Soundtrack of my Life


Life would be infinitely easier to navigate if we were born with a soundtrack that followed us around until the day we died. And even then, in our last moments, I believe we would all hear the familiar warbling tune of “Amazing Grace” (or your own religious equivalent).

Think about it for a second. You meet someone at a club, and they’re all smiles and wallets and hands on shoulders. But there’s ominous music sounding in your head. Or you make eye contact with that cute girl or guy from across the room and suddenly you hear wedding bells. Both of you then know that you belong together and you stride over to that girl or guy and start kissing them right there. No need to go around looking for that “special someone” because you have your own life’s melody playing in your ears, guiding you along the right path.

And being born with a soundtrack wouldn’t just help you to figure out certain decisions in your life, but also help to signpost significant, dramatic moments.

For example:
When you’re having an argument with someone and one of you says something truly terrible. Or someone starts crying. Or one of you blurts out  a deep, dark secret. Some backing music would make these moments stand out. Because for me, these tension-filled moments always  have a dream-like feel to them. Moments before, I might have been eating a sandwich, folding washing, or watching TV when all of a sudden something huge happens, hangs around for a while, and then I’m right back to finishing my sandwich. There was no change in my surroundings. No swelling violin or crashing guitar or a few sporadic cacophonous tones. Just me, the situation, and then the aftermath.

Because I always feel as though I’m in the middle of a daydream during these moments, I never react the right way. I just stand/sit there like a damned stunned mullet, trying to formulate sentences when my brain is stuck on the same question:

What the hell just happened?

And that really doesn’t help anyone.



About Bec Graham

Bec Graham, 24, was born on the wrong continent. Everything from her burns-like-paper skin tone to her inability to cope with the slightest hint of a hot day suggests she should have been born under the gloomy skies and mild sun of the UK. She hopes writing will get her to her rightful home one day. Failing that, she scans the skies for a spinning blue police box, hoping to catch a lift back to the motherland.
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