Together Forever
When the crowd got off at the North Greenwich stop on the Jubilee line, a sea of gray-haired folks made their way toward the same exit. “Yup, they’re all going to the concert,” my brother GT observed. We were all heading to the O2 Arena to see Rick Astley. Swept along with the rest of them, I was overwhelmed, thinking of the then-twenty-one-year-old ginger-haired lad with the deep voice—the one who wore a trench coat and black turtleneck sweater—who had just celebrated his sixtieth birthday.
“Did you ask your mama or your grandma to play some of their CDs for you before you came?” he asked the young-ish audience with a grin, in a YouTube clip from a Glasgow concert last year, as the band played the opening beats of “Together Forever.”
Inside the arena, about ten minutes before Rick came on, a group of girlfriends were excitedly making their way back to their seats in pairs, carefully climbing down the steep aisle stairs. One of them had a cane, her friend holding her steady by the elbow. A family of four sat in the row in front of me: parents with their daughter and her boyfriend—or son-in-law—in tow. Portly men carried beers, while couples who looked like they’d been holding hands since 1987 sat quietly together. I imagined that Rick’s songs had marked the beginning of their relationships—and that thought made me smile.
There was something so electrifying about singing along to the hits with Rick and a crowd of twenty thousand. I danced and belted out the lyrics like prayers—words I didn’t know I still held, flowing through my lips without effort. For those few minutes of song, I felt like I belonged—that for once, I wasn’t in a social cave. How amazing that all of us made the effort to be with him, to stay way past our bedtimes, to rekindle our youth. If only for a moment, the worry and grief that rode shotgun in the car these past two years took the back seat and pure joy washed over me—something I didn’t see coming.
“I am just an old man in a suit who is profoundly grateful to be given this chance,” Rick said nearing the end of his set.
And his life story is worth noting. He turned his back on a thriving career at twenty-seven. “I just didn’t want to do it anymore, this world, this nonsense that I got myself into,” he said in an interview on This Morning. The money gave him the freedom to quit and stay home to be with his then-two-year-old daughter.
Although he had been quietly performing nostalgia gigs—he sheepishly admitted these included singing his hits at friends' weddings for free—it was the internet meme "Rickrolling" in 2007 that catapulted him back to cultural relevance. He wasn't sure what to make of it at first, but his daughter, a teenager at this point, gave him perspective, emphasizing that the viral fame had nothing to do with him. Covid-19 and the lockdowns brought new life to the meme, introducing his songs to younger generations.
At fifty, he released a new album that climbed to No. 1 on the U.K. charts and mounted a full comeback tour covering the U.K., Europe, and North America. He followed it up with two more albums and a memoir. He continues to perform, extending this year's Reflection Tour into the summer.
Back at the hotel way past one in the morning, Malyn and I were still buzzing from the concert, replaying the footage on our phones and singing again. Then it dawned on me that this was also a full-circle moment for us.
The year was 1988 when my siblings and I first set foot in London with Mom. It was the starting point of our month-long bus tour around Europe, and we stayed at a modest hotel around the corner from Marble Arch station. GT said that walking the streets of London planted in him the desire to settle and work in Europe. And here he was, living that dream for more than twenty years—in Prague, Budapest, and now Paris. Our theme song for that trip was—you guessed it—Rick Astley’s “Together Forever.”
Thank God for Malyn, who had the sense to purchase the tickets when GT and I wobbled on the idea!
When we finally slept, Malyn had a vivid dream about Ate Marica. It was our hotel room, but flipped—the headboard on the opposite wall. We were lying in bed, heads propped on one arm. Ate appeared fussy, a halo of light around her. She was wearing something white. Malyn waved. She did the same and said hi. “We miss you,” Malyn said. “Ate is right behind you,” she added. But when I turned, she was gone.
She recounted the dream when she woke up and couldn’t stop talking about it. What she took away from this trip and from Ate’s presence was that she is always with us—and we can be together forever with her, too.
Jane Austen is part of the Literature and Library collection in honor of Marica’s love for the written word. This piece layers a figure from a classical painting with a vintage library card catalog of Pride and Prejudice.
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With every note sent, her presence lives on.
2026 Februllage Zine
The zine is here! Whimsy meets graphic boldness: 28 collages, one for each day of February.
Februllage is an annual collage-a-day challenge hosted by the Edinburgh Collage Collective and the Scandinavian Collage Museum. Artists from around the world respond to daily word prompts, creating original collage work throughout the month of February.
When Words Fail Us
If you are in the San Francisco Bay Area, stop by and see our group exhibition. The show runs until Sunday, July 19, 2025.
Emeryville Retrospect Reimagined
Through a public art commissions grant from the city of Emeryville, my digital collages are on display at the bus shelters around our little city from May to August 2026. If you are in my neighborhood, stop by and check them out!
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Together forever! Love that! Thank you Stella!
Together Forever ❤️