My heart is here tonight.

I’ll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day and through

In that small cafe
The park across the way
The children’s carousel
The chestnut trees, the wishing well

I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In everything that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way

I’ll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
But I’ll be seeing you

I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In everything that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way

I’ll find you in the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
But I’ll be seeing you

I’m Your Biggest Fan

Our social networking existence is our way of channeling the celebrity in all of us. What greater tabloid gossip bomb than who took a picture with who last night? “A source close to..” has become ourselves. Everything we need to know is in the depths of our social media/friend circles, right?

This is ridiculous. We, and I say we because I’m equally guilty, somehow infer intentions, emotions, truths, from a photo on the Internet. A status. Oh, she’s definitely talking about him. I don’t think they’re together anymore, I haven’t seen anything on Facebook in awhile. They’re top snap chat friends. I’m sure you can guess the general theme that’s clearly plaguing me and always has. Like gossip magazines obsessing over high profile breakups and make ups, relationships make the world of Internet gossip go round IRL too.

I’ve found myself in a situation that is void of sacredness. As if I’m constantly being followed by paparazzi, I receive questions and inferences and rumors that parallel the most common tabloid headlines. Seen on Instagram with him, trying to make so-and-so jealous? Moves to new place, to be closer to so-and-so? Spotted: with new guy, new boyfriend? By the way, none of these conversations are had with me. Rather, I’m made aware of later.

I’m not trying to portray that my life is some kind of Gossip Girl worthy plot, but at times, in this time, it feels so surreal. The bigger point, the more soul affecting, is the reality of having fans not friends.

I am and always have been a sucker for covers. I love when I find a song I’ve heard a million times, and someone changes it up, makes it somehow more heartfelt or edgy, and I find a new appreciation for it. Most of the time, I can give the credit to the twist of vocals.

What I love more, is when a melody can stay the same, and no matter who sings it, it’s perfect. To me, that is the make of a real musician/songwriter/song.  Here is Lea Salonga performing “Empty Chairs at Empty Tables”, my favorite song in Les Miserables, and as she preludes, it is traditionally sung by a male. Lea performed in Les Miserables on Broadway as both Fantine and Eponine, giving her the chops to sing two of the most famous songs on Broadway period, I Dreamed a Dream and On My Own, and yet she chooses to sing Marius’s ballad. Proving the undeniable beauty of this piece by Claude-Michel Schonberg and Herbert Kretzmer.

 

St. Therese, pray for me

I always wanted to become a saint… Instead of being discouraged, I told myself that God would not make me wish for something impossible… I will look for some means of going to heaven by a little way which is very short and very straight. It is your arms, Jesus, which are the elevator to carry me to heaven. So there is no need for me to grow up. In fact, just the opposite: I must become less and less.

My Issue With Dawson’s Creek

Dawson’s Creek. The beloved teen soap of the 90s. The One Tree Hill before we knew we needed One Tree Hill. (Fun fact they’re filmed in the same town) The simple teenage coming of age premise that exists for young people to lose themselves in relatable television. 

It’s true, most of the situations we find on teen soaps are hyperbolically dramatized representation of real life problems. Every single one has their moment of gun play, suicide, drug problem, divorce. And while the former is less likely than the latter in the average teenager’s life. What I didn’t realize is that this kind of drama exists. Fiction can not be born without influence of some sort. What they didn’t tell me was that my life could be a teen soap. They didn’t tell me love triangles were real. The scenario of the love triangle is both hyperbolic and real at the same time, particularly in the Dawson, Joey, Pacey saga that is the Creek. This nonsense happens. It’s not just television. And guess what? Dawson’s Creek gets it wrong.

Characters ring around the rosy, dating each other, breaking up, dating someone new, and we never see, we never feel the crushing guilt that actually comes gift wrapped in a love triangle.

Two best friends (Three with the girl) and back and forth she goes (either in action or in emotion) of which to love. There’s always the reliable, kind, often inexperienced, innocent love (a la Dawson), and then the romantic, whirlwind, unstable, and even difficult love (Pacey Witter, folks). And the Joey’s of the world have to decipher. To be at constant war of head and heart. Stability versus Adventure. La di da.. you don’t even need to watch 5 seasons right? If you’re caught in this same triangle and looking for answers, I wouldn’t advise it. Because what teen soaps forget acknowledge about love triangles is the concept of time and guilt and grief. We aren’t built to love and leave and feel no qualms for the left behind, even if we’re the ones to do the leaving. It actually isn’t simple to find someone new and everyone is okay. There’s guilt. And there’s pain. And the friendship that started it all takes the most crushing of the blows. There’s mistake, and confusion, and regret, and none of it is sunshine. Handsome boys don’t actually suddenly move to town and make you forget all about what’s his name. The love does not get left behind.

So it irks me when people use these shows, as guilty of a pleasure as they may be, as poems of great loves. Stories to aspire to. Love is messy and most of the time makes zero sense. The only thing that is indisputable, in real life or on television, is that only one gets the girl in the end. The difficult, subtle, unacknowledged part, is the agony of figuring out which one it’s actually supposed to be.