The Perks of Being a Cuban.

...watching the wheels go round and round"

Music is alive, I've realized after going to the Rock & Roll Annex today. It breathes and bleeds, it sweats and suffers and celebrates along with those who listen. A music fan is affected and changed by the songs they hear. And those songs become very much a part of the person as they grow up. You never forget the first time you've heard your favorite song, you feel it in you for life.

A singer has a duty to their fans, a duty that some take very seriously, as a life-changer/saver. Lyrics become so personal and intimate sometimes, a listener feels a certain closeness with the singer and form relationships with that singer that are hard to define. The familiarity of their lyrics become sort of friendships that you carry for life. 

I imagine that when your favorite singer dies, it hurts. Through their songs, their feelings become your feelings at times. They sing to you and they understand you like no other.  The conversations a fan has with their artist can never exist again, there are never going to be new songs and no new feelings to share. 

Today we were in the presence of John Lennon's blood; a humbling experience on its own should make more of an impact if his music has affected you the way it has many of his fans, my Dad included. He can never explain what it is about John, what it is about that music and where it takes him when he listens, but I've noticed it. Music that familiar feels so safe and warm, and since John's death I'm sure those songs have become even more powerful. We stood beside the bag of bloody clothes today, the clothes John wore as he died, and we signed our names on the white wall beside them. Like signing a guestbook at a funeral, he said his goodbyes. We paid our respects. Love/Peace written by many fans, grown men crying, reliving moments they've shared in their rooms through their stereos. Moments so intimate only they and John can ever fully understand. 

Everything looks so small. I guess it was built for kids, I can't reach the banister without bending. My teachers used to tower over me. Larger than life, motivators, inspirations, guidance... Now they grab my face and pull my hair back to remind themselves that yes, in fact, I still look the same somehow. I haven't changed. "You do look like more of a rockstar though"... They've always had high expectations for me. One of their favorites, they said today. I like going there, they motivate me still. And somehow they still teach me stuff, even from just thinking about them. Talking to Mrs Savage and Ms Carbone reminded me that I have goals, they're so proud of the nothing I've accomplished. I can't imagine what they'd say if I ever got a job. 

Bear hugs, rub my back, you look so grown up, you'll always be my Robert though. I remember when you... I still laugh when I think about the time... Time flies doesn't it? 7 years, My god. Do you still keep in touch with... I didn't think so, they were always sort of wishy washy anyway. Fordham? You know Sister Dora went there, great footsteps you're following. She's one of a kind. 

I love Sr. Dora. She remembers me and doesn't. Her face changes when she sees me, but her brain doesn't remember me exactly. Not that it should, I was never sent to her office. I would only ever see her for good reasons, which I guess is why her face is still kind after so many years. 

That building feels the same. I've never felt scared of ringing that doorbell, or walking into that hallway. It still feels like it's mine for some reason. And they still act like I'm theirs. I'm so thankful to have them, motivating, inspiring, pushing, well-wishing. Those are teachers you dream about. 

Okay, maybe he was just a janitor on the surface, but he was so much a part of the spirit of SFA. Seeing his body today was so eerie because I realized I'd never seen him relax until today. I don't know anyone as hard working or reliable as Mr Rivera. And I know that the Sisters feel completely lost without him. 

The wake was held inside our school chapel. Up until today I'd never seen a dead body, and I never imagined I'd have to confront death behind the safe protective walls of my grammar school. I saw a lot of people today who I hadn't seen in a while, unfortunate to have this be a reason. 

I don't quite know how to sum up what I'm feeling or why I'm writing about this. But I've felt weird since Mr Rivera died. He never took a day off and he let us call him David behind Mrs. Savage's back. I'll never know anyone as kind, helpful and motivated as David. 

Descanse en Paz. Te queremos.