Melancholy is hard to define. Sure, Webster has plenty of words attempting
to explain this term, but is there a proper way to put this elusive emotion
into concrete terms? Can you really
define any emotions? It’s hard to remember how something, or
someone, feels until you experience it again.
And when you do experience the feeling once more, you hold onto it for
all its worth, knowing when you wake up tomorrow, it will be gone.
Memories come
with waves of these emotions. Melancholy
cannot stand alone. The word itself is
two-dimensional –
it tastes weird on your tongue.
Melancholy requires emotions to be had in order to be experienced. You cannot feel nostalgia for memories you’ve
never had. You can be lonely for those
memories, but never nostalgic. No, nostalgia buries itself into your bones when
you are lonesome.
Nostalgia is
different for everyone. I feel it when
there is a tinge of autumn in the air. I
am immediately transported to crisp Saturday mornings in October with leaves
crunching under my soccer cleats. I am 8
years old again, with no other goal than to stop one.
Other times,
when the sun is shining just right through maple leaves, I wind up in my front
yard. I have climbed the tree, the bark
rough against my skin, and am laughing with my best friends in the whole
world. Because then, my front yard was
my whole world.
When the smell
of winter wriggles its way into my nose, I am sledding down what feels the
biggest hill in all the world with my dad and sister. There are plenty of wipeouts, causing red
faces and runny noses, but we treasure every second. Later, we go inside for hot cocoa that warms
you right down to the soles of your feet.
Baby’s breath
is not just a flower, but a memory of spring days taking Easter pictures in
flowy dresses. The spray of water from a hose is green grass and apple trees
and dancing around in the miniature rainbows in my Pooh Bear swimsuit.
The smell of
coffee is a multitude of memories, from dipping cookies into my grandma’s cup
to late night Bible talks with some amazing people. It is late afternoons in a porch swing,
waiting for evening to fall. It is snowy
evenings curled up with a book, wandering through fantasy worlds. It is small cafée in Europe, watching people
meander past.
With a warm
breeze swirling through the open windows of my car, I am not driving to college
alone anymore. My favorite people are in
the seats with ice cream dripping into our hair. We are exhausted from soccer practice, but we
still sing Disney songs at the top of our lungs.
The crackle of
a campfire is late summer evenings playing card games and telling ghost stories
that were too silly to be scary. The
smoke winds towards the blanket of stars that make me feel like I’m falling
through infinity. My best friend’s faces
are dancing in the firelight, and I remember thinking that life never got
better than this. I was right.
Salt air is
the best summer of my life with my family baking in the sun and flying
kites. It is dark nights on the beach
watching sea turtles find their way to the water - to their home. Salty breezes
are telling stories with my mom until my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
The notes of
one song take me back to late nights in dorm rooms, my feelings for a boy
amplified when he sings it in a way that makes my heart do somersaults.,
loneliness dispelled just by the sound of his voice. With the notes of another song, I am in the
front seat of the car on the way to a day in the sun at an amusement park with
30 of my closest friends.
To you, these
memories are just words on paper. But to
me, they are feelings, and smiles, and laughter. I could spend the rest of my life writing
down these memories, but to outsiders, they will never be more than paper. Instead, I will cradle them in my heart until
they completely envelop me. When I am
lonely, I will call on them to comfort me.
This is
nostalgia.
