Not those pity tears. Not saying to not let it out when you need to. After all, it's healthier than holding it in. But there's that point that can be easily passed when you're now feeling more bad for yourself than the actual thing that occurred.
Look, we've all been participants–unless you are the one psychopath that has never cried from sadness. Thing is I've never really felt better when I did this, only that it was something I had to do.
So I wince when I see this happen, usually during most of the K-dramas the wife is so fond of bingeing. But the cringe increases substantially when the crying is done by male actors.
This makes no sense to me. In my entire life, not once have I ever seen my father, or any Korean adult male for that matter, cry. Sure he's made me cry plenty of times, but him?
NEVER.
Makes me wonder if it's a generational thing, I notice all these sobbing actor-men skew towards the younger side. And is it me or are they generally softer these days? Just an assumption but I think there's good evidence for it–like the number of times you'll see a dude check himself out in the mirror or that one time my friend went to Korea and saw that the men's cosmetic aisle was equal in length, if not lengthier than the women's (if this is not news to you that just goes to show you how frequently, i.e. NEVER, i visit to a mall–or outside for that matter).
Forgive me if this all sounds naive, but I find the occurrence of crying Korean adult male–whatever the hell the age these days defines adulthood is anyone's guess any more–an anomaly.
(speaking of which, you know what else occurs with too much frequency in these K-dramas? car accidents. & also drowning scenes. you can nearly predict when it's going to happen. my wife groans out a OH PLEASE GOD NO literally every single time a character crosses the street or gets behind the steering wheel. anyone knows how this plays out statistically? i mean i already know how nearly every show goes completely downhill after roughly 60% of the series is done. they like get your hopes up, the increasing quality of the episodes is an indicator you will soon drop off a cliff. & no matter how terrible it gets, my wife just can't stop because of sunk costs. not to mention the carrot that they manipulatively dangle after each episode, as if the show will get better. YO. IT'S NOT GOING TO GET BETTER, JUST TURN IT OFF NOW. don't say i didn't warn you)
(oh yeah, the drownings. MY GOD. look, i get the whole damsel in distress thing. But when the poles are reversed, are you seriously expecting me to believe that some stick-figured babe suddenly transforms into Ariel and can effortlessly drag a grown man in full business attire out of the ocean? GIVE ME A BREAK)
(furthermore, my student relayed a story about his family going to the beach. he and his siblings are making their way out to the water and his dad's like DON'T GO PAST YOUR KNEES! what are you supposed to do with that? knees?? isn't the whole point of swimming to get wet? next time i go to the beach–which will be never because i don't care about no beaches, plus the sand ugh–i'm tempted to randomly yell DON'T GO PAST YOUR TOES! to no one in particular. so my student's like, i think it's because my dad watches k-dramas a lot. and then he pantomimes his dad, he's looking at his phone and the next second he's like AHHHH! take my word for it, it was genuinely hilarious.)
Anyways, when's the last time you cried? Not the sad-sad but happy-happy tears.
The fountain of joy.
I've had "almost-cry" moments of this kind while watching my favorite anime. Like the time Megumi from Food Wars has her milestone during the qualifying round of the Autumn Elections (i have never so hardcore rooted for a female character who is not the protagonist like YOU FREAKING GO GIRL AND DON'T EVER LOOK BACK).
But it was classical music that threw me overboard for the first time.
Specifically, it was the last movement of Mahler's Symphony No. 2, nicknamed Resurrection. Before I realized it, the cheeks were damp. I was shocked at the moisture, but even more surprised that I didn't feel the usual accompanying shame. Actually, I felt all this when it was all over. During the whole event I was so involved as to be unaware.
During this damn-near religious experience, I was totally speechless. Just a single question looped in my head the whole time,how could one person have created something so beautiful?
I. Could. Not. Accept. It.
I still can't accept it. Like, he must have had the power of God unknowingly backing him up.
Now here's the thing, I've been obsessively listening to classical music for what I assume has been the past few years. But what occurred before that was a near decade of silence.
I was a piano major and classical music was my life. And as much as I enjoy eating, the way to my heart is through my ears.
It happened after I dropped out halfway through a Doctor of Music program (yes i couldn't believe they had these either), Reality crushing my passion for music.
And ten years later I started up again. Couldn't tell you why or how, I chalk it all up to chance.
But for whatever reason, this time I branched out and started listening to other works such as chamber music, symphonies, etc. All this time I cursed my stupidity for not ingesting this sound candy earlier, having previously been exclusively devoted to solo piano repertoire.
