You know when you turn on the radio and a tune from your past suddenly blasts?
Yesterday, just as I managed to negotiate a few minutes of grown-up music from my boys, Seal decided to reward me with his deep and raspy voice. Yes, I love Seal and he brings back happy memories of home.
Yesterday, driving on the I-687 back from a children's museum after a long and arduous day chasing after three young kids with very very different interests, I heard his voice.
And it wasn't just a song. It was THE SONG. MY SONG.
I had my moment. A moment where I could almost touch, smell, taste and see that desert spot overlooking the Pyramids...
It was sunrise on a summer morning in 1995, and a good friend has agreed to wake up early and head to the Pyramids to shoot a film for a Marketing graduation project. We were wearing Bedouin clothes, and we were dreaming of hot coffee and our still warm beds. But we stood there, in awe of our surroundings, breathing in the rare fresh breeze that engulfs my city only at dawn. He likes Seal too, and he likes my SONG.
We put it on. This was the age of the CDs. They were rare, cool and we had one in the car.
We listened for a few seconds, braced ourselves for the long shoot that lay ahead and got out to face the camera lens.
Yesterday, I heard the words: "And now that your rose is is in bloom. A light hits the gloom on the grey" and I felt that moment. My notion of home has changed dramatically over the years. But the light that still shines on my city of birth, still has, at rare moments like this, the power to reach me where ever I go.
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