This post is part of the “Blogging from A-Z April Challenge“! The “L” themed inspiration for today is “LOST”. Enjoy!
Many of my friends know that I watched Lost. And really liked it.
But I’m here to let you in on a secret: There’s no such thing as a casual Lost watcher.
And casual I was not. I was obsessed.
I started watching Lost after season 3 had already finished, off of the recommendation of my dance teacher. I rented the first season, and quickly gobbled up each episode like a pillowcase full of Halloween candy. That’s the danger of having access to all the episodes of 3 seasons of Lost. You feel this maniacal power at being able to keep powering through, finding out secrets faster than the poor, starving suckers, who had to wait at least a week in between episodes.
I watched the episodes alone, often terrified, always confused, and usually barely breathing. When Boone died, I held vigil for a day before being able to carry on with the rest of the season. (This is when I fell in love with Ian Somerhalder and began sleeping with his picture underneath my pillow.)
I powered through seasons 2 and 3 and was caught up for season 4 when it began airing. From August 2006-May 2010, Lost was my life; the reason for my existence.
I bought books, magazines, DVDs, watched fan videos, listened to podcasts, read blogs, scrolled through forums. (I once posted a theory about Vincent being Jacob. Seriously.) I rewatched every episode that was available with commentary. I researched Matt Fox and Evangeline Lily’s lives. I googled Henry Ian Cusick to check if he was already married and if the age difference between us would be wildly inappropriate. (Yes, and regrettably, yes.) I idolized every actor and every character on that show, flaws and all. I LOVED KATE. Kate who blows up houses, breaks hearts, robs banks, and steals children etc. WHO LOVES KATE? I did. I even had fantasies that the producers would call me and ask me to move to Hawaii to play a teenage version of her in flashbacks.
Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse were my heros, the owners of my soul, the puppeteers of my emotions from ages 13-16. I worked harder on trying to figure out the numbers; 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42, than any algebraic problem presented in math class. I signed up for Physics 11 because Daniel Faraday made me believe it would help me figure out the secrets to time-travel. (False.) I did a god-damned Lost-themed JIGSAW PUZZLE because there was a glow-in-the-dark secret revealed on the back once put together.
I bought the music from the show, and spent countless nights falling asleep to the masterpieces of Michael Giacchino. I would sit at the piano, deep in thought about Claire’s true fate, slowly playing the notes to “Life and Death.”(“Life and Death”, “Hurley’s Handouts”, “Parting Words”-my ears rejoice. On the other hand, try explaining yourself when “Run like, Um…Hell” comes on your iPod whilst shuffling.) I imagined creating “Lost-The Ballet”. (As if ballets aren’t confusing enough.)
My memories of the show are all a blur, because in general, I look back on it with happy nostalgic confusion. If you asked me to rehash the plot…well, I wouldn’t know where to start. (Seriously, flashbacks, flash forwards, flash sideways? Where does the story even begin?)
All I know is that on May 23rd, when season six of Lost ended, I was completely ruined for all other T.V. shows.
Lost, oh glorious Lost, I don’t believe I’ll ever find someone like you. It will be a part of my life until the day I die. When I moved in with my Korean roommates, I referred to them as “Jin” and “Sun.” Whenever I hear “Good Vibrations”, I shed a silent tear for Charlie. Every time I board an airplane, I secretly hope it crashes on a deserted island. I spend the whole flight examining my fellow passengers, wondering what their flashbacks would be like; who would be my “Jack.”
So there it is, the secret’s out. I didn’t watch Lost. I lived on that island for 4 years. When I die, I can only hope to end up in a room with Hurley, Sayid, Jack, Sawyer, Kate, Juliet, Charlie, Desmond, and the rest of the gang. Maybe then they can explain to me what on Earth actually happened. (Oh yeah, and Ben, you can come too.)
Coming up Monday on The A-Z Challenge: ‘M’ is for “Music for Marvelous or Miserable Men”
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