I get by with a little help from my friends.

“With a Little Help from My Friends” by The Beatles:

A little help from my friends
What would you think if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me.
Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song,
And I’ll try not to sing out of key.
I get by with a little help from my friends,
I get high with a little help from my friends,
Going to try with a little help from my friends.
What do I do when my love is away?
(Does it worry you to be alone)
How do I feel by the end of the day?
(Are you sad because you’re on your own)
No, I get by with a little help from my friends,
Do you need anybody?
I need somebody to love.
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
Would you believe in a love at first sight?
Yeah, I’m certain that it happens all the time.
What do you see when you turn out the light?
I can’t tell you, but I know it’s mine.
Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends?
Do you need anybody?
I just need somebody to love,
Could it be anybody?
I want somebody to love.
I get by with a little help from my friends,
Yes, I get by with a little help from my friends,
With a little help from my friends.

No doubt.

Although, “little” is a complete understatement. My friends are wonderful. There are way too many reasons why we’re still friends after all of these years, reasons I will never fully be able to explain.

—–

I’m on a Beatles kick. I would not call myself an avid fan, but I do have a special place in my heart for some of their songs.

One such song is “Hey, Jude.” Being myself, when I first closely listened to the lyrics of this song, I initially thought of “Jude, The Obscure” by Thomas Hardy. It is a novel of woe, of the unyielding magnitude of sorrow that society can inflict.

It shook my bones in a terrible way. I remember being on my knees at the foot of my bed in my old room, frantically turning the pages. I was 16. When it was over, I rest my head on the bed in shock and pure sorrow. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. What justification was there, what sense was there, in causing one ordinary man so much pain? Was he really a victim of simple circumstance? Or did he himself sew all the seeds of his miseries while he was young?

Either way, I wept inside for this man, for his wife, and for his children. I recall trying to convey my sense of disillusionment to my then-boyfriend, and he couldn’t grasp why I was so distraught over fiction.

Fiction!

Story-telling is one of the oldest forms of communication we human beings have. We tell stories to put convoluted concepts into contexts that more people could understand. We tell stories to share histories, experiences and emotions. We tell stories to give a part of ourselves to the people around us.

I have learned plenty from novels, comics, newspapers, etc. When I read, I tap into a universal venue of human consciousness. Sometimes I may not think much of what I see; sometimes I may be pleasantly or terribly surprised. But at the very least, I am so very satisfied with the knowledge that I am learning something, and I was never one to keep such knowledge useless or fruitless.

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