It was December 2015. My sisters and I gathered on our olive green couch, anxiously waiting for a performance we had anticipated for months. One Direction, our favorite band, was about to take the stage on “The X Factor” one last time before their indefinite hiatus. After their performance, the four gathered in an emotional group hug, then it hit me — they were really saying goodbye. We were devastated that this would be the last time seeing them perform, mourning the split of our favorite band that made the years of our preteen awkwardness feel like the best years of our lives. But nothing would compare to the guttural sadness and shock we would feel nine years later.
Maybe I shouldn’t feel so surprised. Some of the best One Direction songs are laced with goodbyes and discussions of change — it’s one of the many reasons I felt connected to them. In “Walking in the Wind” they sing, “Goodbyes are bittersweet but it’s not the end, I’ll see your face again,” and in “Night Changes” they commiserate, “We’re only getting older baby, and I’ve been thinking about it lately, does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes?” In their last single, “History,” they belt, “So don’t let me go, so don’t let me go, we can live forever.”
One Direction fans were used to hearing them sing about goodbyes, but never actually feeling like that would materialize. My sisters and I had been waiting for the day they would get back together and fantasized about going to their reunion show when we were in our late 30s. One Direction’s discography was the soundtrack of our lives.
Then, everything changed.
I sat on the floor of my room in San Francisco Oct. 16, when my dad burst through the door to tell me the news. My heart dropped to my stomach — Liam Payne had died.
“There’s no way,” I thought to myself. I opened my phone and reloaded my Instagram feed as tears began to cloud my vision. Shock hit every cell in my body. I sat there, in my childhood bedroom that was filled with One Direction memories, unable to move or wrap my head around the news. For once, all those goodbye songs felt real.
In some ways, this feeling isn’t new. Everyone has had a celebrity death that has felt personal, that makes you wish you just had a bad dream — this one is mine. When a celebrity dies, the personal connections, images and nostalgia that were associated with them are suddenly packed into a cloud of grief. How do you grieve for someone you’ve never met? I’m still trying to figure it out.
My memories of One Direction, some of the happiest moments of my childhood, are inseparable from Payne. His passing feels like my childhood is being ripped away from me. As I mourn him, I mourn for the 12-year-old “Directioner” in me who came home from school reciting One Direction lyrics as if they were my second language. They were the first artists my sisters and I ever loved, and during my preteen years, they were often the reason I got out of bed — my dad played “Steal My Girl” in our room to wake us up in the morning when we were going to be late for school.
When I’ve listened to One Direction’s music since Payne’s death, it hasn’t been the same. I hear his voice in my favorite songs and feel a rush of sadness take over me as I realize he is gone. His death reminds me that I’m no longer the nonchalant tween who sang along to “Best Song Ever” with my sister in front of our stuffed animals. The grief I’m feeling, in part, is the grief of growing up. I am now older — I know what it’s like to go through change, to miss people, to want to slow down time.
But when I think about One Direction, the sadness I feel is also met with immense amounts of joy. I think about my sisters, our mismatched interests converging towards our shared passion of watching them belt “No Control” with James Corden; our late night watch parties adoring their concert films, gripping a pint of ice cream while screaming their lyrics. I think about how we filled our bedroom walls and camera rolls with pictures of them and played One Direction when we couldn’t agree on what music to listen to on our drive to school.
There’s sadness in saying goodbye to my childhood and being apart from my sisters, but I know that I’ve gained more than I’ve lost.
My sisters and I may never fulfill our childhood dream of seeing One Direction at a reunion concert in our late 30s, but they will always be a fundamental part of our lives — I picture the three of us screaming the bridge to “Stockholm Syndrome” at one of our karaoke nights, watching old videos of them together when we need a pick-me-up and dancing to their songs at our weddings.
I listen to One Direction as I’m walking through the Quad when I need something to brighten my day, and in my dorm room when I want to be reminded of home. Instead of listening to their music for the catchy choruses and perfect harmonies, I now seek comfort in the verses that reassure me that everything will be okay. I hear their voices and goodbyes feel a little bit easier, because I know I’m not in it alone. I need their music now more than ever, especially as I’m getting older and change feels like a constant shadow following me everywhere I go. I know their songs will get me through this goodbye like they have countless other times. But I’ll never really let Payne or One Direction go, because in my memories they will live forever.
Contact Jameela Bowo at bowo@oxy.edu
