It was a sunny and warm day, and we were driving, my father behind the wheel. Our home was situated in the countryside of the Mezquital Valley, about 100 km away from Mexico City, or roughly two to three hours depending on the traffic. My little town was very small, with around five thousand people at the time. When I went to college, my parents moved to the city, and we used to make the one-hour drive every weekend to visti our little hometown. As I reminisce, it was the year of 2003. I can’t recall which direction we were headed, but I distinctly remember that it was just my father and I in the car at that time.
It was a typical weekend day, sunny, warm, dry, and since the area could get scorching during certain times of the year, we had the air conditioning on. During these short trips, we would often pick some songs to listen to. I cherish these commuting moments as they provided an opportunity to chat about our week, enjoy music, and sign together. The hours felt like minutes, and we’d be back home before we knew it.
Fast forward to a recent Friday, I found myself at the supermarket, shopping for some vegetables. It was the start of the weekend, and I wanted to have a healthy apéro for my solo Friday evening. So, I was looking for some carrots, cucumbers, and hummus. That is my healthy apéro for alone Fridays. My husband, a cook, typically worked on Fridays, leaving me to handle dinner myself, and this my convenient alternative to be out of the kitchen. For a January morning in Switzerland, where I currently live, offered a pleasant cold weather. It wasn’t warm but it had a pleasant chill to it. Anyway, giving the ongoing pandemic, wearing mask was still the norm when venturing out, a precaution I appreciated, especially during moments like the one I’m about to describe.
Well, as I entered the supermarket, I followed the safety protocol: disinfected my hands, grabbing a basket, and heading past the fruit towards the veggies. It was about 08.00 a.m., just as the store had opened, and I was in a hurry, hungry for breakfast. My destination was the humus, located right next to the fruit section. I took my favourite one, closed the door, and that’s when I noticed the song. I nearly missed it due to my hearing impairment, which is a story of grief in itself, but one I’ll save for another time.
The music’s melody begin to seep into my consciousness. It felt so weird and unavoidable. After a few seconds of listening to this melody, I found myself standing there, the basket in hand, in a daze, as if someone has whisked me away from the supermarket and place me in the middle of the vas ocean. I couldn’t help but start crying. This is the second time in a year that this song had such a profound effect on me when I unexpectedly encountered it. The song triggered in me a physical response - my eyes welled up with tears, a lump formed in my throat, my heart raced, started beating faster and faster, and I felt a sense of breathless... and for a brief moment I was paralised. Not being able to move or even think.
In the midst of this emotional maelstrom, my mind painted a vivid picture. I was there, in the middle of the vast ocean. I can't swim, I never learnt, so I can imagine the sensation of drowning. In this case, the ocean represented a tumultuous mix of memories - beautiful, sad, frustrating ones. I could see all these memories but I couldn't touch them, hear them, or feel them. In that moment of feeling drowning, all I felt was emptiness.

And with this ocean of memories, my thoughts ultimately carried me back to that sunny day, to that drive, to that long road, to that memory where I was happily listening to this song with my dad.
I believe it was in 2003, a significant year for me. I had the privilege of embarking on a 10-month English program in Canada and return in the summer of 2003. My dad had been supportive encourage me to go to study English and French. In any case, it was also a dream of mine to travel abroad and be able to speak a second language.
“Do you know this song?” he asked me.
“No, I don't” I replied. I may have heard it before but I didn't ring a bell.
“I love this song, I love it. It reminds me of my youth... oh the great years,” he exclaimed, and he begin singing the song.
My father was an extroverted man, never afraid of making a fool of himself, he was always joking with everyone all the time. He was a perpetual source of humor for everyone around him. He liked to make people smile. Sometimes it was challenging to discern whether he was being serious or simply teasing, acting and deploying sarcasm. He loved singing and he was actually good at it for a person who never took singing classes but the only type of music I ever heard him sung was mariachi, Mexican traditional music. Therefore, I was taken aback when I he started singing this song in English.
He continued singing with an unexpected enthusiasm. I was really impressed as I could grasp some words, and his English pronunciation was surprisingly good for someone who didn't speak the language fluently. He sang with such exuberance, gesturing as if he held a microphone, making playful facial expressions, fully immersing himself in the song, and showing just how much he was enjoying the melody. It was evident that the song had transported him to another time and place. His passion and enthusiasm for signing this song were palpable.
He asked me “what does that mean? Can you translate it? You know English, right?”, it was a test, tinged with humor. “I want to hear my return on investment, you know” and then he smiled.
He replayed that part of the song again, paused it, sang it for me and replayed it again. The song start playing, beginning with the first notes, then the guitar sounds emerge, and the lyrics followed:
“I want to break free
I want to break free
I want to break free from your lies
You’re so self-satisfied I don’t need you
I’ve got to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free.”
“Can you translate it?” he asked again. I was not that good in English, my knowledge were quite basic. Nevertheless, I did my best to translate the song for him. As I explain the lyrics' meaning, he appeared pleased yet surprised. I don’t know what he has initially thought the song was about, but he replayed it one more time and sang it, perhaps with a newfound understanding.
Returning to my cherished memory, my dad had a deep love for music, which brought him immense joy. He used to joke and say he could have been a great singer, perhaps even a mariachi singer. I sometimes thought he might have been better suited for opera, who can truly say? I miss his singing, his humor, his voice, and his boundless positivity.

I often wonder if there will come a day when I can listen to this song with less sorrow and numbness. At least, wearing a mask in that supermarket aisle afforded me a little bit of privacy for my painful moment. And I continue to wonder when the next wave of grief will wash over me again.
Comments