My Treasure Map to Memories

By Christina Slaven 19 October 2023, 11:00AM

“Learn to find pleasure in simple things.” Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson found motivational inspiration as a teenage writer and traveler, while my fate on the other hand is sealed by solitary confinement to the kitchen sink.  RLS had adventures, I had dirty dishes.  Like RLS, I grew up with stern parents, who felt that every member of the family must do “chores,” no matter their age.   For me starting at age six, it meant washing dishes.  Five times a day, seven days a week, I rebelled doing the miserable housework of dishes.  For the first few years, I stood on a stool with an apron tied around my neck, half as tall as a human.  Mom hovered over me throughout the years, giving non-stop instructions on doing things right the first time.  A forgotten fork or a dirty cup would earn me a sharp sasa or a pinch on the arm.  RLS hated cold climates like I hate doing dishes and as much as I hate diets! 

One morning, my parents were away, and I was left with SURPRISE - dirty dishes.  Having procrastinated until there was not a clean fork or spoon in sight, I finally resigned myself to the inevitable.  Just then, I remembered my Christmas present.  I received a pair of Bluetooth headphones.  “YEEESSS!” It occurred to me that this would help pass the time spent cleaning the kitchen and washing dishes.  But more importantly, cut the noise out from our neighbor’s lawn mowing.  It was noisy and cranky; my head was hurting, and ear drum’s were ringing.  I was willing to try anything to drown out the morning racket.

I popped the headphones on and hit play on Spotify.  I selected Shuffle and began filling the sink with hot, soapy water.  At first, I was busy getting things organized and not paying much attention to the music.  I mindlessly hummed along, washing the glasses and cups first, then the plates and cutlery.  I felt the tension growing in my shoulders and lower back.

The first few songs were Christmas melodies which brought a recent flood of memories of my families to die-for holiday feast.  An auntie’s delicious Death-by-Chocolate Koko-Samoa brownies which almost killed my thighs.  Then I recalled the trick of drinking Esi-eggnog to quell hunger pangs but couldn’t help myself to several of my uncle’s homemade faausi.  The memory of dessert came along with one sliver of my dad’s favorite fresh pineapple from our garden, a slice of homemade carrot cake topped with coconut flakes that quickly turned into three.  I remember being so stuffed  that I could do Santa’s suit justice.  I danced, reminiscing about all the goodies and family get-togethers.  I could hear my elderly aunt regaling everyone with stories of the good old days.  Entertained by my older cousin who absentmindedly reached over and grabbed a handful of nuts from the candy dish on the coffee table, swallowed after a horrible crunching sound and mustered out a loud cry when it was pointed to the potpourri and seashell centerpiece as she coughed and sputter the words, “Water?!”  We were ready to perform the Heimlich maneuver. I laugh now thinking about it as we held up the potpourri jokingly asking her before she left, “Would you like us to package the leftovers for later?”

The next song cued up, and suddenly I had gone back in time again.  The old rock classics brought a photo album of people to my mind’s eye.  I could taste the sweet, cold niu from the coconut and smell the scent of the arcadian beaches where I spent my endless, weekend afternoons.  I tasted the root-beer floats my siblings and I made under the blue twilight at the end of a long hot sunny day on the porch.  I could feel the municipal, salty wind on my face as I trotted downtown with friends on the seawall and Friday night market stalls.    

The next song talked of a romantic getaway, and there I was slow dancing with my crush at a school dance in Year 6.  I could see myself dressed in red, delicate pua flowers ornamented in my gilded poodle’s hair, as I giggled in the bathroom with my girlfriends.  For the next hour, every song was a time capsule, every melody a window into bits and pieces of my past.  I sang at the top of my lungs, danced in place as I washed faithfully, and used the spatula as a mic as I belted out one beloved tune after another.  Sometimes, I laughed aloud at the memories; other times, I got lost in what-ifs.  I thought of people I had not heard from in many years and those who had passed on.

A few songs opened doors I thought had been long sealed shut.  I wondered if this would be the song playing when my future husband proposes or nourishment for my imagination as I embark on an epic tale to sail uncharted waters like the protagonist David Balfour in Kidnapped. 

Finally, those pesky dishes were done, an unchanging dullness and the kitchen cleaned. I was just about to hit the power button when I heard the first notes from the orchestra.  The first time I heard it, it was my very first love for Asian drama-Kangchi.  I was brought to tears by its beauty of romance and soulful notes.  The world-renowned Asian opera singers, Yisabel-Seo Hwa and Wol Ryung ended the song with a note that seemed to hang in midair.  It held me captive, powerless to breathe until the note ended.

As the note faded away, the floodgates opened, and I let go of all the bad times and unhappy moments of my childhood.  I cried for that child I used to be, for the people long gone and lost to me.  I cried because I was thankful that, for whatever reason, my lesson came wrapped in the one thing that has been a constant companion in my life - the treasure map to memories found in music.    

While RLS may have penned his adventurous voyages in storybooks, I have dirty dishes and melodies to briefly relive mine.  Since that day last year, I have come to see those headphones as an anecdote from boredom, a time machine, a portal to other paradises, a therapy session, a comforting friend, and good medicine for laughter all at the same time.  When the silence of living during times like these gets too loud, I remember the quote from Robert Louis Stevenson- “learn to find pleasure in simple things,” and hit PLAY.

Christina Slaven is a Year 12 student at Robert Louis Stevenson Secondary School. This literary piece by her was placed second in the Year 12 English category of the Samoa Observer Short Story Competition.

 

By Christina Slaven 19 October 2023, 11:00AM
Samoa Observer

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