No one, I think, is in my tree.

“Living is easy with eyes closed
Misunderstanding all you see
Its getting hard to be someone, but it all works out
It doesn’t matter much to me”

December 8, 1980. I don’t remember what I was doing that day in Olongapo (the city where I grew up). I don’t even remember hearing the news of John Lennon’s death. In fact, it was only after 2 years that the music of the Beatles slammed onto the shores of my young, impressionable mind and the waves hasn’t stopped pounding and reshaping the landscape to this day.

“No one, I think, is in my tree
I mean, it must be high or low
That is, you can’t, you know, tune in, but it’s alright
That is, I think it’s not too bad”

For the first year and a half, after we moved to Manila, where I attended high school, I’d wake up at 5 in the morning from Monday to Friday to tune in to 97.1 DWLS-FM and spend one hour curled under my blanket listening to the Fab Four, from dark to half-light to green morning. At that time, weekends didn’t matter much to me. Friday night arrives without a suitcase. Sunday morning creeping like a nun.

“Always, no, sometimes, think it’s me
But, you know, I know when it’s a dream
I think, er, no, I mean, er, yes, but its all wrong
That is, I think I disagree”

Earlier today, I bought the new Beatles album, Love. I haven’t listened to an album from start to finish thrice in a very long time. I can’t even recall the last time, nor the first time, that I felt a catch in my throat while listening to an album. More so now when I’m reminded that George is gone. And John was taken away from me 26 years ago.

Let me take you down, ’cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields…

Strawberry Fields Nyc-1


[composed and posted with
ecto]

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