#lyricalessay

 Love felt like the only language I understood.

Between the ages of 17 and 21.

It started as a fairytale and ended like a tide that pulled me back to shore when I thought I was drowning. These eight songs were not just soundtracks but emotional timestamps, echoing who I was and who I was about to become.

At eighteen, Lover by Taylor Swift made everything feel enchanted. He was my first heartbreak in the making, half-Chinese, curly-haired, and beautiful almond eyes that held all kinds of secrets. He said my name like it was a promise, and I believed him. We held hands like we were writing the future together, and I wrapped myself in the comfort of being chosen. ‘You really think I’m not serious about you?’ he asked one night, brushing my cheek. I nodded, hoping he meant it. With this song playing in my mind, I thought forever was something we could build and live inside, like a home filled with slow mornings and walls lined with old photos of us.

On November 19, 2022, 'Turn the Lights Down Low' by Max was playing in his car the night we first kissed. The streetlights blurred into constellations, and I memorized the way he looked at me like I was his one and only. That kiss felt like a vow, like a moment that would last for a lifetime, oblivious to his crimes.

  With a ‘Thousand Years’ by Christina Perri, I opened my heart to something new, something great, something lasting. I thought that I had found the kind of love worth waiting a lifetime for. ‘This feels different. Like the kind of love people don’t get twice,’ I told my friend. But loving him felt natural and true. I didn’t know that loving deeply does not mean someone is yours to keep.

When things started to drift, I listened to ‘Dandelions’ by Ruth B and made a quiet wish for us to continue to be. Love began to feel weightless and out of reach. I clung to hope that one day, he would change just for me.

By nineteen, ‘How You Gonna’ by Sydney Renae played through my headphones like a confrontation. ‘How could he just walk away after I gave him all I had?’ I asked my reflection.

The silence was louder than any breakup line; I was grieving someone who was never mine.

  'Slow Dancing in the Dark' by Joji became the sound of my unravelling. I stayed in love with a moment- a memory, trying to push myself through a brick wall. Pretending it still meant something after all. Then came ‘Who’ by BTS and Lauv, gentle but brutal. I did not recognize him anymore. ‘You’re not the boy I fell in love with,’ I whispered to a text I never sent. The answers never came, though, only the hollow reverberations of a truth I was just beginning to face.

Finally, ‘Good Days’ by SZA gave me the power I needed to exhale. Healing wasn’t a category 5 hurricane, but a steady rain. It was laughing again. Breathing again. Living again. I wasn’t chasing love anymore because love was never about who stayed or left; it was about what I chose to carry forward.

I am asked who am I?

What makes me who I am?

Let’s begin with my name. 

Bina Pratima Bipat. 

Yeah, that’s a mouthful but it’s mine.

Some ask how I got this name. 

It goes back in time to my culture.

The signs they say. The signs tell it all. 

Taking my birth time and the stars gave me my name. 

Well part of it. The B in Bina specifically. 

My parents had options, but Bina was best. 

So yeah, it’s Bina. 

But for as long as I can remember 

I am asked to pronounce my name.

Again.

I want to say it the correct way, for once. 

I’m asked what my name is, and I stumble.

I start and then I stop.

Bina.

The meaning of my name they ask.

Knowledge, insight. 

People say it’s very interesting.

That it sounds and I look so Indian. 

I spent my life correcting people.

My name easier to say than most.

They ask if I’m sure it's not B E E N A?

Yes, I’m sure.

But I question myself:

Is it truly this way?

Yes, that’s what my mom says.

No, I won’t allow them to doubt me.

I wear it proudly.

That is my name.

B I N A.

Now Pratima.

That’s my middle name. 

Much longer than my first but less used. 

It means a sacred image. 

My grandmother pick it. 

Said it fit well with Bina. 

So I’m stuck with a name I don’t use.

P R A T I M A. 

My last name is Bipat. 

Means hardship.

Oh yes, hardship. 

Never heard of this name before. 

Sounds quite odd together. 

But its mine. 

B I P A T. 

I can’t see myself as any other name though. 

I remember my mom saying it was the best name ever. 

I don’t know about that but its something. 

Oh my mother. The crazy lady who raised me. 

Only said things for the best. 

Gives me so much advice. 

“Wash the clothes on Saturday and fold them.

Wash the dishes on Tuesday and put them in the cabinet. 

Don’t walk without your keys.

Slowly cook the fish in the hottest oil. 

Soak your contacts after you take them off.

When buying a top to make yourself a nice outfit.

Be sure that it does have stains on it.

Soak the chicken overnight before you cook it. 

Don’t speak during Sunday church.

You mustn’t speak to strangers, not even for a second

Don’t eat outside food-we have food home.

This is how to make a fold in the shirt.

This is how to put away the clothes you don’t need but continue to buy.

This is how you iron your father’s work shirt so it doesn’t have a crease.

This is how you iron your father’s work pants so they don’t have a crease.

This is how to open the curtain and let the sun in. 

This is how to do more than just sit on the couch and act all lazy.

This is how you sweep a corner.

This is how you sweep a whole house.

This is how you water the plants.

