Just last weekend, I was humming to myself a song from the Evita movie soundtrack as I wandered around the basement floor of The Gardens. My sister and I used to play that album to death when the movie first came out.
Where do we go from here, this isn’t where we intended to be~
I was marveling at my own ability to remember lyrics from ages ago when the boyfriend emerged from the little boys’ room. Grinning as he walked towards me, he opened his arms in mock broadway style and bellowed:
“
Don’t cry for me Argentina~” He wrapped an extended arm around my shoulder and pushed me gently to the direction of the car park.
“No way!” I exclaimed as we stepped onto the moving escalator.
“Huh?”
“I was thinking about a song from that movie too! Did you hear me singing, is that why?”
“Uh, no. It just came to me.”
“Oh. Guess it was a coincidence then.”
But I couldn’t get the songs out of my head, so I downloaded the soundtrack. Hee. Along with the soundtracks from the musical Wicked and Slumdog Millionaire. Wicked because Evita reminded me of acting silly with my sister while listening to Wicked back in East Lansing, and Slumdog Millionaire because... it was available for download.
I burnt a copy of the Wicked soundtrack the morning the download was completed. I’ve been waking up with a strange sense of emptiness for which I have no plausible explanation for lately, and I needed something to cheer me up while I edge my way through hoards of stubborn and impatient drivers. (Fly FM pagi crew works sometimes, but occasionally they overdo it and end up sounding a little too cheesy for my liking.)
Listening to Wicked just opened the floodgates of memories for me. Memories from a faraway place, of people so close to my heart. Michigan State. 2345 North Harrison Road. Walden Woods. Meijer. All those memories seem so out of sync with the surroundings I'm seeing now. Sunway Damansara. Ho Ho Steamboat Restaurant. Tropicana Golf Club car stickers.
My mom came over for a visit the first winter I was there. It was insanely cold as expected during that time of the year, but I’ll never forget the moments the three of us girls had. Most of it happening as the Wicked soundtrack played at the background.
And random snippets of my entire time in Michigan just continued to pop up as I drove almost mechanically to work, the familiar lyrics and tunes flooding my senses...
Lining up in front of an ice-cream hut for its amazing strawberry shortcake despite it being two degrees Celsius outside.
Wearing the same sweater I slept in the night before to morning class.
Chasing after a bus because I was going to be late for class.
Standing at the bus stop in the middle of a snowstorm, hiding half of my face with a scarf and checking the bus timetable chart every five seconds.
Movie marathons on our days off, slipping into one theater to another with only one ticket purchase.
Wincing to myself whenever the freezing cold toilet seat almost gave me frost bites.
Getting hit by a flying cellphone because I accidentally threw something at my sister while she was asleep.
Driving two hours to a Japanese supermarket to eat at the attached sushi bar.
Taking jazz dance lessons with my sister and housemate.
Pushing American-sized trolleys down the supermarket aisles in the middle of the night for some late night grocery-shopping.
Cycling at the wealthier neighborhoods, hearing the crisp crunching sounds of dried leaves as I whizzed past, admiring the Halloween decorations.
Attending the biggest church (in size) I’ve ever seen almost every Sunday.
My sister (almost) breaking my nose with a bamboo stick.
Playing Donkey Konga with Yean Yik and King Fu during their stay.
Cooking with my mom at the tiny kitchen while my sister joined in occasionally to pick on the food.
Laughing uncontrollably with my mom because I tripped on my way down to the laundry room and spilled rolls of dirty socks and underwear everywhere.
My car stopped. I’d reached the office. Almost reluctantly I switched off the lively broadway music, and got out of my treasure box of memories.
