When this song first came out, I hated it. Like, in my gut I hated it. I hated the message, I thought it was sad, I knew that there was truth in the lyrics but I wished that there wasn’t. I was angry with the artist for articulating these thoughts and seemingly making them okay, even if I often love the subversion of so-called normalcy regarding different subjects and emotions or dare I say, a woman.
One night last week, I managed to break off from my family and spend some time walking the streets of Paris alone, listening to my iPod. In my opnion, alone, on foot, and with your own soundtrack is the best way to experience any city (I feel that this is most especially true about New York). I’m sure someone well-known has said that much better than I have before, but for the sake of this blog, we’ll work with my version.
When this song popped up on shuffle, my first instinct was to change to the next track. I was already walking with a heavy heart and a clouded mind and didn’t want to put myself in a worse mood by listening to lyrics that have reminded me of the reasons I’ve had my heart broken and my idea of what my life would turn out to be at least a handful of times. But for some reason, I let it play. I took in the lyrics and my surroundings and allowed a few hot tears to run down my face as I looked down at the cobblestone sidewalks.
Somewhere over the last couple of years, I changed. I became the person that related to these words, who adopted them as my anthem without even realizing it. I used to cringe with resentment and regret when I’d hear these words, afraid to admit that I even understood what this song was about, that I’d been hurt or otherwise affected by a protagonist like this. Now I am that person, in a way. Not so jaded, I hope, but certainly a version of it.
I think the way we change and turn into a person we never expected or cared to be is so interesting. It’s so trite yet like, one of the most interesting things about being a human. Part of me feels embarrassed to find such fascination in my self-discovery, it’s pathetic and masturbatory and again, completely hackneyed, but I don’t know what else it is you’re supposed to do when allowing yourself to recall the quiet cry you had in the freezing cold streets of Paris on your personal blog.