And a love for Pocahontas.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

I have the deepest one. She was my go-to costume as a little girl. She was my spirit animal and I was pretty darn positive I was hers. My mom always tells me that when I would watch the movie, I would cry probably three times during the movie, after colors of the wind, at the end of just around the riverbend...and then of the farewell. The bane of my eyes and throat and nose. A bane that no other Disney movie can bring me well, other than The Circle of Life from The Lion King. That always gets me. But mom would be in the kitchen or sewing something or reading the paper and I would be in the living room watching Pocahontas and the end would approach and I would get all close to the television, not wanting to miss any buzzy VCR sound or any word coming out of Pocahontas's lips. And my eyes would start to get all blurry and she would tell John Smith not to go and he was like, I have to, and then he asks her to come with him, and she can't because she needs to save her tribe from the evils of the white man and then he's like okay well let me kiss you. And then he's like "I'd rather die tomorrow than live a hundred years without knowing you." And as a kid, I guess my heart was super-ultra love juice gushy,  because tears would start plopping from my eyes at that moment. And then they would lift him away...and then the orchestra would come in. And the farewell would begin and the sails would be set and the anchors would be raised....and I would just try to swallow that lump in my throat but it would never work. And it was just so hard....and then and then the worst part. Pocahontas would start running and my hands probably were wringing through my hair at that point and I was probably making audible gasps and minor sobs. And run she would through that forest wanting to see him that last time and the chorus would swell and then she would reach the end of the rock...and there was the boat, and there was "colors of the wind" in a glorious chorus playing beautifully and powerfully in the background and he would say goodbye and slowly and beautifully she would say it back. Wingapo. And I would lose it. Big crocodile ploppy tears falling accompanied by sobs from the fire of the belly and my mom would walk in and say "mija, what's the matter?" and with my raspy croaky toady crying throat I would muster a nothing...or a why did he have to leave? 

And to this still gets me. And I'm not even ashamed. And my mom still comforts me when I cry about it. And even hearing the instrumental, which I will post...hearing that instrumental still makes me cry. I don't even care if the story is completely and perfectly politically incorrect. It is still my favorite. And nothing makes me happier than when people said I looked like Pocahontas in my engagement photos. I mean what more could I ask for? Pocahontas today. Pocahontas tomorrow. Pocahontas forever. That's all. Stay gold. Stay as gold as the colors of the wind and that eagle that so amazingly soars off of Pocahontas' arm in that one incredible scene. 

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