whoa, synchro!

You know when a song resonates with you for a season, 

and you might not listen to it all the time, 

but the lyrics are active in your subconscious? 

Well, that EXACT song for me lately, an obscure one which came out in 2008 (though I discovered it recently) was running through my mind today as I walked into one of my favorite stores to browse in. 

I opened the door to the store and, no joke, the song started playing in the store from the very beginning. This is seriously one of the strangest instances of synchronicity that has ever happened to me and reminds me of the short story "Chance Traveler" by Haruki Murakami which you can read online:

here

And here is the song, in case you were curious:

oh yes!

It's rare I actually remember 

about this weekly throwback-thang, 

but some old jazz was going through 

my mind today, specifically this:

One of the first CD's I ever owned was 

-Ella Fitzgerald sings 

the Cole Porter songbook-

and

somehow I was also thinking of this scene

(perhaps the best choreography/dance 

prowess in a film ever):

Happy Thursday, y'all!

It's so nice. . .

rediscovering an album.

Due to a spotty internet connection, I was scrolling through my I-tunes library and going down a memory lane of sorts.

If you've never heard Fela Kuti before, enjoy!

Circa 1999

Sitting under a sakura tree

I wish I had my sketch book

And yet I couldn’t possibly attempt

To give an accurate sense of its beauty

Because I don’t understand 

the lines on the petals

Or the reason that one flower is open, 

one shut tight

Let alone the mystery of why it blooms 

for just a short while

I wish you were here 

And though I don’t know who you are

I know that you are here

In a little kid’s voice 

sakura!

And in the breeze blowing from the sea 

where I just was walking

And in the tears welling up 

In my hopeful, impatient eyes

Which look for you in Japan

And in people who don’t see me

You do exist like the blossom 

fickly blooming above my head

A child goes by on a noisy bike with a bell

I hear with an ear accustomed 

to not understanding

Numerous people sake in hand

Sit poised 

Under their own sakura tree

the land of smiles

In Bangkok, 

there's a sense that the smells 

and the tastes permeating the air 

have been etched across the sky. 

Even the pollution seems to know that it, too, bleeds from human voices, singing, crying out to a source unknown, 

but always present. 

A person needs something concrete to beat the intense heat, and save the fruit vendors, 

you won't find it on Khaosan Road, 

that mass of intertwining international bodies 

all seeking the best t-shirt bargains. 

The music is a source of continual 

comical relief or annoyance, 

depending on how you look at it. 

One could argue its' timelessness and yet, 

the phrase "No accounting for taste" 

is a constant in the mind. 

Truly, though, a few too many Singha's and you, too, might find yourself singing along to CCR with a bunch of Kiwi's

-nothing to be ashamed of in my book.

Getting to know oneself is not an easy thing, but being abroad is certainly 

a nice way to do it.

an oldie, but a fav nonetheless

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. 

Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." 

- C.S. LEWIS