Hey everyone, it’s time I share something that’s been quietly sitting in the back of my mind for years, gathering dust like an old vinyl record. You know how sometimes life nudges you, gently at first, until you finally give it the attention it deserves? That’s been happening to me, and I think I owe it to myself—and maybe to some of you—to share how a seemingly trivial thing can uncover the deepest parts of who we are.
Last week, while clearing out the attic, I stumbled upon an old, dusty box labeled ‘Mom’s.’ It was filled with forgotten keepsakes: faded photographs, letters written in a swirling, elegant script, and at the very bottom, a small, worn-out cassette tape. It was unmarked and seemed almost sad in its solitude, but something about it called to me.
I dusted off our ancient tape player and listened. The crackling sound slowly gave way to a melody I hadn’t heard in years. It was a lullaby, sung in my mother’s voice—a song she used to sing to me when I was little, tucked into bed while moonlight painted patterns on the walls.
As the music played, a flood of memories and emotions overtook me. Her voice was soft yet powerful, carrying all the warmth and love she had wrapped around me as a child. That tape—her voice—was a tangible reminder of the love I’d felt but had somehow drifted away from over the years.
Growing up, I always felt so different from everyone else. My interests, my dreams, felt foreign even to me. My mother used to tell me I was like an old soul misplaced in time, and I never quite understood what she meant until now.
Listening to that lullaby, I saw more clearly the path that had brought me here. The longing I carried, the feeling of not quite fitting in, was my echo of her voice. I realized that she had given me a piece of herself—a hidden truth I had been too preoccupied to see.
I remember one evening, sitting with her on the porch as the sun dipped below the horizon. She looked at me with those knowing eyes and said, ‘You’ll find what you’re looking for when you’re ready to listen.’ I thought she meant it literally then, but now I see she was talking about this—about listening to my heart and her song in it.
That discovery, just a simple melody on an old tape, has shifted something inside me. I’ve started writing music again. It’s like my fingers remember something my mind had forgotten, and the tunes are slowly finding their way back to me. It’s funny how a forgotten box, a forgotten tape, can remind you of who you are.
I guess I’m sharing this because I realize we all have songs like these—parts of ourselves that have been quietly waiting to be rediscovered. And I want to say it’s okay to listen. It’s okay to let those pieces come back, even if they’re a bit out of tune at first.
Thank you for reading and for being part of this journey. I hope you find your hidden melodies, too.