Feb 2020
I had this big TV in front of me. No sofa. The living room was just
the computer desk, and I was using this big TV as a monitor.
The kitchen light- next to the small living room- was on, the light from the hallway behind me was on. But I kept the living room light off. The screen was bright and the night was dark. It was too bright for my eyes and the room felt like a sad, private wonderland.
I heard that song for the first time. I didn't know what to expect. As the song started, and Julian Casablanca's voice- raspy, young and confused- filled the house, I came alive. My eyes lit up, I sat up, I put my knees on the chair. I loved it. I felt like my wonderland was real. This house- this cage, it was small and miserable and magical. This dimly lit living room, empty of furniture, the sound of my neglectful mother watching TV at the end of the hall in her room. This room. This small, miserable wonderland.
It was a portal to hope. The screen, the light. It had been a year of isolation. I heard his voice, the song, and I was a child again, and all I knew was eternal wonder and hope. I wasn't consciously thinking about it all- it's hard to explain- but everything was real. I hoped for a future, and friends, and a life, and in that moment the living room and the light and my mother and her TV were real, and that future I longed for and cried for was real. Everything was real.
the computer desk, and I was using this big TV as a monitor.
The kitchen light- next to the small living room- was on, the light from the hallway behind me was on. But I kept the living room light off. The screen was bright and the night was dark. It was too bright for my eyes and the room felt like a sad, private wonderland.
I heard that song for the first time. I didn't know what to expect. As the song started, and Julian Casablanca's voice- raspy, young and confused- filled the house, I came alive. My eyes lit up, I sat up, I put my knees on the chair. I loved it. I felt like my wonderland was real. This house- this cage, it was small and miserable and magical. This dimly lit living room, empty of furniture, the sound of my neglectful mother watching TV at the end of the hall in her room. This room. This small, miserable wonderland.
It was a portal to hope. The screen, the light. It had been a year of isolation. I heard his voice, the song, and I was a child again, and all I knew was eternal wonder and hope. I wasn't consciously thinking about it all- it's hard to explain- but everything was real. I hoped for a future, and friends, and a life, and in that moment the living room and the light and my mother and her TV were real, and that future I longed for and cried for was real. Everything was real.
