10/4/24
The Case of La Paloma
It was June and I was in the car with Jacob, driving from his high school to the hotel. We had just attended his brother’s graduation at the same boarding school Jacob spent four years by himself at—a place that witnessed him grow into adulthood. The windows were down, and "La Paloma" by Billy Vaughn played softly on the radio, the melody rising and falling with the road. I remember clearly, Jacob looked out at the sunset over an orange-lit lake on the left, while the houses on the right reflected a typical suburban charm with their quirky lawns and pastel colors. The air was warm, and I could sense Jacob’s nostalgia, his unspoken reflections on childhood as we passed places tied to his memories. I wondered if he had once gazed at the lake after school, or walked these streets imagining his future. The music and scenery combined into a perfect, almost cinematic moment.
I told Jacob when we got to the hotel how special the song felt in that moment, but all he said was, "That song is so you." It hit me—he wasn’t feeling what I was feeling for him.
This moment reminds me of the quote: “Your pain is your own.” People might share experiences, but they’ll never feel things the way you do. No emotion—happiness, sadness—is truly shared. The world moves on, indifferent to what stirs inside us. It made me realize how deeply personal emotions are, and the way we experience moments is shaped by our own internal worlds, memories, and perspectives. Sometimes, we expect others to share the weight of a moment we feel intensely, but everyone processes and experiences life through their own lens, which can create a disconnect in shared experiences. It highlights how even the most profound moments are solitary in nature.