As many of you know, last year, my mom's suffered through a terrifying and painful bout of Depression unlike anything she's ever experienced. She had been hiding her Depression for some time, but it was compounded by a string of events that brought it to a boiling point.
It was emotionally exhausting, fighting for her and convincing her to fight for herself. The sight of her paralyzed in bed frightened me not only because I love her so much and because she's the strongest person I know, but because there's so much of her in me. Looking at her, I was concerned I was seeing my future.
Even in her weakened state, she, too, was worried about me, which is why she told me to make sure I take care of myself--care for my mental, physical, and emotional well-being--so that I don't end up like her in 25 years. That conversation is what sparked my desire to travel the world, as well as my goal of becoming a writer, doing what I love, and working to live, rather than living to work. When I drown myself in my work, which I tend to do, I lose sight of what's important, and I sometimes forget to love and laugh and live. The result is a disquieting feeling of agitation and anxiety, an itch in my heart that won't go away.
This feeling doesn't only come when I overwork myself, though. The feeling comes and goes, but it's always there, lying dormant in my heart, just waiting to erupt in a muted explosion that paints the sky grey.
While I'm not depressed, I do sometimes get hit by this gnawing feeling, as if there's a part of me missing, this hole in my heart, and without that missing piece, until I find it, I cease to be, because I have no purpose. I'm nothing. That absence, that void, that silence is maddening; it's paralyzing. It's like my body is telling me I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing at this very moment, like I'm out of place, but I have no idea where I'm supposed to be, so I just give in to the silence and let it drown me.
Since coming to Korea, I've noticed that on days like that, I like to escape in a book or a movie or a TV show. I like to drown the silence with stories, with words, with laughs and tears. The problem is they're not my tears or laughs; they're the pains and joys of a fictional character. Eventually, the silence breaks down this facade, this wall of noise I've built, and finds me hiding under the blankets. At that moment, I resent the words for not protecting me, and I resent myself for thinking that they could.
The most frustrating thing is that in that moment of realization, I can see myself lying there helpless, and I try to scream at myself, but no words come out. I want to shake myself out of this despondency, but I just can't; I just lie there. Just like my mom did.
That's when I go to a place where the silence can't find me: my music. The feeling I get at the sound of the first few notes to "Fight Fire With Fire" by Metallica is such an amazing high. That feeling is why I have a damn drum tattooed over my heart. It serves as a reminder of how music brought me out of a dark place and kept my heart beating to the beat of an endless song that resonates in us all.
On the song "Lakes" by the Strumbellas, Simon Ward sings, "Oh, I miss my heart/oh, I miss my heart/Oh, I miss it so." When I listen to the song I hear a man mourning the loss of his innocence, of this place in his heart where he lived as a child, this place that was embodied by his home and his family.
That silence, that hole in my heart is a feeling of longing, though I don't know if it's for something I lost or something I've yet to find. But in music, I find comfort in certainty; certainty of what is, what was, and the potential of what can be. Music gives me hope and a purpose by reminding me that the missing piece of my heart is in fact somewhere out there, waiting; I simply have to go find it.
While my mom turned to religion for emotional salvation, I turn to my own gods: Hetfield, Dylan, White, Ward. On Saturday, that's how I found the strength to get out of bed, look out the widow, and see the beautiful sunny day shining outside my window. The rain had stopped and the clouds were gone. That's how I finally got on the train to Busan. And that's how Life happened.
Silence is not golden; it's goddamn terrifying. It's immeasurably vast and easy to get lost in. And though I know it's always there, lurking in the shadows, I know that as long as I follow my heart, everything will be okay.
- Winston Churchill stands in his art studio, his sanctuary where he dealt with his stress and Depression by painting. He looks so at ease in his environment. That's all I want.
- A peaceful, soft light shines through the window on to a seated Ghandi as he reads the newspaper.
- Che smiles a Clooney-esque smile as he turns away from the camera with a cigar in his mouth.
- Charlie Chaplin laughs at himself in the mirror, dressed as a clown; the childish elation in his face, the crinkles by his eyes, and the bit of hair tied up at the top of his head all put a smile on my face.
- Ali is drenched in sweat and his body glistens. The contrast of light and shadows is made even more beautiful by the flames in his eyes as he stares off in a trance.
