Back In Time With Music
Life • October 14th, 2006Maybe I’m weird, too attached, or not completely centered in the present, but one thing that is true about me is that I have a constant dormant nostalgia for the past… For my past. I can live and function normally not longing for younger years, love my husband and my current life, and then, I’ll smell something, or hear something, or read some old words I wrote in my journal, or hear from somebody, and suddenly this nostalgia and romanticization about who I was 10-15 years ago will come, and make me feel… well, let’s say: nostalgic.
Nostalgia has always been a part of me. I’m one of those people who talks to objects (e.g. my house), and feels for them when I have to dispose of them (e.g. an old pair of boots). If you have seen Ikea’s “old lamp” TV ad you probably have felt something for the poor lamp. I did, of course. But beyond being moved by this sad scene with rain and a sentimental soundtrack, I usually feel this way about real things; of course, not about every piece of trash I throw, but still. Maybe it’s genes… Maybe it has something to do with a traumatic experience of loss in my childhood (more on that some day)… I suspect that the specific nostalgia I have for my life when I was in college has more to do with the fact that I now live in a different country, in a different language, and I don’t get to talk to my old friends as much as I would if I lived close to them.
Of course, not all of my old friends live in Colombia. A lot of them have also become foreigners in other countries. And the few that still live back home don’t have strong relationships any more. Like everybody else, they’re busy with their jobs and their children, and I know that if I lived there, it wouldn’t be any different. But just like the guy that died or that you lost before you could marry and live daily life with him, what you’ve lost becomes idealized, and some times, when you think about it, you feel nostalgic.
Music is definitely the biggest trigger of my nostalgia. So was reading my journals, for which now I’m very careful with them. But music just happens. It starts playing randomly without any intention to remind me of anything. However, that’s the magic of music: It creates associations in the brain, and without any warning, it immediately transports me 10-15 years back… to a time when I was starting to make and live my own decisions, when I felt powerful, beautiful, intellectually interesting, and totally confident of myself in every aspect.
XVI century songs and dances (e.g. “Mira Nero de Tarpeya”, or almost anything from Hesperion XX) and similar classical music — specially if it sounds scratchy like an old vynil record, take me right back to the eclectic music room of my university. I see people with books on the rustic wooden tables, and I’m seating on one of the old velvety couches listening to the soft classical music as I attempt to go through the assigned reading for Theater Theory. Out the window, I see the bohemian students of Art and Music programs chatting in the colonial courtyard. It will soon be time for the chorus rehearsal.
“Sirtaki” puts me on the passenger seat of an old friend’s car. We were going to the “Feria del Libro” (an annual trade show for books and authors), but as usual with this friend, many things we did ended up becoming a full day of fun together. Sirtaki was the first song on my friend’s tape, and it looped several times throughout the rest of the day as we drove through the city and ended having a light dinner at an esoteric cafe in Usaquén (a charming old town in the middle of Bogotá). Our fortune message that evening: “Truth hurts because it kills the lie we were living”.
“Mariposas”, and so many other Rock en Español songs, but specially this recent one from Los Enanitos Verdes, give me this chill and bring the smile of being in my early twenties. I remember my days in college: Storytelling Tuesdays; the time between classes, chatting and playing with my friends Luli and Betty; being amazed with Ramón because last night we both had a dream of a chess war (he was fighting, I was hiding); taking a nap in the “nap room” with my boyfriend; watching the guys’ soccer game; engineering a paper vacuum cleaner with Juan while laughing because our costeño partner decided to cheat and leave our team; or spying on a crush to complete my observed schedule of his classes… You know, so that I could casually be around when we came out of a classroom, and exchange intense, yet aloof, Scorpio eye contact.
The first time I heard “Dejame Entrar” from Carlos Vives, I was at a light stop in Dallas. I remember perfectly how I felt that moment because every time I hear this song, and so much more from this Colombian artist, I have this overwhelming feeling of pride for my country. Just so you know: that doesn’t happen often. No, I’m not the girl that walks the fields barefoot with dirt in her fingers… No, I don’t play the accordion, and I didn’t even like vallenato before Carlos Vives modernized it… But hearing this music takes me back to my root, and in a weird way, it makes me feel Colombian, and proud to be. The song reminds me that my country may be fudged up by horrible guerrillas, urban crime, and not a great economy, but it is a damn beautiful country, and it is also my home.
There are so many other pieces of music that take me back in time… and well, just so that my pillito doesn’t feel too bad about this post (he fears my nostalgia for the time before him a little bit), I’ll say that “Breathless” always takes me back to our white honeymoon convertible, driving at dusk from Mama’s Fish House, enjoying the wind and perfect view of Maui’s lush foliage through the winding road.
