Don't you just hate it when...

a perfectly good, maybe even awesome, song reminds you of some REALLY bad memories?  The songs in this list are all great - in my opinion, at least - but they are attached to people and memories I would really rather erase from my brain storage altogether.  During those times when the associations were made, it didn't matter.  I was just enjoying the music and enjoying the moment.  But now when I hear these songs being played, as much as I still love them for the music and am still compelled to sing along to them, being reminded of the memories and regrets attached to them makes me wish that I never heard them at all.  Listening to them now, no matter how groovy or sing-along-able they are, leaves a bad taste in my mouth. How I wish that I could rewrite my memories just to redeem these songs.  

1. Matchbox Twenty - Unwell

2. Wild Cherry - Play That Funky Music

3. Edwin McCain - I'll Be

4. U2 - Original of the Species

5. Nickelback - Far Away 

Blind man song

Blind man by the road

Clutches old-cold guitar,

Playing back the warmth

Of days long gone.

“Spare a coin for a starving man,”

Says he, with a strum (B-flat).

“And I’ll sing a li’l song f’ye.”


Young once, and fickle,

Those days long gone.

Stiffened rheumatic joints,

These hands come

And go. Love, how swiftly did it go.

“Spare a coin for a starving man,”

Says he, with a strum (B-flat).

“And I’ll play a li’l tune f’ye.”


For the love he’d lost,

The blindness he blames.

For playing the old-cold guitar

And his silly little games.

Gone are those days.

“Spare a coin for a starving man,”

Says he, with a strum (B-flat).

“And I’ll tell y’alittle story.”


The blind eyes tear

And withered fingers bend,

Reaching, grasping for those days

Gone and dead.

“Spare no coin for a dying man,

These hands can’t play no mo’.

Lost all save this song,

And one last breath,

And one last strum (B-flat),

With that this song ends.”

silent music

On the way to graduate class, high noon. Caught a jeepney to Katipunan. Sat next to a heavily built lady. She had a guitar with her. Passed a glance to all the other four or five passengers. A pair of women, talking loudly, as if they wanted the whole world to hear their conversation. How annoying. An elderly gentleman trying to calm the extremely fidgety grandson on his lap. A young man, fast asleep, his head lolling down to his chest.


Then the lady beside me started to hum softly, tapping a beat on her knee with her fingers, and bobbing her head to the unheard tune running through her mind. Ah, silent music! Her fingers started to form the guitar chords; she ran them over the covered frets of her instrument. From the serene look on her face, she had drowned out the rattling voices of the two indiscreet women seated across her, the high whine of the little boy, the soft snoring of the sleeping young man, and the random noises of the city around us. All that existed and mattered was her silent music.


Painful envy ran madly through me. I remember the guitar I’ve had since heaven knows when, kept in its case, gathering the dust of the many passing years. How many times have I tried to learn to play and failed? How many people have tried to teach me and failed? I remembered all the unborn songs I wanted to play on that guitar, all waiting to be freed there in my head. Why did I never learn? I keep telling myself that it’s because too many things get in the way. My fingers are too short, I don’t have time to practice, there’s always something else that’s more important I should do, etc. etc. etc…. But the guitar is there, at the foot of my bed, waiting, waiting for the silent music it was destined to play.

(posted elsewhere 20 Aug 2005)