Listening to Sinatra

Last night, as I was on the train back from London and feeling slightly exhausted (it was difficult getting through a thought-provoking article after a hectic weekend in England's capital), I decided to turn my iPod on and listened to a few songs by Buddy Holly, whose music I've come to appreciate of late. Somehow, my housemate Emily's recent keyboard practices of Frank Sinatra songs gave me the urge to change my playlist to that of Ol' Blue Eyes. Listening to 'Strangers in the Night' made me realise how long it had been since I properly listened to Sinatra's music. The song's familiarity took me back to the time when Dad used to sing it on the karaoke system and how he would tell me about what a big hit it was in his younger days. Sinatra's haunting baritone also took me back to a time when I was a dreamer, someone who clung to fantastic ideals and a relatively rose-tinted view of the world we live in. Someone who wanted to live for others, who wanted to love others. By the end of the song, I was left realising how much had changed since, that somewhere along the way, this dreamer had surreptitiously sneaked away. Listening to Sinatra made me miss Dad. It also made me miss me.