I’m not sure why I feel so strongly about this event, or why I seem to be so affected by it.. but I know I don’t want to let myself forget this strange and singular feeling.
Maybe I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster for so long that this latest drop has broken me; maybe I secretly miss this despondent feeling, and I’ve managed to find it in mourning the death of a childhood hero; maybe I’m just letting it wash over me because in my world, feeling such feelings of despair are frowned upon at best and ridiculed at worst; maybe it’s a reminder that I used to think of these feelings as what makes me me, not something that ought to be managed..
Whatever the case, right now, I feel a bleak emptiness that I haven’t felt in years; and I feel the need to do what I can to preserve its memory, may it serve as a reminder that I once was capable of harboring such ardent feelings towards another human being. While I will leave the psychoanalysis for another day, I hope to look back on this day as somewhat of a low point in my life: when the death of a stranger made me realize how terrifyingly well I’ve succeeded in my mission of becoming immune to and unaffected by other people.
You were solely responsible for my falling in love with film music. I vividly remember attending an art gallery 13 years ago, where your music filled the atmosphere. I distinctly recall marveling at how the same simple 20-some note melody could be used again and again to tell so many different stories; it was unlike anything I had heard before. I frantically searched to find the source but no one knew who or what it was other than “I think it’s some sort of jazz.. yeah we should really label our music library. Don’t fret, I’m sure you’ll find it though.”
I did fret; I searched for it for months, and along the way listened to hundreds of EPs, albums, soundtracks and everything in between. I eventually gave up on finding who you were and decided to instead, recreate your masterpieces. And thus were born my first orchestral pieces of music: a violin and piano concerto, both heavily influenced by your work. Funny how today, finding the name of a song is a “solved problem,” and hence the entire journey that led me to compose some of my favorite pieces of classical music would be over before it ever began.
I feel immense regret that last June, when I had the opportunity to see you perform in your own city for the last time, I decided that I needed to work and that “there’d be another time.” Needless to say, there wasn’t another time.
I wish I were naive enough to think this will teach me an important life lesson; but I know far too well how this story unfolds: my workstation is calling my name, this blip of ardor will surely pass just as abruptly as it showed up on my doorstep, and I will be back on the hamster wheel upon which I have learned to measure my life’s worth.
I miss the way your music made me feel. I hope that one day, I can touch another soul the way you have touched mine.
Rest in peace, Ennio.