Miles From Nowhere

My gift is my song and this one’s for you.

Sarah — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 09:23:35 +0000

A few weeks ago, on December 7th, I boarded an early morning train to Melbourne with a very dear friend. The evening that would follow was incredible. For, tucked away in my relatively new vintage handbag (it seems a contradiction in terms, but it was new to my life), were two tickets to see one of my favourite artists, the incomparable Elton John. And so, the train pulled into Southern Cross Station at about 10am, and we stepped into the warm city air. After a quick check-in at the Hotel, my friend and I began exploring the streets. I do not wish to dwell too extensively upon what could be described as a fairly ordinary Melbourne day, as there are much more exciting things to be discussed. But it consisted of much walking upon increasingly painful feet, spending from decreasingly plentiful bank accounts and filling of already satisfied stomachs. But then, as the time neared, we caught a small boat floating along the Yarra River to Rod Laver Arena.

As we made our way in and took our seats (and what decent seats they were, directly in front of the stage and close enough to see everything clearly, thanks in large part to my luckily remembered glasses) we listened to what I would probably call the pre-support act. I think he was a local musician, singing and playing acoustic guitar, and sounding quite lovely. He left the stage before long, to be followed by the actual support act. A pair of young (and noticeably handsome) men who call themselves The Two Cellos. A rather self-explanatory name, really. Their schtick involved playing arrangements of well-known songs on, you guessed it, a pair of cellos. They were fantastic. With lightning fast hands and more charisma than ten ordinary men, it was obvious why they had got the gig. It wasn’t long before the lights dimmed and a huge cheer filled the arena as we saw the outline of Elton John walk out from behind the curtain and take a seat at the magnificent grand piano that filled much of the stage.

The first song he and his immensely talented band played was ‘Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting’, and from that moment until the final note almost two and a half hours later, I was completely and entirely under Elton’s spell. He seemed to play an almost constant stream of hits effortlessly and perfectly. Some of my personal highlights were ‘Tiny Dancer’, ‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word’, ‘Candle in the Wind’, an incredible ten minute version of ‘Rocket Man’ and of course, ‘Your Song’, which is what he finished with. There was perhaps less audience interaction than I would have desired, but the quality of the performance more than made up for this. Every time the cameras presented a close-up of his hands bouncing across the piano on the big screens, I had to withhold a squeal of delight (though I did not always manage to do this throughout the show, especially whenever he began any song of which I am excessively fond). At one point, as the crowd was going particularly wild, he stood with one foot upon the piano stool and the other on the piano, waving to us. And then, in a moment that seemed to defy what a man of his age should be capable of, he put both hands on the piano and jumped to the ground. It was pretty darn cool.

It was certainly a night I will not soon forget. The following afternoon, on the train ride home, I listened to Elton John’s Greatest Hits album and attempted to relive every moment of the concert. I chose not to take any photos or videos, but rather exist in the moment, which was a good decision. It has made the memories of December 7th so much more potent. And Elton has firmly cemented his position in my mind as one of greatest solo musicians of all time.

Two hundred degrees, that’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit.

Sarah — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 05:14:36 +0000

Last Thursday, November 24th 2011, marked the twentieth anniversary of the death of Freddie Mercury, the most incredible rock vocalist of all time. The music and lyrics he composed throughout his reasonably short life form the majority of my favourite songs. In fact, ‘Somebody To Love’ is a piece of music I will always love more than any other. It is beautiful from beginning to end, as are so many of Freddie’s songs. The passion and tenacity with which he chose to live are endless inspirations to my own experience of the world. And of course, under any circumstance and within any style of music, his voice was always characterised by absolute perfection. To put it simply, he was an amazing musician and individual. He managed to squeeze more life into forty-five years that most of us could possibly wish to in one hundred.

“I’m just a musical prostitute, my dear.” – Freddie Mercury

All the world in perfect harmony.

Sarah — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 10:06:22 +0000

A torrent of happiness has been pouring upon my previously dry shoulders throughout the past few days. Perhaps if I had not dwelled so long on the disagreeable events of the earlier half of this year, I could have opened myself up to such contentedness a little earlier. But what matters most is that I have moved on. The wasted time is not so consequential when the possibility of upcoming experiences is thought of. As I read over these few sentences I realise that they sound rather out of character, but the feelings expressed are very true.

Something that I have been hoping for and anticipating for what feels an age has happened at last. I have mentioned it very briefly in previous blog entries from many months ago, but recently things have been building up and they finally came to a head last Friday night at about 2am. I think I will remain characteristically enigmatic in terms of the details, but it does once again relate to love and romance and all of that silly stuff (of course it does, I am a teenage girl with little else to occupy my mind). This has all made me realise that action and truth are not to be feared and avoided to the extent that I have been doing such. My confidence has been growing exponentially. And although I will always be my awkward self when discussing matters of romance, the euphoria that has engulfed me since this happened will help me to understand the importance of being honest (or earnest, as the case may be).

On a related note, throughout this weekend I’ve been thinking a lot about how entirely different an individual’s experience of the world is from what is objectively true (if such a truth even exists, of which I am doubtful). After that extraordinary evening, the days that followed seemed so odd in their comparable normality. Internally, I felt so altered, while all about me was as it has always been. I’ve thought a lot about this kind of concept before because of a piece of writing I created last year. Changes in subjective perspective colour one’s life so much more than changes in the external world.

And I promise that in my next entry I will not write about any thoughts I may have regarding love or relationships. It’s probably getting a little tiring.

Take a sad song and make it better.

