Going through Pandora's box of troubles, I stumbled upon my collection of cassettes. It caught me by the arm and spiralled me into a pensive somewhere back in time, when waking up early was the only problem in life.
I clearly remember how I used to save pennies through months and earn these cassettes for myself. It was an era of patiently recording mixtapes and playing them over and over, in loop. Walkmans were the iPhones of that decade. I had always been a scavenger for good music and you'd still find a myriad of genres ornamenting my collection.
I scarcely share good music, just like people dislike sharing friends in fear of losing them. But back in time, sharing songs meant you were the best of friends, cassettes exchanged hands and love letters camouflaged into a list of love songs recorded poorly into mixtapes of cheap recordable cassettes. Songs lived forever, lost in scribbles on the last page of notebooks.
These bits and pieces of memories stand at the doorstep of my happy place. Funny how sometimes the memories we leave on trail, lock around our feet and never let go.
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