“We sometimes feel that we have been really understood, but it was always long ago, by someone now dead.” – Mignon Mclaughlin, The Neurotic’s Notebook
The day I stumbled upon Nirvana could be comparable to how one would describe the
significance of a child trying ice cream for the first time. They would probably use
words like "monumental" or "immensely important” to describe the effect of the event in
relation to his or her childhood. Let me tell you, the day I discovered Nirvana was
the day that my obsession with Kurt Cobain would manifest itself in me and take over my
life just the way a wildfire would take over a forest.
From that point on, I bought all the Nirvana albums and listened to every single track
like it was my job. I found ways to get the unreleased band demos. If it was out there, I
would find it. His guttural and rough voice, his screeches, the intense drums, and the
blaring guitar riffs were a beautiful polygamist marriage made for my ears. The lyrics
didn’t really make any sense, but it was ok; I knew somewhere in those songs, there was
a grain of truth. I exhausted every Kurt Cobain interview on Youtube. I listened to what
he said and it felt like I was watching an old friend. I felt like I truly understood what he
was saying. I think that’s what I liked most about it.
This obsession probably confused the heck out of my friends and certainly my parents. I
can’t accurately describe to you the look my mother gave me when I asked her to buy this
huge book all about a certain notorious rock star/drug addict at Borders. To say
that Kurt Cobain and I were different would qualify as an understatement. Kurt was born
in the 1960s. He was a blonde, blue eyed, rock star. He dropped out of school and lived
under a bridge for a while. He was a manic depressive and an artist from a young age. He
was a heroine addict, which was a direct result of a stomach ulcer that unfortunately
put him in excruciating pain for a large portion of his life.
I, on the other hand, was born right before he died. I’m an African Asian American.
I accidentally drank wine when I was eight thinking it was grape juice,
and up to this day I still feel a bit guilty about it. Yea, drugs really aren’t my thing..
I do pretty well in school and I live in a nice house. I’m healthy. And most of the time
I have to sing pretty sounding pieces I learn in chorus, which don’t include screaming or
straining the voice, the way Kurt did almost all the time.
But none of that mattered because I really believed that Kurt and I weren't that different
at all. It was as if we were on the same wavelength, or something. I’d try to explain it to
people, but I guess people couldn’t understand how someone could have such a
connection with a dead guy. They all thought I was crazy (I’m not by the way). I’m not
sure what it was but he had this interesting and familiar quality about him, and it
intrigued me. He was this misunderstood character in this book and I was the one that
read it and could correctly analyze him. Everyone saw him as this moody, drug addicted,
suicidal kind of guy. But I saw a frustrated, sarcastic, dark humored, loveable and
ultimately vulnerable and caring human being that was upset by all the bad things
happening in the world. And at times I felt the exact way too. This one time, my friend
bought me The Kurt Cobain journals (because naturally when she saw it, she thought of
me.) and I was ecstatic. I began reading immediately. His words enthralled me. They
were like thanksgiving dinner for my eyes. At times, I found my very thoughts being laid
out in front of me, worded better than I could’ve ever hoped to put it. Kind of like the
way a close friend would’ve been able to finish my sentences. I finished it in three days
and later I then preceded to illegally download more Nirvana band demos.
But the point is, during my preteen and early teen years filled with emotional turbulence,
it was comforting to know that I wasn't alone. I wasn't the only one that thought or felt
the way I did. I really understood Kurt. And he really understood me. At least if he were
alive, I’m pretty sure he would. I didn’t even know it, but in him, I found me. I saw
things that I was and things that I wanted to be. I also saw things I didn't want to be. But
I took him the way he was, because despite what the world thought, I thought he was a
good person and I understood where he was coming from. And I realized that is how I
should see myself as well. I needed to accept myself, and ultimately, my “obsession” taught
me how important that was.
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