Sarah — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 12:51:28 +0000

Life is an odd thing. I feel as though so much has changed since last I wrote about and reflected upon life, but it is probable that an objective onlooker would think differently. I suppose this is because I’m the kind of person who lives internally, rather than externally. I very rarely allow my deepest emotions to enter the outside world. They are destined to swirl about inside my head and chest, increasing in pitch, volume and tempo until they reach a climax, before finally fading away with time. On the very odd occasion the climax will be accompanied by an actual and tangible expression of my feelings. Such a thing happened last week. But I think I shall begin with a little bit of the background. Or at least a vague recollection of it, as I prefer to write of these kinds of experiences.

In the past few months I have undergone my first heartbreak. This sounds quite melodramatic, but no less accurate. There it is. The allusions I made and suspicions I expressed a couple of blog entries ago about a particular person being more important to me than I was to them turned out to be true. In the end, I did manage to speak to them about it all (in a fashion), and have my fears confirmed. This was, inevitably, followed by a period of rather intense pain. I’m not going to go into too much detail, but the heart of the matter is this. Believing myself immune to what I have read about, I attempted to form a friendship with the person. And while doing so I allowed myself to continue to entertain imaginings of things returning to what they once were. Of course, all of this fell in a heap when I was forced to realise that they had moved on. Moved on in such a way that emphasised the immense disparity between our views of one another. And thus, helped on by alcohol, I indulged myself with an embarrassingly public outburst of sadness.

So now that I have passed the climax and survived, admittedly with less dignity intact than I had intended, time is letting the emotions fade. I doubt that they will ever disappear completely in this case, but it’s certainly a start. I’m now beginning to restore faith in my hopes for a happy life. I’ve been meeting and spending time with people who have revealed the inherent goodness of humanity. Gosh, that sounds melodramatic as well, doesn’t it? But it is also true. I know that my sufferings will be short-lived and relatively insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I know that a the conclusion of a romantic connection with that person was for the best. And I know that there is someone unquestionably right, somewhere out there. Hope will never die.

Experiencing and realising all of this has, I think, actually been good for me. As I said at the beginning of this entry, things have changed a lot. How I see the world, how I see others and how I see myself. I don’t think it’s too soon to say that a temporarily broken heart has helped me to mature, especially in all things relating to emotions and the way I interact with others. In all likelihood I’ll remain quite emotionally stunted for a while, but next time somebody willing to share themselves with me, and I with them, comes along, I won’t make the same mistakes. Of that I am certain.

This is the hardest story that I’ve ever told.

Sarah — Tue, 31 May 2011 12:22:08 +0000

I’ve been thinking a little bit about the concept of a happy ending. Whether one is possible (or, as the case may be, probable), its presence in society and my expectations regarding it. I feel as though this is a subject about which my thoughts and opinions are ever-changing and dynamic, so forgive me if I become slightly unclear. The main thing that prompted my deeper consideration of such an issue was my viewing of the recent Disney film, Tangled (which, incidentally, was quite excellent). And perhaps it is best to begin with a few points about this company. It is a pretty common and clichéd theory that females are conditioned from an early age to expect a happy ending in their life, as depicted in the Disney films (primarily based on fairy tales) they watch repeatedly as children. I suppose that this is true to a certain extent. It is impossible to watch Snow White being kissed by the handsome prince, the transformed Beast embracing Belle and the glass slipper gracefully sliding onto Cinderella’s foot so many times without at least a pinch of sugar seeping into one’s consciousness. But, at the same time, I don’t think many of us give kids enough credit. The majority of them are able to distinguish between reality and fantasy. So, if I had to give my opinion, I’d probably say that the fairy tales read and watched by a child contribute more to their hopes in life, rather than their expectations.

Of course, there is a lot more to all of this than the literature and film a person encounters. Our early and indeed later personal experiences of the world around us are perhaps more important. For example, if somebody grows up in a happy household with unseparated parents, then they are much more likely to expect their life to follow a similar path. That’s not to say that we cannot acknowledge and desire situations different to those we are familiar with, but humans are generally creatures of repetition. I am very much aware that I am leaning more towards the romantic implications of the phrase “happy ending”, but I suppose it’s just what has been on my mind to a greater extent of late. But it’s possible to consider the attainment of a happy ending (although who decides when the ending is? I probably shouldn’t get into that now, might be writing for hours) in all facets of life. Family, career, leisure, whatever. The possibilities of beginning with once upon a time and finishing with happily ever after are endless.

So now I suppose I should write a little about the specifics. My own experiences of and expectations regarding happy endings. I don’t think it’s hugely naive for my to say that, more than anything, I hope for an endlessly happy marriage filled with love, respect and mutual trust. And I hope for beautiful relationships with my own future children. I know better than to expect such things, because for some they are just not possible. That’s something I’ve come to understand throughout the past year and a half. Because an individual is constantly metamorphosing, it isn’t always realistic to expect their relationships to remain happy and stable. But I have been conditioned, by my own upbringing and those Disney films, to wish for contentment in my relationships. In slight contrast, I do actually expect a happy ending (or, quite simply, happiness) in my working life. The reason for this is that, due to my experience at school so far this year, I know that I will completely enjoy working in education. In fact, in class today I was helping out a few students and they were asking about my plans for university and afterwards. When I told them that I want to become a teacher, they informed me that I’ll be “awesome”. I highly suspect that I’ve been walking around with a permanent smile upon my face since then. I sincerely hope that they turn out to be right.

To finish with I thought I’d include a short video of clips from the wonderful films of my formative years. I will continue to watch them as I grow older. And I will continue to hope.