It was during Christmas Eve on the car ride home, that I was to feel my soul resonate. Piercing through the laughter and rowdiness of the conversation, I was to hear a voice escaping from the radio; one that was to capture my imagination. As the hubbub droned ceaselessly in the background, I imbibed the lyrics, voraciously attempting to engrave them in the recesses of my mind.

Once arriving at my house, I thanked my aunt and my cousin for having kept me company. Then, rapidly and anxiously, I dashed into the emptiness of my house. I managed to make my way through the darkness, straight into the bosom of my sanctuary. With an equal ardor, I sought online the lyrics. Distressed, for I could already feel my soul sinking into the depths of an abyss, of a watery darkness from which creation arose at the dawn of time, I tried different key words. After several searches, nike! Ever since this fantastic moment, I have had the pleasure of feeding off music that is congenial if not necessary for my esprit.

Now, five years later, I realize how time has transpired and still, I take pleasure in recalling this fanciful story. I am filled with delight at reliving the trepidation and anxiety, the agony at the mere thought of not discovering the name that corresponded to that delicious voice.

There are things that we keep to ourselves for various reasons. I have always been accused of keeping many a thing to myself. This is true, but it is not ill-intentioned, for, after all, of these things that never escape my lips, none are serious or of any significance. They are silly if not childish; jujus of my imagination, puerile addictions that entertain my simplicity.

Perhaps I am afraid that were I to reveal these simple things that delight me so, their magic and charm will dissipate forever. Perhaps I am awed at the fact that simple things have the power to cause me so much happiness. Whatevet the reason is, I delight in these personal secrets that I am at a loss to describe beyond these paragraphs.

So this singer has accompanied me through the arguments at record shops on a stairway, the stumblings from the skininess and heights of kerbs in a strange and distant city in the darkness of the night, the reconciliations, the dark depressions spent in the underbelly of a bed, the rides through the mountains and the sea coast along Highway 1, the vertigos and laughs produced by swinging too fast and too high at the local park, and vapid roadtrips.

Alack, time has sped fast, I am six years older though I have infinitetly lost one. Then again, who is counting? I for one am not.

Caption: andrés and child.