A tiny blip in the continuum

And upon pressing the 'Play' button, the words came to life on a bed of harmonics and rhythm.

Song after song, fragments of my memory were resurrected. I relived each one as though it was unfolding in the present, except I was a disembodied observer standing in the eye of the mnemonic storm, witnessing powerless the chain of event as they unfolded, in a continuum that I did not belong in.

Each song had been written and was sung as though it was mine, and each was a testimonial to the pieces and moments – so precious and private – of my life, as though complete strangers had peered into both my heart and mind, and lain to words and music that stir feelings I could never fully express and emotions I could never fully ascribe.

As the Walkman worked its way down the playlist, it was as though I was being brought by an unseen hand to places, sights and realms that belonged only to me and me alone, existing for only I to revisit and relive – the memory an old, weathered chest to which music is the one key to unlocking it.

I found myself wandering into secret places that I had never once allowed a single person into. Closed doors, behind which played the most poignant moments spent in the company of the cherished few in my life. Doors that no one – not even the closest of confidants – knew existed.

Soon, the playlist neared its end and my destination loomed into sight. I reached for my Walkman, but my finger, lingering above the 'Stop' button, betrayed my reluctance to disembark from the emotional roller-coaster ride I was on, or to stop the visuals that were playing like a movie in my mind.

But the real world around me began to progressively close in, and the private film slowly faded to a bright white, interrupted as though the last length of film has run out and was now flapping in the spinning reel on a projector unattended and boxed in by four weeping walls in a decrepit room tucked away in a corner of an abandoned building.