Our theme for the month of October is “haunt.”
Today I thought about a friend from high school. I was reading in the single chair that is my living room, listening to the classical guitar music that scored most of my homework back then. A song came on, “Miyazaki’s Dream” by Tommy Emmanuel. I had always associated it with her for some reason.
Back then I didn’t know who Miyazaki was. It just sounded the way I felt. And part of what I felt was that I wanted to know her, and for her to know the rest of what I felt. There were seasons too when I thought that I loved her. At least, I knew that I could. I came close to saying it once. When we last met, it seemed she was comfortable with the idea of me remaining in the past.
Truth is, I think about people from the past a lot. I know that’s not rare. I know that everyone eventually hears a song they used to love, only to find that part of what they loved about it was who they associated it with. But there are days when it seems that all I can think about are people who have seemingly moved on from me. I wish I could add to that sentence or I moved on from them—but in most cases, I can’t. If given the choice, I would still be friends with the same people I grew up with. I often tried to make that choice, only to find that it takes two.
When I visit my hometown, it gets worse. My parents live in the same neighborhood where I used to gather with some of them. When I return, it is to the same house as those first days of freedom post-driver’s license. It is to walk past where I used to do homework and listen to classical guitar. It is to sleep in the same room. It is to look at the empty space on the gray wall where, years after I should have, I finally found the courage to take down the black-and-white picture of the six of us after the play and admit to myself that it didn’t have to mean anything anymore.
But it does, as evidenced by today. It has been nearly six years since then. I live in a different city, a different state now. I have made and lost a number of friends beyond them. I know far more than I knew then, which is to say that I now know that I know far less than I think. I even know who Miyazaki is. But I still feel like that song. I still want to know her, to know all of them. For them to want to know me.
Or for the past to stay comfortably behind me.
Kipp De Man graduated from Calvin University in 2023, having majored in film and media studies. He is currently working towards a master’s degree in the same discipline at Washington University in St. Louis. He enjoys reading and writing poetry, rock climbing, and Coke Zero.
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“it didn’t have to mean anything anymore.” This is a hard thing to accept. In my experience “moving on” can feel more like “giving up,” and that feels slanderous to somebody who has loved people so much and so deeply.
“I even know who Miyazaki is.” Great tie to the beginning. Makes me feel that though things haven’t necessarily changed drastically for you, your perspective on them has drastically changed. The song still plays, but your experience of it is universally different.
Beautiful piece and interpretation of the theme.
Thank you saying this, Sophia. I appreciate your thoughts and empathy—”giving up” is exactly what it felt like, but I’m learning to see it as surrender instead.