=========================================================================
By Philipina A. Marcelo
I just got back from a five-year self-exile in Ithaca, NY, trying to get a Ph(dot)D(dot) attached to my name... uh, my Dad's name, actually! It was an interesting journey that started out as a fun year of discovery. Days were full of pleasant surprises, finding things in common with people, such as a liking for certain songs, or music, which progressed to meaningful friendship. Every single day seemed too short for all the excitement, until such time when the fun to work ratio approached zero, and the approach of busy weekdays to fun weekend became asymptotic. And then it got ugly... and ugliness became a constant companion. At some point, just when I thought I saw hope creeping in to conquer ugliness, ugly turned horrific... and it sat there in the dungeonlike prison - an unwelcome visitor for what felt like an eternity!
Aside from the little scientific breakthroughs here and there, the comforting company of good friends fueled the lamp of hope that lit the dark dungeon. The darkness dragged on and on in cold, cold Ithaca. Just when I was beginning to get accustomed to my life's dark period, suddenly the days went sprinting down to the elusive finish line in what seemed to be a wink! The last few days sped by like a bullet train that there was no time to savor the "finishing" moment! I held on through the supersonic ride. Before fully realizing what was going on, the dungeon gate flung open, the ugliness disappeared... and I was a free gal once again!
In the frenzied excitement of my first days of freedom, a face hovered around me silently... like a dream... a face that quietly kept me company in the darkness of the dungeon... a face whose owner held my hand as I groped around finding my way through the darkness. In the loneliness of the dungeon, that face was my boundless source of inspiration, those hands were my pillar of strength. In my freedom, the same face was the very meaning of freedom, the same hands were the very reason for reaching out to embrace freedom. In the light outside the dungeon, his face was even more reassuring and kinder. I reached for his hands, took them, and let myself be led to bask in the warm sunshine that was sweet freedom!
Now, I'm home. Although home was not a detention cell, it didn’t provide freedom either for, at home, he has become just a memory. I started getting re-oriented, introducing my new self to my old world, exploring changes and welcoming them. As always, adjustment began with music - that magical thing that always made new beginnings in my life some seamless merging of yesterday and today. I have been digging through my twelve year-old CD library and found a song that I haven't heard in a long time... it's a song by Edwin McCain - entitled "I'll be". I popped the CD to the old CD player in my room. As soon as the first note sounded, I knew I was in for a treat... I imagined the notes floating around me like colorful little butterflies, wings a-flopping in gentle mesmerizing sound, lulling me down memory lane.
I thought that the stroll down memory lane would transform the room into something familiarly cozy. I thought the song would bring back bitter-sweet teenage crushes and coming of age - some old threads I could entwine my present with. It didn't. Interestingly, memory lane didn't stretch as far back as before my exile... it just went a few weeks back. Again, the dreamlike face hovered... only, this time, it was really just a dream – a memory from the not-so-distant past. Like the butterflies with colorful wings, it wasn’t there. Something akin to longing tugged at my heart, I thought it’ll make me cry... but the playful butterflies danced on beautifully. I closed my eyes and let myself be mesmerized by McCain’s throatily casual, artistically un-polished voice that spelled Romeo-in-black-jeans purely hopeless romanticism – no frills, no pretentions, just an honest expression of one’s overwhelming affection....
The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful
Stop me and steal my breath
And emeralds from mountains thrust towards the sky
Never revealing their depth
And tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated
I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above
Chorus:
I'll be your crying shoulder
I'll be your love suicide and
I'll be better when I'm older
I'll be the greatest fan of your life
Rain falls angry on the tin roof
As we lie awake in my bed
You're my survival, you're my living proof
My love is alive not dead
And tell me that we belong together
Dress it up with the trappings of love
I'll be captivated
I'll hang from your lips
Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above
Repeat Chorus
I've been dropped out, I burned up, I fought my way back from the dead
Tuned in, I turned on,
Remembered the things that you said
Repeat Chorus
The last note of the song jolted me back to the present. I wondered what drove Eric McCain to write such an emotionally touching song... so desperately in love, so tenderly insecure. “Tell me that we belong together,” almost pleading, begging, a little assurance, a little affection. “Dress it up with the trappings of love,” such desperation - willingness to settle for just the minutest hint of love. Is that what we become when we fall in love? We tend to give ourselves fully to the point of utter desperation? “I’ll be your love suicide.” We dive to a freefall, filling our senses with the inexplicably exhilarating sensation of complete abandon - freedom? Leaving ourselves with not much to cushion the fall? Exposing ourselves to vulnerability, insecurity, pain? And, as we swim in the blissful beauty of being in love, we also torture ourselves with the uncertainties of the future, the answer to which the present won’t reveal? Will this feeling last? Will this moment last? What does it take to make it last? Is giving ourselves fully and completely enough? No answer. And yet, we allow ourselves to fall. We choose to fall. And how can we not? How do we resist a beauty so captivating? What kind of armor should we wear to protect ourselves from melting under such a spell so powerful? None – there is no way to resist, no way to fight it. Perhaps, we don’t want to fight it... for even as we lose in the end, a brief moment of sweet abandon is eternal bliss for the soul that knew love.
And then I thought of my plight in the dungeon and how I was nurtured and cared for by one kind soul. I never knew what drove him to do what he did, but yes, he was my crying shoulder, my hope, my survival. He rooted for me all the way, helping me to keep believing in myself. Prodding me to keep focused on my goals and to keep moving forward until all grounds are covered, until freedom was to be had. I doubt if he knew what love was but I felt loved, loved in ways most tender, most captivating, most unforgettable. I know that even when I dropped out or burned up, I will always find my way back from the dead just remembering the things he said. And when new life dawns, although I may not deserve it, I know that I will always find his face there in front of me - waiting, hovering - perhaps, a little older... but better – and he will always be the greatest fan of my life just like I will always be his biggest fan.
