The World Is My Oyster

by Audrey C. Kanemoto
from Il Vezzo

The pain of loneliness, the pain of missing someone, the pain of surviving a death — these feelings are not equal but I think they are in some ways akin to one another because they spring from the center of the chest as though tar runs through the veins. The heart struggles to beat, weighted by the effort to pump the viscous fluid through paralyzed limbs.

I’m not sure why this happens sometimes, but I have a theory about the nature of each of our souls that might explain it. Like a lump of clay or perhaps an even softer gelatinous substance, we are of constant mass, impermeable but malleable. We shape ourselves and each other in every encounter and experience that we have.

Now here I am. I have been sculpted and have sculpted my family, friends, familiar surroundings and situations: I fit somewhere. Now the shape that has become me is dropped into this ocean of personalities that have been cast from an entirely different mold. We are all here rubbing our unfamiliar sides and corners into each other and into the walls and people of this new city; very exciting at times, and, at other times, very exhausting. I guess sometimes my heart aches for a place I can fit in naturally, effortlessly.

I’ve been listening to a particular CD titled “My Oyster” and I believe it has helped me dissolve any excessive amounts of tar in my veins. The lyrics are like poetry and the music is a moving interpretation of the poem’s analysis. Both together are like inspiration itself pouring over my eardrums, soaking me in life and philosophy. It means a lot more to me in particular, however, because “My Oyster” was written, performed, and produced by Cory Cullinan, a high school friend of my brothe’s who I believe really understands the pain of loss and the value of living.

I never knew Cory very well before, but listening to his words and his music has given me a knowledge of him that I never believed could be possible. I’m sure I have made misinterpretations but the combination of his care and effort to write and my effort to understand has achieved something close to real communication.

I get discouraged a lot with the words that we have: they never seem to say enough. I wish I could be at each person’s side as they read so that I might add emphasis and clarification. In any case, despite the frustration, I think I still write because I am here, I am confused, and I am invisible just as, I believe, we all are at any given time. Writing helps me organize some of my confusion and being read hopefully makes me less invisible.

The point is, I hope that IL VEZZO will continue to be shaped by all of our efforts. I hope that we would all desire to express who we are to each other so we can fit together more easily at school and in our new town. Prego!

Our town is capable of anything at all
So shape what you’ve been given
And make it what you can…
– From “Our Town“ by Cory Cullinan

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