Memoirs of an Amnesiac

I don't know what it is with music that I oftentimes crave for it in moments when I have nothing to do, but mostly when I have something to do. When I'm working on my laptop, my mother always knows that I'm in the house and working because with it is Tchaikovsky playing in the airwaves. Sundays are never complete when the house is not wafting with the oldies but goodies hits of Frank Sinatra, Elton John, Matt Monroe, and Barry Manilow while I am busily doing the week's piled up laundry (feeling like a laundry soap commercial model singing to the tunes of LABA DAMI, LA BANGO). It's like nothing is ever commenced when music is not present.

Music seems to mark the time of day or even what day it is. I listen to this radio station. I could easily identify that it's Friday because all the songs played are nothing close to Justin Bieber's.

Music also brings about a plethora of emotions that most hopeless romantics like me could only sigh with a fathomless but more often than not, sizable pain about wished-for beginnings that never got to the first stage, of love lost and gained, of painful losses, deaths and rebirths, realizations, and more unending realizations. Music knows no time, like that memory that forever haunts us.

Although I have oftentimes referred to music as a poor marketing strategy devised by the music industry to promote love on romantic strings (because I am personally biased on it), music itself ushers its way to me in taunting tones, especially during mass when I'm held up in ethereal blissfulness. With my genetic inclinations towards music (probably born out of my mother's craving for soap operas while she was carrying me in her womb), I am able to carry (but sometimes drop them) tunes. I am what most people say, "likes music but doesn't know whether music likes me."

I will forever be enamored by music, despite its great mystery, drudgery and misfortunes. Though my lungs are not blessed by wholes (where air can easily pass through like what I always assume Mariah Carey's lungs are) and my voice quality can sometimes be assumed to be that of ranting frogs, I will always sing this melody in my heart, in whatever form it wants to take shape.

Love. Death. Birth. Pain. Loss. Salvation. Fall.