July 20, 2018

One Year On: #MakeChesterProud

I can't believe it. I'm genuinely in denial that it has been a year since Chester Bennington passed. It has been a year since I sprang from the exact same position I'm currently in and stared at the stream of tweets coming in of song lyrics, words of shock, memories, and prayers. 

At first, it didn't click; at first, it was just a stray lyric from Shadow of the Day:
The Shadow of the Day will embrace the world in grey 
and the sun will set for you.
And then it stopped being an abstract thing, as I just stared at that infamous TMZ article. Stared. I laughed, convinced that it was still a hoax. Nan being Nan, had BBC news on and I wouldn't let her turn it off. I watched hoping that it was just the murder rumour blown out of proportion, then it began to circulate on the banner, followed promptly by a brief confirmation from Mike.

I didn't do anything at first. I just stared at what felt like a blank screen - it took me 14 hours before I broke down and cried. I had lost my idol, the musician I have followed since my memories followed a coherent recollection. The frontman from the band I had begged my mum to take me to see at the age of 10, the frontman who spoke to the teen angst of a generation and will do long into the future. 

Now, I hope that it won't just be his lyrics that hold his legacy. I hope that Talinda's persistence at change, for WE ARE THE CHANGE, will help to see a change in the way we perceive mental illness and addiction. Give people the organizations that are so needed for people to reach out for help. 

I wanted to write this post to mark the date. To remember the vow I had made to myself that week, that I am sure so many people have made. To fight for our own version of happiness, to make choices and be kind and Make Chester Proud.

I'm going to share a poem. I'm not here to state I'm the world greatest poet, but I wanted to share something from my attempt to figure out emotions and memories. That's what I like poems and the process of writing them to do. 

One More Light

I hear you, tone rasping
over seats lifting and low guttering growls
I see you, thick hands grabbing
at your belt, hips dig into metal bars
your hand out-stretched
an audience, their age,
                                                    eye colour
concealed in strobe lighting
you reach for them, to hold their hands
across a vision of blurred ethnicities
If a moment is all we are
We're quicker, quicker to pass
on the small things that keep us

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