I was sitting on my chair when I thought of watching a song on Youtube. ‘Numb’ by Linkin Park was one of the recommendations on my app’s homepage. I decided to listen to it. I knew the locked doors I was opening, the walls I was pulverizing, the ceilings I was shattering, and the ground I was breaking; all over again and all at once.

Somewhere in 2008 or 2009, parents got me my first computer. It was an assembled PC, with parts I got to choose. I spread the word around, and folks were eager to share their art collection — movies, songs, videos, and everything else you can think of. I got them all saved in my system’s hard-drive, and began the ritual that I would continue to this day. I sat through each and every song, movie and video that was given. I weeded out the pieces that didn’t make me feel that they were supposed to make me feel. I renamed them, categorized them and stored them in theme-wise folders.

Now, I didn’t know what art was supposed to make me feel. So, I settled down on a yardstick on my own. For as long as I can remember; I’ve experienced small bumps appear on my hands and feet. I didn’t know they were called goosebumps. So, I kept the pieces that gave me goosebumps. Numb, 21 guns, Wonderwall, Boulevard of broken dreams, It’s my life, Fireflies – those were some of the first English songs I listened to in the new-built desktop. I had forced open a door I didn’t know existed.

I scourged the internet, radio and every other avenue where I can discover new pieces – language no bar. I’ve not come across a single piece that is not worth listening once. I was looking for pieces that I could listen to endlessly, on repeat, till eternity breathes its last breath. Hence began my pursuit.

I had the joy of listening to songs and watching movies which I wouldn’t normally have listened to or watched. If it were not for my pursuit, I never would have heard ‘Nothing else matters’ or ‘Silver dagger’.

Then came a time when Robin Williams passed away, so did Heath Ledger and Chester Bennington. I did not know them enough to warrant my grief. Nevertheless, I felt grief and sadness because I had witnessed their works. They say that an artist lives on as long as their art lives. Surely, Robin Williams is an immortal if the maxim holds true. But, yesterday, I forgot his name and couldn’t recall it. I had to look up ‘Mrs. Doubtfire’ to learn his name again.

Is it really true that immortals live on forever? Why does a human strive to leave a mark on the Earth, if only to be forgotten after a decade? What is life if not lived in the present?

I’m listening to ‘November Rain’ as I type my words now. Maybe, it is all an illusion after all. We know this that the human made religion. Sure, there were beings – both human and non-human – that would go on and command awe from the stone-age humans who were afraid and excited at the same time when they witnessed an eclipse or a streak of lightning. Humans did make religion, like they made bread and fire – out of thin air. So, the construct of heaven, hell, afterlife, and any other event or place which we’ve not seen yet is a figment of our imagination.

So, why are we yearning for something that we haven’t seen? Maybe the illusion makes life liveable, if not enjoyable. They say; beware the human who can go in a crowded fine-dining place and eat by themselves — for here is a human who sees through the façade. I go a step further; you owe your awe to the human who is happy when alone, content before sleep, does a deed for the sake of it, and sees the world wrapped in a barter system and chooses to forego his share of the transaction.

Now I’m not sure how I ended up at philosophy when I started at art. In all possibility, I jumped over multiple trains of thought. Bah; I’ll listen to fireflies now. Death and pain doesn’t move me the way art does. I know the story is fabricated, movements are choreographed, scenes are edited; but they move me the way I can never move myself. The other day, I watched the ending scene of ‘Interstellar’ where Cooper meets Cooper. I welled up, cried, and cried a bit more. It happened with Coco, Inside Out, Saving Private Ryan, Schindler’s List, It’s a wonderful life, Maachis, and many more other movies. Songs that I don’t understand does this to me too – Hasta la riaz, Stay with me (not by Sam Smith), and any instrumental piece – like the ones by Yanni and J.T. Bruce.

I’ve positively lost my way now. I don’t recall why I started to write this piece, and I’m not sure how to end it. I’ll end it the way I end my podcast episodes.

Adios for now. And, sonríe si crees.