- Queen Elizabeth II sits behind a microphone stand as she is about to give a speech at the University of West Indies in Jamaica shortly after Prince George's death. She looks tense, but also determined to prove her authority as she sits in an elegant white dress.
- Jackson Pollock is crouched over a large canvas with a look of concentration imprinted on his face and cigarette in his mouth,as paint trickles from the glob on his brush.
- Albert Einstein's office is in complete disarray; his desk and shelves are cluttered with books and journals and there are equations covering up every inch of the blackboard. The photo was taken hours after he passed away.
- The Beatles sing to the camera as they wade in a freezing pool. Ringo looks to be in pain and is gritting his teeth, while Paul laughs in disbelief at the cold and John serenades the camera with his eyes closed, as if the frigid temperature doesn't even bother him.
- Marilyn Monroe sings to 12, 000 Marines on a USO tour in Korea. The crowd look like ants descending from the mountains in the back.
- James Dean walks down a cloud covered New York City street, buildings barely visible in the background. With the cold rain coming down, his jacket collar up to protect his face from the winds, and his hands shoved in his pockets, he looks so young and alone.
- People take to the streets in Times Square to celebrate victory over Japan. One sailor in particular is celebrating by kissing every woman in sight, whether she's young, old, pretty, ugly, fat, skinny. Her white nurse uniform is accentuated by the sailor's black suit. The look on the faces of onlookers is priceless.
- Iwo Jima: Soldiers are crouched among dead trees, a massive explosion just ahead of them. A haze swallows the trees. The photo puts you in the battle.
- A young and hopeful Anne Frank stares slightly up at the camera with deep set eyes as a hint of a smile crosses her lips. Her hair is parted on the right and she wears a blouse and a sweater, as if she's ready for picture day at school. She looks absolutely beautiful.
- A wounded Sergeant, bandaged head and all, pulls away from his aids and walks towards his friend, arms outstretched and with a look of concern on his face. His friend is seated on the floor looking up, also hurt, covered in mud, and looking as if he's given up all hope.
- Row upon row of men and women in formal attire seated in a theatre wearing 3D glasses at the first 3D film in 1952.
- A nine week old baby swimming in a pool with his grandmother by his side. He's smiling an adorable smile as he looks down in wonder at this new fascinating new world and paddles.
- Micky Mantle tosses his helmet in disgust as he walks back to the dugout after striking out. His face shows the wounded pride of a fading athlete close to the end of his career.
- Two four-year olds kiss, her hand gently placed around his neck, as they both look away to the left with smiling eyes.
- Another pair kissing behind a frying pan that the girl is holding up to their faces. His adorable old man suit and her cute dress make them look like a hilariously sophisticated old couple.
All of these photos, even the ones of war and suffering, showed people fighting off the silence with tears of sorrow and laughs of joy--the heart's clearly and eloquently spoken words; they fearlessly follow their hearts, and I admire them greatly for it. But none moved me quite like the very last two photos that I saw.
The first was of a Navy Chief Petty Officer. He's in uniform and is playing an according with a stream of tears rolling down his face and he looks on in agony as Roosevelt's body is carried away. He has so much love in his face for the deceased president, it's almost unbearable. The sight is so moving that the women in the background in the shot aren't even looking at the president's casket--they're staring at him.
The other photo was called "The Walk to Paradise Garden." After getting wounded while documenting World war II, the photographer set his eyes on capturing "Humanism" and "Lyricism" in his work. His children, who look to be around 3 and 5 years old in the photo, walk through a forest towards a park. Their father captures them from behind as they emerge out of the shadows of the forest and into the light of day. The photo shows the light of hope and the glow of childhood innocence. The photographer says that in that moment he made a spiritual decision that he was going to continue living despite the emotional and physical pains he was fighting everyday.
The second photo hit particularly close to home. It reminded me of Doris. It reminded me of the day she taught me that I should be a teacher. I took her to the park after a particularly rough day that found me questioning everything about my future, and in that visit, much like photographer W. Eugene Smith, I promised myself that I would find a way to be happy. I would become a teacher. A six year old taught me that.
Though I may find myself longing for that something, whatever it may be, following my heart always brings me back to my family. They are the only thing that's certain in my life. They sustain me and support me and believe in me and love me, and that's why I know that I'll find that missing piece of my heart. I'm certain of it.
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