I listened morning till night. At first, I only did this during passive activities like washing the dishes or tuning out my wife (kidding, kidding. i would NEVER do that).
Then I discovered I could listen while reading or writing (Bukowski, my biggest literary influence, always had classical music on while he wrote. he was also a raging alcoholic that swore writing under the influence was immensely pleasurable. tried it. gave up. turns out i can’t write DRUNK).
But there's a tradeoff: you will inevitably lose that quality of immersion when you subordinate the listening to a secondary role (similar to the idea of"muzak" i.e. when you enter an elevator or fancy restaurant and you hear Vivaldi in the background. this irks me to no end, as if the purpose of these timeless masterpieces is to make pretentious snobs feel even better about themselves while eating overpriced meals. even more IRKSOME is when you hear it this muzak in the background of BMW commercials, ARGH). It's something that naturally happens without you realizing it.
To be honest I didn't even notice this, it was brought to my attention during a conversation with my good friend Josh.
There was a good stretch of time in which he was feeling spiritually deprived. He comes from the same background as me, we even went to the same college–back then we only knew each other by name and the opportunity never presented itself to us to forge the friendship we have today. The source of his misery was not having enough time to listen–every time I talked to the guy he was up to his ass in music gig work, on top of the responsibilities that come with recent fatherhood.
Yet it wasn't that he didn't have the time for it, he just didn't want the experience to lose its immersive quality as I mentioned earlier. So I was overjoyed to hear he finally was able to fill his creative stores the only way a musician could.
I cried, is what he told me afterwards. After listening to the wordless songs of the past centuries.
And then I asked myself, when was the last time I did that?
Curiosity took hold, a plan was set into motion.
The following Saturday would be devoted to listening, the kind that was akin to the main course and not the appetizer. So I queued up a playlist on my music app (which absolutely sucks royal ass because no matter how many times i make a damn list it ALWAYS ends up getting randomly deleted, technology isn't always SO GREAT) and looked forward to submerging myself in five hours of unbroken soundscape.
Pro tip: use headphones.
It hit me on the last track, the "Ode to Joy"–how fitting.
The dams broke. Everything flooded out again.
Marvelous could not begin to describe what I felt. This was the sound of heaven, this is the anthem I want to hear should i ever reach those pearly gates.
The music of God.
Again you think to yourself, how could one person have created something so beautiful, so utterly transcendent? While the sound was leaving him, totally deaf by the time this masterpiece was performed. On stage but not conducting, having to be turned around to observe the raucous applause of an audience he could only see. Can you imagine? Never being able to hear the cries or laughter or voice of the child you adore.
Each waterfall deepens your sense of awe. Any remaining residue of hate or pain or resentment instantly dissolves. All that is left is love and understanding and serenity. Now you know, everything happened at the exact right time.
You are perfect as you are and so is everyone else. The past you tried so hard to deny, now seen as the integral part of the journey that shaped your identity. Heck, maybe your identity is that you don't even need one. How could you ever doubt that you were being watched over, guided, supported this entire interval you believed yourself to be unquestionably alone?
The next day the writing just flowed out of you, the tears releasing you from a sort of creative constipation. You gambled with the words, the pages reflecting the turmoil that had been building inside your mind. Finally, you understood it was only fear holding you back all this time.
Your arms wide open now, open to it all. You accept this life that you've had. More importantly, you accept his death. Your best friend. The one who gave you seventeen of the best years of your life.
What a gift.
Last year, when he started to slowly crumble. It was agonizing to the very last minute. You cursed his fate, his miserable fate. Wondered how God could let his angel suffer so. Such suffering when he only gave you such joy. Such beauty and hope through a reality you never wanted to live in.
Meaning. You understood finally, there was meaning in loss. And though it gave you a heart pain you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy, in the end you were grateful. His pain brought you two ever closer, as each step in the final march was taken.
And so you cried those tears of sadness that you had been holding back for the whole year. Out they came when you awoke to his breathless body, the clock no longer ticking as you clutched his stillness as the song ended.
Yet somehow you knew things would get better. Somehow you'll live with the tragedy, the knowing he'll never see the person you have become. If only you could hug and kiss him as you are now.
Still, you're not quite sure of any of this. All you know is you miss your dog. OH GOD, YOU LOVE HIM SO MUCH.
Always you'll wonder if he ever knew how much he meant to you. How special he was. Truly.
