I learned about resonance in my grade 11 physics class. It was a part of the mechanisms of a wave. Now let me apologize to those who have an in depth knowledge of wave properties or have recently learned about such, it has been a while since I was exposed to the terms and I feel as though the fog of my memory may blur the reality of the subject. However, the just of the idea has held itself firm in my mind. The demonstration of its movement was made using an extended spring, allowing for the wave to travel to the end and back again along the other side. The movement, though, is not what I have pondered since. 

 I remember my teacher, after showing us a diagram and demonstrating it with a string, taking us into the science lab. At this point, sound or a wave for that matter was just another concept to me: lines on a page that followed a pattern that led to predictable results. I watched with mild interest as my teacher placed a Bunsen Burner on the floor and sparked its flame. Fire generally hadn’t been required for any of my past physics experiments. He grabbed a long cardboard tube, almost taller than himself, with the width that would allow for a soccer ball to roll through, and lifted it above the open flame. A class of once loud and rowdy teenagers quieted to a deafening silence. I was almost certain the tube would catch ablaze in his hands as he lowered it onto the flame. A low hum filled the silence and was quickly followed by murmurs of excitement from my classmates. The hum had a musical feel that reminded me of a trombone or a tuba (I apologize again, as my musical instrument recognition is fairly poor). Just as quickly as the sound had come it disappeared as my teacher dropped the tube lower on the flame. He continued to play with the placement, creating and ending the sound. 

 That was resonance.

 Movement of air that collided with a barrier in the right way, at the right time, reaching the end of the tube at the right spot. The proof of the prefect combination rang out around me. That feeling of cohesion, or everything coming together, hasn’t really happened for me. Sometimes I find it momentarily but, just as quickly as it came, it’s gone, as if I over shot the tube placement. Except, when I try and readjust, the spot has disappeared.

 I have never resonated. I have never felt that cord struck within me. Then how could I possibly know of the existence of its abstract perfection? Because I recognized it everywhere around me, as clearly as I saw that spring form that standing wave or heard that fire's bellowing note. Some of my favourite songs are justly so as they match my cord's frequency, relinquishing all tension that builds up in its silence. Books have come to meld into my being only can because they connect on a deeper level, reaching and understanding the feelings I feel but fail to deal with. Even movies and television can have moments that grab me with emotion and cause the truth to reverberate within me.

 I think that’s why I am so passionate about the written word or mindful melodies or sentimental scenes. Because without it I would be alone. I would float from place to place, uncertain of my own existence in regards to normality. Everything I am feels completely separate from the world (to be clear, I do not say this in the sense that I am the only unique individual to ever walk the Earth but that, despite being an individual, I fail to connect with the other individuals around me). I can feel the gap between me and everyone else. I could and would float away due to this isolated feeling but brief moments pull me back. Moments where the pulse of a song reintroduces breath to the body or words on a page have more weight than the 1 ounce paper or the emotional, distant glance an actor/actress makes when the character is so desperate to avoid tears but is unable to walk away.