It’s often at the dead at night I play my playlist “여유로운 드라이브.” It translates to “a relaxing drive” in English but there’s so much lost in translation. English fails to capture the lilting L-sounds of Korean that mimic the rolling feeling of calm that washes over me as I play the eighteen tracks to sleep. English fails to capture the memories associated with these eighteen tracks, tracks I hold dear to my heart.

The spotify description for my playlist is ambiguous. “Classics from my childhood that never fail to make me fall asleep.” But oh, it’s so much more than that. The unlimited character limit is too public for me to spill what these eighteen tracks symbolize in my life. It’s less about the individual songs, but more about the constancy they had in my life.

My mother bought CDs one, two, and three from Korea when I was seven. The box set it came in was crumpled on the journey here, plastic casing cracked, but the CDs still intact. I have a special attachment with CD one. I’m not too sure if it’s because of the tracks themselves or if it’s because of the sense of tranquility the cover image gives me.

It depicts an image of an emerald green convertible Volkswagen Beetle. There’s a lone vintage suitcase propped upright on the flat sand surface. Oh, and there’s the sea. The sea is a light blue. It’s not the color you see when you go to the beach or the color you see when you see an image of a beach resort online. It’s so uniquely this CD. A color I’ll forever associate with this CD.

This cd has nothing profound for me on the surface level. The tracks don’t have lyrics that was able to influence how I lived life. But the tracks tell a story that shaped who I am today. Some helped mold my sleeping schedule, some taught me to find inner peace and patience, while others gave me rose-tinted glasses.

The first track is <Salut d’Amour>. “Greeting of love” in French. I’ve written about love (or at least what I know of it) with this song on repeat. Hell, I’ve written stories inspired by the swooping feelings of my heart whenever I hear the first strings. But I’ve been ignoring what those swooping feelings mean to me.

I want my future to encapsulate the essence of this song. If my life were a movie, a reel of my future will have this song as the backing track. The bright sound of the violin reminds me of my soul, blazing and vivid. The harmonies of the piano will be the love of my life grounding me in a comfortable manner, tethering me to reality and teaching me what home really means. (I want to float, but the snug rope around my waist is a welcome feeling.)

This song represents unconditional love. From my friends, future lover, and future family. And it also represents my unconditional love for them as well.

The fourth track is <Canon in D>. My love and appreciation for this song is rather shallow compared to <Salut d’Amour>. It’s a song I want to walk down the aisle to. The venue silent, save for the soft plucking of the bass and smooth crescendo of the other violins. I’m not particularly beautiful, and I won’t be particularly beautiful in the future either but the white gown on me will be awe-inspiring. The hush of the audience will be at the sight of my dress (and by extension, me to some extent) but I won’t mind, not when I see my future spouse waiting by the altar or linked arm in arm with me. (Will they have a pressed tuxedo? A white gown as brilliant as mine??)

Alas, that fantasy-like bubble is soon popped with a god-forsaken Spotify advert. I’m suddenly reminded of who and where I really am. (But I still imagine time and time again.)