I drove by the cemetery the other day, right around dusk. My eyes always scan it for the one tomb, automatically, that always makes me think of the day I'll die. The head stone is in shape of a marble guitar, and it always has a crown of fresh flowers around the neck of it. Even though I've, for the most part, decided on being cremated when I pass away, there's a part of me that would love to have a resting place like that one.
My parents, who were in the car with me at the time, asked: "Are you getting that because you like guitars?" I simply said: "No."
It's more than a sign of who I was in life, and I, do not simply like guitars. I feel their tone and vibration inside my chest with every strum. Every guitar is different, and I must have them all. But the point of my thoughts that day was not simply on the fact that it was a guitar shaped tombstone. My mind was running more along the lines of "What will people remember of me, if anything, once I've been gone." Not only in the first few years, but will they even think my name and who I was in life 20 yrs down the road?
I have no dreams of everlasting glory, of my name going down in books and people discussing me over ridiculously overpriced chai tea in some fancy cafe. In that sense, I have no ambition. I simply want to be happy. I want to live long enough to see my goddaughter Hannah graduate high school, and in the same hand, not outlive my loved ones. I would ask to live long enough to be able to relocate to my homeland again, but by then odds are I'll have no legs, be blind and in kidney failure. My remaining family members would be dead by then. So I'll skip that.
What I'd like people to remember of me? The time I wrote a play, selected the cast, directed and was the leading old lady in it when I was in 6th grade. I did it out of fun with my best friends, it ended up with us touring schools and doing it for teachers/students around the island. Do I want them to remember I wrote it by myself? No. I want them to remember that I died my hair gray and wore an inflatable tube under my moomoo, as "Tita" the 80 yr old break dancing grandma...(and break dance I did, slip showing and all).
I want them to remember my sense of humor, and the times I stayed up with them on the phone simply listening and offering the best comfort I could. Also, I want them to remember my mannerisms as I speak, the looks I give when I think no one is watching me, that tiny freckle I have of the corner of my left eye right above my cheekbone. It would be something if they heard certain songs and remember those were my favorites, or simply miss me. I'd like to be missed. Not just in the beginning, but someday when they're old...I want them to miss me. I would've been a good bingo partner, probably smudging the card with sticky chocolate-covered fingers.
It's my hope they don't remember that when I was 12 and found out grandma had cancer, I stopped visiting her for almost 2 weeks. I didn't want to accept she would die, and I really hope no one else remembers the way she looked up from her wheel chair and asked me softly "Why didn't you come see me anymore, because I have no hair?". I am ashamed of myself for that forever. Maybe they won't remember the times I wished my mom dead, whole-heartedly, as a teen...even though she's my life. Hopefully they will forget the times I lied about my feelings, or the times I simply denied them. Love should never be denied, love never need be faked. My many flaws, the words I spoke out of anger, the words I didn't say...those I hope fade out of their memories.
So many fears, wishes triggered by a simple guitar shaped tombstone, that's not so simple at all. Who was that person? Musician is but one label. Father? Daughter? Husband? Friend? I am all. I am none.
At that point in my inner ramblings, my parents interrupted with a very rude: "Why are you stupid and talking about wanting a tombstone anyways? You idiot, talking about death!" That's right, pops. I forgot we don't die. Must've been a glitch in the Matrix.
Will anyone be sad I've left this world too early?
My parents, who were in the car with me at the time, asked: "Are you getting that because you like guitars?" I simply said: "No."
It's more than a sign of who I was in life, and I, do not simply like guitars. I feel their tone and vibration inside my chest with every strum. Every guitar is different, and I must have them all. But the point of my thoughts that day was not simply on the fact that it was a guitar shaped tombstone. My mind was running more along the lines of "What will people remember of me, if anything, once I've been gone." Not only in the first few years, but will they even think my name and who I was in life 20 yrs down the road?
I have no dreams of everlasting glory, of my name going down in books and people discussing me over ridiculously overpriced chai tea in some fancy cafe. In that sense, I have no ambition. I simply want to be happy. I want to live long enough to see my goddaughter Hannah graduate high school, and in the same hand, not outlive my loved ones. I would ask to live long enough to be able to relocate to my homeland again, but by then odds are I'll have no legs, be blind and in kidney failure. My remaining family members would be dead by then. So I'll skip that.
What I'd like people to remember of me? The time I wrote a play, selected the cast, directed and was the leading old lady in it when I was in 6th grade. I did it out of fun with my best friends, it ended up with us touring schools and doing it for teachers/students around the island. Do I want them to remember I wrote it by myself? No. I want them to remember that I died my hair gray and wore an inflatable tube under my moomoo, as "Tita" the 80 yr old break dancing grandma...(and break dance I did, slip showing and all).
I want them to remember my sense of humor, and the times I stayed up with them on the phone simply listening and offering the best comfort I could. Also, I want them to remember my mannerisms as I speak, the looks I give when I think no one is watching me, that tiny freckle I have of the corner of my left eye right above my cheekbone. It would be something if they heard certain songs and remember those were my favorites, or simply miss me. I'd like to be missed. Not just in the beginning, but someday when they're old...I want them to miss me. I would've been a good bingo partner, probably smudging the card with sticky chocolate-covered fingers.
It's my hope they don't remember that when I was 12 and found out grandma had cancer, I stopped visiting her for almost 2 weeks. I didn't want to accept she would die, and I really hope no one else remembers the way she looked up from her wheel chair and asked me softly "Why didn't you come see me anymore, because I have no hair?". I am ashamed of myself for that forever. Maybe they won't remember the times I wished my mom dead, whole-heartedly, as a teen...even though she's my life. Hopefully they will forget the times I lied about my feelings, or the times I simply denied them. Love should never be denied, love never need be faked. My many flaws, the words I spoke out of anger, the words I didn't say...those I hope fade out of their memories.
So many fears, wishes triggered by a simple guitar shaped tombstone, that's not so simple at all. Who was that person? Musician is but one label. Father? Daughter? Husband? Friend? I am all. I am none.
At that point in my inner ramblings, my parents interrupted with a very rude: "Why are you stupid and talking about wanting a tombstone anyways? You idiot, talking about death!" That's right, pops. I forgot we don't die. Must've been a glitch in the Matrix.
Will anyone be sad I've left this world too early?
i don't like this Twinilish. I miss you now! I'd fall apart if you left this world. This blog is beautifully written, but I do not like how completely you have thought this through. I love you. Stay with me as long as possible. <3
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