The Song Remembers When, and the scent remembers where

I was standing at the counter

I was waiting for my change 

When I heard that old familiar music start

It was like a lighted match

Had been tossed into my soul

It was like a dam had broken in my heart

After taking every detour
Getting lost and losing track
So that even if I wanted
I could not find my way back
After driving out the memories
Of the way things might have been
After I'd forgotten all about us
The song remembers when... 

I guess something must have happened
And we must have said goodbye
And my heart must have been broken

though I can't recall just why

The song remembers when...*

I sit in a room with four others at work. We are hardly ever all there at the same time, but it naturally happens every now and then that one or the other takes a telephone call. Often, these telephone calls are rather in the form telephone conferences going on for hours at a time. This can be somewhat distracting to the rest in the room. And because we are on the phone quite often, all but one of us have developed the habit of using earphones so that we have our hands free to work during these long conversations. This habit naturally extends to having something more pleasing coming through the earphones while we are not having a long telephone meeting, i.e. music.

And so it was that I was sitting at work a few days ago, listening to one of the playlists I have on my phone. I was working simultaneously, so I was not actively listening to the music as such. It was rather just playing in the background. The opening chords of a Brandi Carlile song - so not the one song which lyrics are reproduced above - started playing. I did not quite react at that point, but it did make me stop to listen. An accompanying violin, barely noticeable in the beginning began to gain volume. And all at once, I was so overwhelmed with emotion, I could barely focus on what I was doing. See, that song, and in fact the album from which the song is from, was one which I listened to often, almost incessantly in fact, several months back. Most of the album, and that song in particular, is melancholic, poignant and full of secret pain of untold depth, which rather summed up my state of mind at the time. Unexpectedly hearing the song again transported me instantaneously and without warning back to that place, almost to that state again. The wave of emotion which followed was so strong that it was almost an effort to breathe. But of course, those emotions were a mere echo of what was before, and therefore, soon passed. Intrigue followed.

This is not a new phenomenon. It has happened to me and countless others often enough that they have even written a song about it. It is not really something that anyone marvels over nowadays. At least, if anyone is doing any marvelling, they are doing it neither in my presence nor to my knowledge. But it is a marvel though, isn't it? I mean, if you think about it, it is pretty darn amazing that a few odd notes, put together in a particular sequence, can invoke such strong emotion in us, so much so that we almost relive a moment from the past. What is it about the notes that so intensely activates the part of the brain where our memories sit? Not just that, how does the song connect to that one specific moment from the past in particular. I have heard this song a thousand times over the years. All right, so maybe not a thousand, but a hundred for sure. Why did my brain pick out that one particular time or period which was so full of emotion? I don't have the answer. I don't know if anyone does, having not really had time to do the "as-in-depth-as-free-Internet-research-can-be" research which thoughts such as these often inspire me to. I will have to at some point. Maybe 'Incognito: The Secret Lives of the Brain' might have the answer, if I could but pick it up from under my bed where it lies waiting to be read...

The other thing about how the brain works which I am also marvelling over is our sense of smell. I had a cup of tea at work the other day. There is a supply of tea bags in a variety of flavours at work. I tend to stick to a limited unadveturous few. One day, I decided to go for one which has, for whatever reason, never really enticed me: strawberry tea. Not that strawberry tea is an expression of adventure, mind you. Nothing special about it at all, just plain ol' strawberry tea. It's just not one I usually have, is all. And so, as I stood there in the pantry fiddling with the tea bag, the smell of the strawberry tea rose up to greet me. All at once, I saw myself leaning against the doorway of the kitchen of someone I used to know, where I first had strawberry tea. This time though, there was nothing special about that particular moment. It was not wrought with emotion nor smothered in meaning. It was a moment I do specifically remember, simply because I was somewhat reluctant to drink the strawberry tea and was told to keep quiet and just try it. And I have had strawberry tea several times - though not often - since then without any memories being awakened. And yet, this particular time, that one whiff of it took me straight back to that kitchen. How does that happen? Maybe it's a glitch in the Matrix. Oh no, wait. That's dèjá vu.

Again, I have not had time to consult my good and knowledgeable friend, Google about this and will have to contend with remaining ignorant, but in marvelment nonetheless.

*The Song Remembers When, by Trisha Yearwood