Classic Rock | Musings of a Taiwanese American Adoptee

What is it about summertime that takes me back to my youth?

The older I get, the more aware I become that there are fewer summers ahead than behind me. There’s a Portuguese word for this feeling: saudade. It describes a deep, melancholic longing for a person, a place, or even a version of yourself that is gone and may never return. It’s the bittersweet ache of being grateful the past existed while quietly mourning that it’s gone.

I can actually feel the word saudade. It’s a sensation that settles somewhere between my heart, my throat, and my belly.

There’s also senescence, but hell, saudade sounds a whole lot sexier 🤣

Summers were uncomfortably hot in the South. I grew up in Bossier City, Louisiana, where heat, humidity, mosquitos, and very large bugs were part of life. Yes, we had a bug zapper hanging from the metal canopy over our backyard patio.

I remember lying on the front lawn during my childhood, staring into an endless blue sky, picking dandelions just to blow their fluffy seeds into the wind. Every once in a while, I’d wander to the ditch behind our neighborhood, catching minnows, crawdads, and toads, all the while hoping my parents didn’t catch me; they strictly forbid going anywhere near the ditch.

Yep. That was childhood in Louisiana.

Summers were also for swimming, of course. I lived in a two-piece 😂 My parents had a pool built in our backyard, and the anticipation of finally being able to jump in felt like waiting for Christmas morning.

Ironically, once it was filled with water, I was terrified to jump in. I clung to the side of the pool until my mom enrolled me in swimming lessons at the local YMCA. How I hated those lessons. Swimming lap after lap felt like torture.

I became a strong swimmer though. You couldn’t keep me out of the water after that. There were countless afternoons and pool parties with my girlfriends, our skin glistening with baby oil as we stretched out in the blazing Louisiana sun for hours. Back then, a tan was the goal. We had no idea we were collecting the sun damage we’d spend decades trying to undo.

Music has always been like a time capsule.

This morning I was listening to Fantasy by Aldo Nova. Some of you may be too young to know who he is, but hearing that song immediately transported me back to my youth. I have a classic rock soul, though I love other genres of music. (Country is probably my least favorite… although I did have a country music phase in the mid-2000s!)

There are a few artists who never fail to stir memories like Blue Öyster Cult, Red Rider, Robert Plant, The Police, Fleetwood Mac, Scorpions, Duran Duran, Adam Ant, Blondie, AC/DC, Night Ranger, Def Leppard, Van Halen, Styx, Eagles, Journey, Rush, April Wine, and Foreigner. I’m sure I’m forgetting a few, but you get the idea.

Certain songs are like time machines, carrying me back to who I was, where I was, and how I felt. My first heartbreak. Summertime freedom. The quiet, rebellious part of me that wouldn’t fully emerge until years later, after I stopped trying so hard to fit in. I was fortunate to grow up surrounded by unforgettable music, and those songs are like old friends whenever they find their way back to me.

I think certain songs mysteriously call out, wanting to be listened and paid attention to. Perhaps it’s my guides. Perhaps it’s my own intuition gently reminding me to sit with this feeling of saudade. To embrace getting older instead of resisting it.

I’ve lived a life filled with brilliant moments and profoundly painful ones, as we all have. And there’s still a part of me trying to make sense of it all, searching for meaning in the moments that hurt the most.