Last night, I walked while listening to Frank Sinatra's voice melting in my ears crooning to strangers in the night, while it was raining outside. It certainly added to the effect of feeling one with his voice and the wistful longing that rainy nights bring with them.
I was in a taxi (über) in Berlin on my way to Neukölln from a restaurant near Charlottenburger straße after a farewell dinner when I found myself recognising the voice from the radio. As I let the music wash over my senses, I quipped to the driver asking if it was Frank Sinatra singing. He said he didn't know but checked in a minute and beamed happily that it was Sinatra. The joy that arose in my heart at the recognition comforted me. I happily spent my time in the cab listening to the music as we passed the dark streets that night. Something about Sinatra singing in his low notes tugs at the deepest core in our hearts. He brings to senses long lost memories, a nostalgia that is deeply rooted in time and comes flooding with mellow recognition.
I feel as though I dream of memories that haven't occured but are stuck in my head. They are events that perhaps my mind has conjured due to the charm that Sinatra's voice lends itself to the stories he sings. The simplicity of the times are a longing that my now isolated self due to the pandemic seeks to cling to. The rainy dread that presents itself so often because it brings with itself the feeling of being caged is now lost. We are caged since a year; not just in our homes but also in our heads and hearts where they are frequently clashing. We are tired and not even the usual dreadful dreams from the past now scare us.
In this dread, I seek a safe solace in Frank Sinatra singing on this rainy night.
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