A necklace of memories from diamonds and pearls
Only later, I realised that it went much, much deeper than that.
He wasn't just "another one"
I now remember the exact curve at the dirt road leading home where I was when I had finished reading the short sentences stating the death of singer Prince. Just as I remember the exact chair I was sitting in, in the bank, when my father called me to tell me my grandmother was dead. Just like I remember the sofa I sat in when I heard the news that Michael Jackson was dead, as well as remembering the exact place in northern Sumatra I was in when hearing about the Twin Towers. And the death of both the parents of my oldest, dearest friend Nicole- my mother telling me as I kicked my shoes off after school, her stature, shocked, standing there in the kitchen. The phone call from Nicole to the phone in that living room in Chicago, sobbing, me looking at the carpet, the color of the carpet, as she told me that her dad had passed away.
You know how it is. Some news imprints itself along with the place you were in. And that will always stay with you. Your personal story. Your personal history. Moments of total shock. Disbelief. Wanting to turn back time just a split of a second to before, when this news wasn't true. Not wanting it to be true. Wanting it all to be a mistake. A horrible mistake.
Well, the death of Prince himself wasn't so much the painful thing. It was a process, and still is a process, of memories flooding through me. Remembering all the places where his music has been present in my life. Remembering the people, the situations that go with it. So many memories, so many places.
And what made me sad, was that many of these people and these places are no longer present in my life. No longer a part of my life. They are also dead. They don't exist. A process of observing my life, and my choices of living in a different country than the one I grew up in. Choices that always mean separation. A separation from loved ones and history, but also a separation from the heavy conditionings by society, which we tend to be able to take a step back from as we go live in another culture. We undress ourselves and see things clearer when removed from our cultural home. I cannot imagine myself living in that same place where all these memories are played out; and yet, the separation from it makes me sad.
And I thought about how amazing it is that there are people like Prince, who weave into our lives, and help us create memories, and help us remember.
After hearing of his death, I of course couldn't avoid hearing his music being played everywhere. And it stung my heart as well as made it open and blossom; I remembered things that I had forgotten. Prince and his music is imprinted as part of my history, as part of my life, and I am so grateful that there are geniuses like him, who do this for all of us. Who make us think. Who make us dance. Who make us feel better, who make us feel heard and seen, who tie all the loose memory parts together and make it a beautiful necklace of diamonds and pearls.
Thank you Prince.