I was, am, and will be Julie, but even that isn’t consistent. I change on an hourly basis. I’m not being deep and perceptive, either, I rarely carry the same beliefs through the day. It’s hard to imagine myself liking anything long enough to have it shape some facet of my personality, except for maybe music. I’ve never sat around a campfire without music, never ate dinner with my family without music, and these days, I find it hard to go to sleep without music. It’s become perpetual. Walk from my sister room to the living room, to my bedroom, and there will be at least 3 songs on. There is very rarely silence in my life, no, there is never silence in my life. [J1]
In 2008, my family and my uncle’s family camped our way out to Nova Scotia. That trip I heard “hey there Delilah, what’s it like it New York City” no less than 5000 times[J2] , closely followed by “you can stand under my umbrella-ella-ella” at probably 4000 times. The first song played at my school dance was “I got that magic in me.” I was almost born to Living La Vida Loca, and I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor always brings my mum and me to our feet. Memories have been formed around music for me. It’s not just memories though. My dad doesn’t talk about his father much, but there’s this strange emotion that comes across his face every time Johnny Cash’s version of Hurt comes on. For a moment, I get it. The only time I can picture my dad’s ‘worst year ever’ is when he’s listening to that song. As weird and twisted as it sounds, my empathy comes from music. Oh, you’re in love, is it like La Vie En Rose or A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More ‘Touch Me’? See, know I get it.
I’ve meticulously mulled over melodies[J3] like some people mull over verses in the bible. On Sunday’s I wake up to the acoustic versions of songs my mum has given me over the years, and I’ve found a place of worship in between waking up and getting out of bed. I’ve grown up without religion and though I can’t say for sure, music might be the closest thing to one I’ll ever have. Maybe it’s over dramatic but at times when I feel as emotionally stunted as an 18-year-old boy I guess music reminds me that saying things like “I’d be an anchor, but I’m scared you’ll drown” is both cheesy and not going to make you any less strong. It’s this idea that I can’t say it, but somebody else can so that’s ok. Or, on the flip side, nobody is going to say that to me, but I can find a song who will say it and damn it! It’ll mean more because it’ll be in song form! I’ll always find music that relates to me, and if not, I’ll just play the same songs again, and again, and again.[J4]
Music has become the second skin I wear to keep warm.[J5] It’s gone out and had experiences I haven’t but it’s brought the good and bad back to me. At times, I’ve lived almost vicariously through music, learned what it feels like to live three minutes and forty-six seconds in somebody else’s shoes. And I want to try to do that as much as possible. Because of that, the idea of there not being music on is strange. I’ve fallen in love with countless people, countless different ways, through music. Been through heartbreak, and heartache, set to a minor progression. I’ve never needed to wonder if music is the food of love[J6] , I know because I’ve been binge eating since I was a child, and I hope I’ll never have to stop.
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