The trees whirled past, punctuated by patterns created alongside the rows of crops that played optical illusions on fifth grade me. I rewarded myself with the comfort of the backseat of our Honda Odyssey, letting my legs sprawl across the length of the back seat . Kanye West’s College Dropout spun through my Sony CD player as Family Business and Last Call played on constant repeat-two tracks that constituted 16 minutes of muse-laced music goodness. And I thought of her, elated-ecstatic-by the news that the girl I had had a crush on for so long did indeed feel similarly to me. It was me and my thoughts, me and my CD player- me and my puppy love ridden heart. The trip up the 5 freeway could not feel any shorter.

And with one hundred Christmas dollars in hand, my Mom took me to Best Buy and I browsed through the music section, eager to expand my music collection. Bands named Good Charlotte, Blink-182, and Ludacris adorned my shopping cart. I discovered the angst of Good Charlotte’s Hold On, Blink’s I Miss You, and the humor of Ludacris’ Splash Waterfall. Inevitably followed the days of making mixes for the girls I had crushes on-a compilation of my favorite love songs, including but not limited to Andre’s Prototype, or Brett Dennen’s Desert Sunrise. I would sit in my dark room illuminated by the blue glow of our old Panasonic stereo system as I untirelessly let tracks play on repeat. Sixth grade me would lay on my bed, blinds drawn only so slightly as to welcome a few slivers of light through the window from the light post outside, cooled by intermittent summer breezes- thinking about a girl.

I would watch MTV’s TRL to discover new artists and would always be tuned in before school and before I slept, hoping to find new inspiration for the next CD I would buy. This is how the past existed, operating under moderately less convenient circumstance. A part of me yearns for these processes, a part of me hopes to be consumed by something other than existential sentiment.