One of my favorite feelings in the world is when a song gets under your skin. Not stuck in your head, not just something you like, but when you can’t stop thinking about it. When it feels like the song was sent to you that moment, giving you something to hold onto.
I wish I could say that I shared a love of music with my dad and that it was something that bonded us. But the truth is, he didn’t really like music or understand it that much. I think it was all noise to him, but he tolerated it for me.
Music has always been my thing. It is my touchstone. It helps me deal with the world when things are overwhelming, and it gives me something to ground myself in. It has helped me deal with the darker days of my depression, given me strength when my anxiety threatened to take over. Music has also given me confidence on the days I felt my best and added joy in the moments of celebration and given me peace in the moments of calm.
My history can be traced in the mixes and playlists I’ve made over the years. I love looking back at songs from my past, even the soundtracks to my dark and unhappy moments, because I am made up of all those times, the good and the bad.
When my dad died it was about six weeks before I really heard to music again. I remember the moment so clearly. I was staying with family out of town and a song I’d probably heard a hundred times over the last year came on, and suddenly it felt different. It cut through the weeks of noise and grief and anger in my head. I’d been fighting so many emotions, working so hard to not trigger my depression, to stay positive despite losing my job, to keep moving forward. That song gave me a moment of clarity and respite during a time that was overwhelming in so many ways.
The song was by the Japanese band Sekai No Owari, and while I didn’t understand the words but something about the music got under my skin in that moment. I had listened to that album over and over since the pandemic started, and almost all the other tracks had caught me at some point or another over the year except this one.
On that evening this song felt new to me. It felt joyful and celebratory while at the same time, there was an undercurrent of sadness or lonlieness in that joy, which was just how I felt. I think I listened to it five more times before moving on that night. Over the last year I have come back to this song over and over whenever things felt like too much.
The translation of the song’s title as far as I can tell is “The Night Everything Broke”. To me, it is about life and loss and all the uncertainty that comes simply from being alive. It’s about how we are all singularly traveling through life, but we are never alone on that journey.
I felt like the song had been sent to me at that time to remind me that things are always uncertain, but we get through them together. It was the song I needed at the time I needed it. So today I share it with you, and hope it brings you a bit of the clarity and joy it has brought me over the last year.
Love,
February
[Song of the Day: Subete ga Kowareta Yoru ni by Sekai no Owari]
People say they understand
That they know it’s something natural
But if they know
What they know, then they wouldn’t make a face like that
We all know everything
We know yet there’s nothing but what we don’t know
But I know one certain thing
And you taught me that
I don’t understand you
or him or even my own self,
but still we live on
We live on not knowing anything
We know the beauty
of the blue sea and vast sky
Under the square sky, we
should know the deepness of the blue of the sky
I will eventually die
I’ve known that forever
But I don’t think I can’t
do anything because of that
You go alone and you won’t stop
Including it, that too is your life
But I know what I don’t know
I came to send it to you
We are all alive
We know it’s something natural
But if we know
what we know, then we wouldn’t make a face like that, right?
SnarkyJellyfish
February 14, 2022 at 8:25 PM
Day Fourteen
One of my favorite feelings in the world is when a song gets under your skin. Not stuck in your head, not just something you like, but when you can’t stop thinking about it. When it feels like the song was sent to you that moment, giving you something to hold onto.
I wish I could say that I shared a love of music with my dad and that it was something that bonded us. But the truth is, he didn’t really like music or understand it that much. I think it was all noise to him, but he tolerated it for me.
Music has always been my thing. It is my touchstone. It helps me deal with the world when things are overwhelming, and it gives me something to ground myself in. It has helped me deal with the darker days of my depression, given me strength when my anxiety threatened to take over. Music has also given me confidence on the days I felt my best and added joy in the moments of celebration and given me peace in the moments of calm.
My history can be traced in the mixes and playlists I’ve made over the years. I love looking back at songs from my past, even the soundtracks to my dark and unhappy moments, because I am made up of all those times, the good and the bad.
When my dad died it was about six weeks before I really heard to music again. I remember the moment so clearly. I was staying with family out of town and a song I’d probably heard a hundred times over the last year came on, and suddenly it felt different. It cut through the weeks of noise and grief and anger in my head. I’d been fighting so many emotions, working so hard to not trigger my depression, to stay positive despite losing my job, to keep moving forward. That song gave me a moment of clarity and respite during a time that was overwhelming in so many ways.
The song was by the Japanese band Sekai No Owari, and while I didn’t understand the words but something about the music got under my skin in that moment. I had listened to that album over and over since the pandemic started, and almost all the other tracks had caught me at some point or another over the year except this one.
On that evening this song felt new to me. It felt joyful and celebratory while at the same time, there was an undercurrent of sadness or lonlieness in that joy, which was just how I felt. I think I listened to it five more times before moving on that night. Over the last year I have come back to this song over and over whenever things felt like too much.
The translation of the song’s title as far as I can tell is “The Night Everything Broke”. To me, it is about life and loss and all the uncertainty that comes simply from being alive. It’s about how we are all singularly traveling through life, but we are never alone on that journey.
I felt like the song had been sent to me at that time to remind me that things are always uncertain, but we get through them together. It was the song I needed at the time I needed it. So today I share it with you, and hope it brings you a bit of the clarity and joy it has brought me over the last year.
Love,
February
[Song of the Day: Subete ga Kowareta Yoru ni by Sekai no Owari]
People say they understand
That they know it’s something natural
But if they know
What they know, then they wouldn’t make a face like that
We all know everything
We know yet there’s nothing but what we don’t know
But I know one certain thing
And you taught me that
I don’t understand you
or him or even my own self,
but still we live on
We live on not knowing anything
We know the beauty
of the blue sea and vast sky
Under the square sky, we
should know the deepness of the blue of the sky
I will eventually die
I’ve known that forever
But I don’t think I can’t
do anything because of that
You go alone and you won’t stop
Including it, that too is your life
But I know what I don’t know
I came to send it to you
We are all alive
We know it’s something natural
But if we know
what we know, then we wouldn’t make a face like that, right?
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