I sit and listen to some Olivia Tremor Control while gathering my thoughts, listening to the only song that perfectly embodied my day. As the jangly-esque guitars begin the tune, I can't sit and help but wonder... is this how I'll feel every autumn? How long will I go on, afraid of what is to come? How long will this go on, before everything is finished? Before the end?
For the first time in a very long time, I cried myself to sleep last night. I was afraid of the future, of what could happen. It's been going on for a while, but it all suddenly hit me last night; everything that's been happening has come to fruition at that moment. No, it wasn't the first time I cried about it. I wouldn't consider myself unfeeling if it was, but I would consider myself slightly less sensitive than everyone else in my family. No, I've cried about it before; in front of my best friend, in front of my doctor, in front of the former teacher (or rather, 'educator') who I seem to confide in every time I see him, and in front of my mom.
Yes, I'm talking about my mom at the moment. We don't discuss it much, but I know, I can tell that she's depressed that the chemotherapy stopped working, that her treatments aren't working. God knows I am too. People keep telling me that they're praying for my mom and that she'll get better, and I thank them from the bottom of my heart because they're doing something that I can't do.
I'm not denying the fact that I don't pray - I don't. How can I when I don't know who to pray to? I meditate though, I send thoughts out to anyone who will hear it, hoping that things will get better for my mom, because if anyone deserves it, she does. She's the strongest person I know. She's gone through so much in the past couple of years; I don't know how she does it, but she does, and I love her so much for it.
To tell you the truth, I don't know what I am. Atheist? Could be. But there's something holding me back, something that happened to me when I was a baby that's stopping me from completely believing that there is absolutely no higher being at all. I mean, what do you expect, I was a baby, I dragged my leg whenever I crawled. Doctors said the only way to fix my leg was surgery - my parents refused. So they prayed and prayed, taking a drive down to the mission at San Juan Capistrano twice a month or so to pray at St. Peregrine's chapel. God knows how long they did it, but it worked. I didn't need the surgery. I became the happy (right.) and athletic girl knew me as for the first 13 years of my life.
So agnostic? Maybe. But then I do some thinking. I can't possibly sum it up better than this:
'Some people, when speaking about AIDS, have said that AIDS is a punishment from God on abhorrent or promiscuous lifestyles. Now I'd like us to consider what kind of God could look down on an Earth which daily rehearses millions of acts of brutal, pitiless cruelty, torture, and horror, and ignores them. And instead, visits the foulest plague ever to have been given to humankind on those whose only sin is to slip in between the sheets with those they like. What kind of God would do that? No kind of God.'
I feel so utterly conflicted about my beliefs. The worst part is, I come from a very very very religious family. Talking to them about something like this... it's just not the way to go, you know? I once asked my parents what they would do if I converted to Buddhism. Their response? Don't even think about it. Just imagine how they would react to something like this.
So I'm writing this now... well because I've had this urge to write. None of those reports for school nonsense, but an urge to just write how I feel. To let everything all out. The fact that I've done so on a public platform, well, that's my decision. I'm just sorry that anyone who therefore reads this, well that you have to read it. Unless you actually like what I write, then I'm not very sorry at all. I just wanted to write. I wanted to write about everything, just thoughts, observations, anything. About people, about music, about beliefs, anything. Sure, I could have done this any day, I could've just sat somewhere with a pen and paper, writing writing writing until my hand cramps. But maybe I wrote this here because I hope that someone would understand whatever the hell it is I'm trying to say. Or do. Accomplish.
And it's okay, because I'm not real to you, and you're not real to me, even though we both exist in this place.
God, this is all utterly long and pointless. I bet you anyone who read this stopped halfway. And if you made it even this far, congratulations. I have nothing else to offer past that. Unless you'd like to hear me go on about the first movement of Rachmaninov's second piano concerto. I think it's absolutely the most beautiful piece of music I've ever heard. No matter how many times I listen to it, I'm continually blown away by it. I don't think I've ever felt so many different things during a piece of music before. It's so... it's so powerful, it's amazing and magical. It's one piece I would love to see performed live in concert. I wouldn't even mind if it were to be the last concert I would see live. It has that much hold over me.
The concerto as a whole is... the music, jesus, what can I say to make my point? There is no point really, just my rambling on about how much I love this wonderful piece of music. There's so much passion, emotion, range... Whenever I listen to it, especially the first movement, it becomes something real, something that wraps around my heart and will never let go. There's so much beauty in no words. It opens up a world of possibilities that I can't even begin to imagine.
By the way, it's highly possibly that I may begin to tell people that 'they make me feel funny.' Why, you ask? 19 October 2009, there was this episode of this show called House, you see, & he told Lisa Cuddy (yay) that she makes him feel funny. Why, again, should this be so important? Because if you know anything about House, he doesn't really let people in or share his feelings. And if you've seen last season's finale, then you know how powerful that one little statement is. And yes, I ended that sentence with a preposition and yes, I am a bastard. Back to my original point, it was very adorable & such a (I hate this phrase) House-ian way to let her in, in some way.
Aurally: Sergei Rachmaninov - Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op: 18; I: Moderato
Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, Op. 18: No. 1, Moderato - Hélène Grimaud
