Skip to main content

Meet me at midnight

 When the clock struck midnight, you were scrolling through reels. In America, people were going to get the chance to listen to your future favorite album as soon as it came out, in the dead of night, with the world silent around them. You would have to wait for those precious fifteen minutes between classes the next morning and pray and hope that you would be able to squeeze at least five songs in. Small favors huh?

The thing is, you’re really excited, and you feel happier than you’ve felt in a long time. Because that’s just what her music does to you. At a time when people are still searching for happiness that lasts for more than a fleeting second, you’ve found something that has been bringing you joy for the last two years. Taylor Swift.

You can’t seem to explain just what it is about her. Maybe it is her voice, the way it sounds like a friend, a big sister, and a cool aunt at the same time. Maybe it is her lyrics that say everything that you want to say and induce feelings you didn’t even know existed. Maybe it’s the way she talks like she studied the entire guidebook of life and is willing to share its secrets. Maybe it's nothing about her, maybe it is about you.

Every song has a different character, the crazy ex-girlfriend, the girl who can’t stop getting her heart broken, the girl who still has some internalized misogyny to work through, the girl who believes in fairy tales, the girl who doesn’t believe in true love, the one who does and the woman who has finally figured out what love is. You know what she’s doing because you do it too. Hiding parts of yourself in each character you create, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

You feel oddly protective of her music, you know the lyrics by heart and whenever you’re having a bad day, just singing along to her songs can make things better. You still can’t explain it but your Swiftie friends understand it just the same. They like different songs, maybe they prefer the bops to the ballads or vice versa but it doesn’t matter because it is all her. The fun, the heartbreak, the melancholia, the thoughtfulness, the regret, the sorrow, the softness, the love, it is all her.

So the next day, you put on your singular piece of Taylor Swift merch and pack in your earphones. When the clock strikes ten, you look at the only other Swiftie in the room who gives you a thumbs up and twenty minutes later, you are both at the back of the class, letting the lavender haze creep up on you. Fingernails stained with maroon tapping a beat to Antihero, imagining snow on the beach and dancing in midnight rain. The nostalgia hits hard, making you feel like you’re a kid again, all on your own, full of questions. Making up stories of vigilantes and masterminds, lost in labyrinths of lies. In spite of everything, you’re still bejeweled because karma and you just vibe like that.   


For J, A, and R who are the queens of my heart, and N who always says ‘what a beautiful mind’ even though this happens all the time.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Think They Call This Love

  It was 4:30 am on a beautiful January morning and for once you didn’t have to drag yourself out of bed. The day was a special one because it was the day someone you’d looked up to your whole life was starting the next chapter of hers. As you put on your cotton dress and grabbed your bridesmaid stuff, you couldn’t help but feel excited. You always loved the idea of love, and in a couple of hours you were going to see two people who were crazy in love finally make it official. You had a sense of déjà vu as you walked up the steps to the bride’s apartment. Six years ago, you’d trudged up these very steps, tired and sleepy, mentally cursing the guy who’d invented Math. Yeah, you could multiply, divide, and recite the first six digits of Pi but at what cost? You don’t miss the 6 am Math tutions but you have to admit that you do miss coming here and hanging out with your favorite teacher even if it meant having to act like decimals were even remotely interesting.   The bride w...

The Friends We Make Along The Way

Cleaning out your cupboard has always been one of your favorite activities. Not because you particularly like cleaning, but because you’re always bound to find some old dusty diary that you’d used and discarded years ago. For you, discarding something means shoving it onto one of three shelves and rediscovering it a year or two later. This particular diary falls into your hands five years after you’d put it away, and out of idle curiosity, you flip through the pages. There are at least six different types of handwriting in the diary, but none of them are yours. That’s when you realise this isn’t just an ordinary diary, it’s a culmination of ten years’ worth of friendships.    You barely remember the day you bought the colorful diary to school, but you do have a distinct memory of peering over your friend’s shoulder, trying to read what she’s scribbling inside. She glares at you, and you take a step back, giving her her privacy. Another friend takes out her packet of colored ...

The intimacy of being understood

They say that you don’t know the value of what you have until you lose it. You don’t agree, you know the value of what you have when you’re sitting in a café with your best friend and a good friend and you laugh at a joke and she looks over at the friend and says, “I know it looks like she’s being fake but trust me, that was genuine.” She’s known you for three years and she already knows when you’re happy, when you’re trying to be happy, when you’re sad, when you’re annoyed, when you’re restraining yourself from having an all-out argument with someone, when you’re complaining about not having something you don’t even want, when you’re talking about something simply because you want to talk and when you’re nonchalantly talking about something that you would trade a kidney for. It’s what being understood feels like and it’s enough to make a grown woman with a heart cry. Everyone wants to be loved, it’s natural, but being loved can hurt. It can cause immeasurable pain and conflict bet...