred up, it goes through the phase of dirturbing particles at the bottom to reveal a cloud which eventually clears up once dissolved.
Everything dissolves, eventually.
And now I see that you're so happy, it just sets me free
And I'd like to see us as good friends
as we used to be.
Uncork, unwind...
You're in love, that's the way it should be
cause I want you to be happy
You're in love and I know that
you're not in love with me...
It's enough for me to know that you're in love
now I'll let you go...
Untie.
posted by wernicke @ 10:30:00 AM
3 comments
3 Comments:
Footnote:
"Today" in the first paragraph, first line refers to August 25, 2005.
May,
Maybe you should post as well the annotation you made to the song "White Flag" by Dido. I also remember how "Insensitive" by Jann Arden was relevant for you at some point. :) Pati nga ba "Out of Reach" by Gabrielle?
hmmm.... at one point in my life, the album "the art of letting go" was my constant companion. I listened to it with my heart and soul, with the hope that I can internalize the lyrics and ultimately let go of my ex, the man who once caused me so much pain and sorrow.... that album has a cathartic effect on me ... letting go is really an art ...it takes a lot of time and effort... and after years of trying to let go, i can confidently say that i've learned the art of letting go :-)
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