“It’s All Right”
March 18th, 2025
Writer: Liv Bialek
Editor: Zoe Gellert
From a young age, the sound of music fostered a special ability to heal my soul. It wasn’t just the tunes that enticed me, but the lyrics that deeply resonated with my heart. Music was a language – a connection to emotions and memories, a source of comfort that I could always rely on.
I’ve always had an affinity for older music, likely because I grew up in a household that thrived on the music of legends. It wasn’t just music but an entire culture I absorbed. I grew up on the stories each song told, learning the lyrics before I could really understand their whole meaning.
At the young age of four, my Zayda introduced me to a song that would eventually become embedded in me. “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles was more than just a song to me—it was a gift, a bond we shared. He would play it on his guitar, and I, in turn, would sing along to the melody with all the passion a four-year-old could muster, performing with him for my family to watch and enjoy.
Now, watching videos of these moments, I am reminded that this was my first real exposure to the beauty and nature of music—not just as sound but as a way to connect, feel, and share moments of joy. From then on, I claimed “Here Comes the Sun” as my song; it simply became a part of my identity.
To those around me, it was surprising for a little girl to appreciate such an old classic. But to me, it was never “old-fashioned.” It was timeless, and it is who I am.
When my Zayda passed away, I was just seven years old, and my relationship with the song altered. The connection I had became bittersweet, an uncontrollable sadness replaced the joy it once brought me. Every time I heard the familiar intro, tears would flood my eyes. The song that once felt like a warm embrace now felt like an overwhelming reminder of his absence.
For years, I avoided any trace of the song, too scared of the pain that it involved. I couldn’t stand the sadness it invoked. The song had become a symbol of loss, and in my young mind, I couldn’t separate the beauty of the music from the heartbreak of my biggest fan.
But, recently, something shifted. As the song played in a crowd not long ago, I formed a smile that seemed unfamiliar with these circumstances. The pain that once consumed me has softened into something more peaceful — one that eased my mind. I can now hear the song and remember the joy it brought me as a little girl singing alongside my Zayda.
“Here Comes the Sun” no longer symbolizes loss for me—it represents the enduring power of love and is a constant reminder of where my love for music is rooted. As the sun comes out day by day, a painful reminder has become a happy memory, and I can finally embrace it fully as I once had, remembering “it’s all right.”