Once Upon a Valene
I think her name endured in memory because I had never heard it before, or, maybe I thought it whimsical someone would drive to Brooklyn not knowing their way around and it strangely stuck. Either way, it was happen-chance she and I would cross paths at a casting call back in 2004. The gig was for some commercial modeling ad, if I recall. Alright, I’m lying. I know exactly why I remember her name; Till this day I can still detail how my heart skipped seeing Valene for the first time.
The moment she walked in everything slowed as if she bewitched time. And perhaps she did, in order to sort out where to sign in or with whom to speak to and not appear lost. Whatever the case, it granted me extended circumstance to quietly behold her. Valene’s eyes possessed emerald properties that could enchant a lost soul. Her mystique face was both stunning and elegant, and further adorned by long dark wavy hair. Her body was fit and strong, and she moved with a confident posture befitting for her aura. Anyone could’ve guessed she wasn’t a New Yorker from her sophisticated allure. Valene was from Martha’s Vineyard. And I immediately knew she was beyond my realm.
“At first sight” carries peculiar magic. I get why “dream girl” is a beloved expression.
Even so, I was receptive to Valene’s uncertainty of being in a unfamiliar place, and after some friendly conversation and the casting, she welcomed my help in getting back into Manhattan. Any guy would’ve been fortunate. As I sat in the passenger’s side and gave directions, I tried my best not to sound like an idiot…which really meant not forgetting to breathe. But I must also confess something more; An infinity that has wonderfully haunted me since. During the drive, Valene pulled over at a gas station to grab water. As she walked back, she glanced at me through the window with a spellbinding sincerity that liquefied my insides. I can still vividly recall it now. Sure, it’s probably an overly romanticized instance of ordinary briefness, but it’s how I prefer to keep it. In the end, Valene and I exchanged numbers and would go on to text one another. She was considering a place to stay in the city so she could conveniently pursue modeling, perhaps some acting if it ever presented itself—without having to drive down from Greenwich Connecticut every time. I had an empty room in my small apartment in my ghetto neighborhood, but it was no place for Valene, and I didn’t dare offer it. Truthfully, we were worlds apart; In culture, network, likely sociably too. And as time unfolded, she and I eventually lost touch.
. . .
Here I am 18 years later, transferring and syncing my old computer data, any memory cards I could find from previous phones, and old hard drives into my new Macbook pro and iPhone (I typically do my best not to lose anything important I’ve ever gathered). What I didn’t anticipate was ancient contacts finding their way onto them. When launching Instagram, a bunch of additional recommendations prompted my screen. Among them, Valene appeared. No way. Without thought, I visit her profile. She’s still as radiant as ever, and appears to have done well—enjoying the kind of life a beautiful woman from a great family would notably have. I’m glad. However, something prominent far outweighed all of the posted prestige; The lamenting over the death of the love of her life. A man named Alex Lukachik. My heart sinks.
The devastating death of a loved one is unfortunately a familiar place. Marcela and I were in love as teenagers but too shy to do anything about it. Not long after, she became terminally ill. And to my shame, I was too shattered to visit her during her last days at the hospital. Lisa was a grade-school crush that died of cancer while we dated at the age of 21. Unlike before, I did visit her a last time before her family requested privacy for her remaining time. Then there was Geaninna, who died in a motorcycle accident back in 2012. We used to write letters to each other. I didn’t think then I could ever recover from that. Still, this doesn’t include the various people I’ve filmed and photographed over my career who aren’t around anymore, like my childhood friend Patrick Viktor Monroe. Everyday I carry their impact and wear it as part of my armor.
There are no words of solace, and condolences are of petty value. There’s only deep numbing pain; One that becomes a dark comfort, a home, A cold warmth one grows to trust more than the hope of a better tomorrow.
Sometimes, bids are made towards divine justification…as to bring “higher” reason for death and affliction. Even so, we privately know it’s a frail attempt at manufacturing meaning in suffering, to avoid despair. I’ve looked into the eyes of a mother who’s son unexpectedly died while requesting the photographs I once took of him for the wake. These are moments I cannot forget even if I tried. I tear looking at Valene’s posts. I know these anarchy of emotions all too well. There’s a hurt that doesn’t go away, a hurt one may not want to go away because it at least grants them foreign fulfillment. Spending time reliving memories, feelings, and fantasizing about another life that could’ve been with the person you loved isn’t so terrible. I’m severely sorry, Valene. This stranger can tell you there’s no “moving on” but there is moving with. Alex’s essence lives within you now. It’s both a gift and curse you will carry. This burden comes with honor and mourning. There is no complete healing, nor an expiration date for sorrow, but there is integral emergence. Few things in life can forge like death. It’s a fire that can melt the hardest of substances; Our identity. Feel and embrace everything you must. No explanation or directive is necessary.
I always found that time, nature, and solitude is a potent remedy for nearly any ailment. Nevertheless, I encourage you to endure with conviction. May you thrive in love and gratitude. Death is part of the cycle of all living things. It reminds us to recognize its place in our lives; For we too are destined to be a part of it. In this we celebrate the divine mystery of what it is to be alive. Live with humor and resolve. Know that we will never get a “why” whenever death befalls us, thus, we must let it go. With what remains, we are responsible to gather and build. We don’t get to live forever, but this isn’t the ambition. To simply create something beautiful that lives on, is. I deeply and sincerely wish you nothing but the extraordinary, Valene.
whether in darkness or in light, Live well and Die strong.
- Jubei Raziel