YouTube is basically my television here. I don’t have a television, because the uni hasn’t provided one. But that’s okay.

So no, I haven’t seen Love Story, about JFK Jr. and Carolyn Bessette. I’m sort of interested in the story, but not really. I watched one of those “Watch Mojo” videos that compared the story to the actual details. I noticed a song playing. I recognized the tune, but wasn’t sure of the name or who sung it.

So I looked up the soundtrack to see if I could recognize the name of the song, or the group, hoping that would jar my memory. And it did. The tune I was looking for was “Name” by the Goo Goo Dolls. And yeah, I’d liked their stuff back in the day.

I just wanted to play a few seconds of it to see if it was the right song, because I knew if I played the whole thing, I’d probably burst into tears. I didn’t even get far. Someone had posted a really sad story as the topmost comment, and I burst into tears.

But I ended up listening to the whole song. I’ve seen many people refer to YouTube as the closest thing we’ll get to a time machine. I was surprised to see so many sad comments. Some people talked of dead relatives; one said her mother listened to this song and commented on how pretty it was, then she died. Another spoke of a brother who was deaf, and couldn’t deal with the bullying at school, and abuse from a father. He turned to booze and drugs to ease the pain, and yes, he died.

That being said, the song is a great one. But yeah, it’s hard to listen to that stuff. I think of where I was then, and the people who were in my life. I felt like I was an adult, but still a kid. My parents were alive, to catch me if I took a major step and fell. I published my own ‘zine. Scraped along on a journalism job that paid $5.05 after taxes. Resented having to work Saturday mornings to get a photo if something was going on. It was one thing to drive 45 minutes round trip for an eight-hour day, it was another thing to be exhausted from work knowing I didn’t even have my weekends free to have to go in and take a picture at an event.

What hurts, I think, is knowing how I was at the time, and looking into the future and wondering what would happen, vs. looking back now. I’ve done all right, compared to some people. But I’m still not where I’d like to be, and I’m no closer to accomplishing my goal that I had when I moved to China a little over seven years ago.

I just wish I hadn’t been so afraid.

I hate the people I went to school with that caused me to be fearful.

I miss my mom and dad, who were around back then.

I miss how my niece and nephew used to be. Back then, they thought Aunt Gloria was cool. They liked doing things with me, or so I thought.

Now, they don’t speak to me anymore. I haven’t heard from my nephew in years. Maybe even a whole decade.

I also miss the general attitude of the country. Things seemed good. There was employment if you needed/wanted it. People seemed happier; less uptight. Yeah, the president was fucking around with an intern, but even my mother was willing to overlook that because of the way things were.

And isn’t this line from “Name” so true: “And scars are souvenirs you never lose.”

I look at my knee surgery scar. It’s still there, after 53 years.

I’m not sure what the point of this post is. I think I get why people get nostalgic about stuff, the past, people.

But I feel like the 1990s were my golden years. Didn’t seem like it at the time, but they were.

And now, looking back, they really seem like they were.