on d'urville sand

“In memory everything seems to happen to music.” – TENNESSEE WILLIAMS

And now, a word from guest blogger O, giving me words to fill this space until I come back from the dead of finals. Figured you'd appreciate this work more than my Italian essay on the neorealistic movement of the 1950s.

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Laughing, I change the station and a familiar tune* plays. I sing along momentarily, until my laughter turns into a kind of sad nostalgic smile. “How is it possible that out of 100 stations there isn’t even one good song? Aren’t you so sick of this one?” my friend complains, changing the radio station. “No, not really.” I reply, switching it back to the song that sings glimpses of my past. Within seconds I am no longer a part of my reality. I am gone.

I can taste the salty air, feel the soft wind and hear the crashing waves seeping out of the stereo. I can’t physically see my memory, but I can feel it with haunting intensity. And to think I was fine, only seconds before; but then that song started to play---our song. I think back to that time, getting lost in the memory until I’m not just remembering, I’m living it: I’m walking along the rocky beach, the waves crashing down, drowning my feet. I’m eating Pavlova and banana chip sandwiches. We're singing this song on D’urville Island, sitting on the giant hammock with our guitars in hand.

Music can evoke the remembrance of memories within seconds, bringing back moments in life that have been set aside in our mind. It plays a part in our lives that is often looked over, but when you stop to think about it, every song accompanies some kind of memory or experience in life.

In Tennessee William's play, The Glass Menagerie, the characters' memories are always remembered with music accompanying them. Amanda fondly reminisces about her past with the gentleman callers every night and the beauty she once was. Laura obsessively plays the phonograph to get away from her painful reality---sometimes too often. The sweet-sounding music overshadows their current woes, and numbs their minds into a form of bliss. Music serves as both a reminder and an escape in the lives of the Wingfield family.

While my memory is not a tragic one, it brought back the same feelings I imagine Amanda and Laura experiencing: a longing for a part of life that isn’t real to you anymore. When remembering the past, we sometimes only want to see the beautiful aspects, the music. Eventually we must realize that, while the music of our past is beautiful and sweet, it ends more quickly than we’d like. We need to continue living our lives, moving on, turning on the radio only occasionally. We can’t get stuck like Laura is, constantly playing a tune of fantasy. Music can evoke so many emotions within seconds of hearing it, but whether it be a small experience or life-changing event, it’s how we sing the song in our life that matters.

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Not quite twins, but definitely sisters.

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*For the curious, the song that sparked this memory is, of all things, Michelle Branch's Everything. Except that we put it to new words (there were sheep involved). And strummed the song ourselves (from the top of the green, green Marlborough hills down into the blue, blue sea).

We met one day at the marae . . .