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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.


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Wednesday, February 25, 2009

entry arrow3:18 PM | Favorite Song No. 17 : I'll Be Seeing You

[warning: diabetic writing ahead]

"The big difference between people is not between the rich and the poor, the good and the evil. The biggest of all differences between people is between those who have had pleasure in love and those who haven't."
- Paul Newman in
Sweet Bird of Youth


Somebody I met in Manila, a Bikol writer, told me something strange during one of those afternoon lulls in Taboan 2009 while we were waiting for something to happen: "I love your love life," he said.

Note that this was somebody I just met only a few days before that afternoon -- but somebody who knew me a little more intimately through occasional correspondence, and through this [increasingly very] confessional blog. But when Kristian Cordero said that to me, I was a little confused -- because what was there to love about my love life? I've had two great loves, yes, and also two great heartaches, the pain of which I cannot even wish on anybody. Only a masochist can want to love the love life I've had.

And yet today, a few weeks later, I seem to have finally caught the gravity of what Kristian meant. I actually do love my love life. The intensity of what I've been through. The searing totality. I've been through so much passion, so much love -- but also this: I love the way both ended: with just a little drama to spice up a real-life teleserye, and yet continuing on to such beautiful friendships, the kind that only two people who have been through a long life together can fathom.

I'm not sure I can ever define for anybody the bittersweet nature of that life after love. Most think old loves and memories of it must die a painful death, something you never revisit at the risk of untold misery. Honestly, I cannot be that nihilistic. My philosophy has always been something like this: You've shared a good life with this person. Cherish the memories of it at the very least. There's a kind of nobility to it: the knowledge that you are still in love, but cannot be together anymore because ... well, you just can't. There are minute circumstances that build up together to something bigger than yourselves to tell you it just cannot be. And when you learn to respect that, you realize that the heart, above all, is a thing of astonishing beauty: because it can continue to love and be passionate, even when you have moved on to separate lives.

I'm a sentimental fool. I grant you that. And so today, this is my song for M. It's a wonderful piece from the 1938 musical Right This Way, written by by Sammy Fain, with the lyrics by Irving Kahal. It's a song about cherishing good memories, and also letting go. I heard it again during the Oscar telecast last Monday when Queen Latifah gave a wonderful rendition for the dearly departed of Hollywood's cinematic establishment. It's an old song, a forgotten favorite, and when I heard it last Monday, I thought it was a perfect theme for the state I am in.

So, enjoy this little version by Bernadette Peters, which -- aside from Rosemarie Clooney's cover -- is for me the best one there is.



I'll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through.

In that small cafe;
The park across the way;
The children's carousel;
The chestnut trees;
The wishin' well.

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way.

I'll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new.
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you.

I'll be seeing you
In every lovely summer's day;
In every thing that's light and gay.
I'll always think of you that way.

I'll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new.
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you.

I love good, bittersweet endings. Like that closing scene where Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford say goodbye in The Way We Were, the way she reached out her hand to brush his hair, perhaps for one last time... A good friend once told me that we must be able to end relationships in the best way possible, in a celebration of the best of who we were, together. I believe that. I'm a sucker for that.

But now, let's move on, shall we?

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