An Impressionable Young Fan


I was fourteen years old when I was fortunate enough to catch the series in its original first season. As I watched, the show hit me in a deep emotional place that I've happily never recovered from. The city life portrayed was a far cry from my little hometown; so too was the atmosphere and family bond of those who lived below. I knew Vincent was fictional, but I developed a crush on the idea of him nonetheless. He was someone I could relate to profoundly and intensely. I listened to classical music because he did. I became a fan of poetry because he was. From him and his kin, I had a vision of the kind of audience I would like, to hear my stories, see my works of art, and be generally creative.

The secretness and sacredness of the tunnels were the same I carried for this series that nobody else seemed to have remembered or enjoyed, thinking me odd for speaking so reverently about it. But for one of the few times of my life, I did not care that others did not "get" my "thing." They didn't have to like it in order to get to know me. But it would have been such a treasure to have such an outlet for what I had retained of the series. 

It would be a whole ten years later before I would see the series again, in reruns, and soon after that, find fandom, and self-consciously, but most sincerely, becoming involved in it. It still remains my motivation for much of the joy I find out of life, most of the inspiration that goes into the creative things I do, and most of the reason that I do not give up. Because as fictional as that elusive place is, it resides in me, and I have found it in others (both fans and non-fans alike), and it is precious to me. 

I still don't mind that barely anyone I know "gets" my "thing." But I'm still happy to share it, and to delight in it, and to be ever inspired by it. For all else that goes on in my life, that is a constant source of something very good, and energizing, and freeing. May it always be so, for anyone who has felt the faintest touch of this.