This is how you smile to someone you don’t like at all.

This is how you smile to someone you like.

This is how you smile to someone you don’t know.

This is how you dress to go out.

This is how you dress with company.

This is how you dress for a party.

This is how you dress for dinner.

This is how you dress in the house.

This is how to behave in the presence of company who don’t know you very well.

Be sure to oil your hair, even twice a day.” 

I hated doing it but I had to. 

She said it’s important for its health. 

“Don’t yell when playing card-its not ladylike.

Don’t take things from people-you know its wrong.

Don’t throw food for the birds, because it might attract more than birds. 

This is how to make custard. 

This is how to make chicken curry.

This is how to make pepper pot.

This is how to make a good tonic for a cold.

This is how to make a good medicine to get rid a cough before it even becomes a cold.

This is how to buy a fish. 

This is how to put back a fish you don’t like. 

This is how to find a good job. 

This is how to find a bad job.

This is how to enjoy a job. 

This is how to do a job even if you don’t want to.  

This is how to decide live. 

This is how to act quickly if it turns upside down.

This is how to make ends meet. 

Always check your clothes to make sure it’s pristine.”

She always has something to say. 

Sometimes harsh or gentle. 

But always for a reason. 

That reason being me. 

But that doesn’t mean I don’t respond. 

I know she means well but it’s annoying. 

“Why can’t I just live how I want?”

“Can you just stop?”

“I’m tired of hear these expectations.”

I have memories that make me sad and happy.

Some that make me smile. 

Some that make me want to cry. 

I remember being so free. 

I remember wanting to grow up immediately. 

Then realizing I need to stop and just live. 

I remember graduating with my head held high

I remember total frustration over how to fold a shirt. 

I remember jewelry stores with glass displays.

You could try on before you bought them, or didn’t. 

I remember, in thrift stores, gold elephants in different sizes. 

From small to large, with beautiful designs. 

I remember, at the circus, the acrobats would twist their body. 

Then how quickly they recovered. 

I remember “crazy 8’s”, “blackjack”, “trump”, and “war.”

I remember the stories about living back home. 

I remember being more than a bit disappointed over not living in a castle.

I remember spinning a chair until I saw two of everything. 

I remember going ant hunting and keeping a very accurate account of how many found. 

I remember pizza parties. 

I remember dad jokes that weren’t funny at all. 

I remember riddles that were so hard to find a reply.

I remember “monopoly” and “snakes & ladders.”

I remember Disney movies that took up my life. 

I remember, when a I lied, trying to look so innocent.

Even if, I was not so innocent. 

I remember my fantasies of seeing the lights of every city in the night. 

I remember stories about how life would have been different if we didn’t move here. 

I remember rumors that we would sell our home and never return. 

I remember fantasies of what I would say to the family that thinks they could judge me.

I remember awkward silent moments. 

I remember having daily ice cream trips. 

I remember drawing outside of the lines like it didn’t matter. 

I remember dressing up for Halloween to collect candy from the neighbors. 

I remember emptying your whole bag to find the tiny lip balm at the bottom. 

I remember sleepily nights watching television. 

I remember how exhausting it was to start the next day. 

I remember getting up every morning for school at the same time.

One morning not as tired as the rest.

But still sleeping as late as other days. 

I remember birthday parties, being the center of attention.

How hard it was not to run away. 

I remember trying not to cry at sad endings.

I can’t help it. I just happens. 

I remember waking up for church early, just to see my friends.

I remember the exact moment, I found out we were going on vacation. 

Trying my hardest to stop smiling. 

I remember being on the plane so excited for us to takeoff. 

I remember daydreaming throughout school. 

Never knowing what topic we were on. 

I remember not forgetting I had more than one name.

Not realizing I was being spoken to. 

I remember asking why my name is what it was. 

I remember saying goodbye to my friends. 

I remember a dream of living my best life and then waking up to reality. 

I remember starting college. 

Thinking is this going to be my new reality?

I don’t know but hopefully it works out. 

Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong. 

I feel like my life isn’t meeting full potential. 

It makes me wonder is it worth living?

I wake up everyday and go through my routine. 

Dress for comfort and comb my hair. 

I stare at the memories on my phone. 

Asking to replicate those memories. 

Hope with willingness. 

With eagerness. 

Hope that who I am will always have a history of happiness. 

As a little girl, during the fall season, my parents and I always visited Canterbury Village. It was almost always on a Sunday after church. Canterbury Village is most famous for their year-round Christmas store, and as a family that put up 7 Christmas trees around the house, we always found something we thought we needed. One item that always came home with us was fresh pinecones and cinnamon sticks. I knew the exact places these would be distributed throughout our home, and I loved smelling them in the car on the ride home. This is what a family day smelled like to me and in the following days, up until the pinecones lost their smell and the cinnamon became stale, it reminded me of the time we spent together, and it still does. That was home.

No one knows when it happens exactly, but at random times during your life, a smell and a memory marry themselves up. Several years later when you smell that specific smell, you can’t help but be taken back in time to that memory. Turns out, there is evidence of smell and memory being closely linked together. There is a system that most everyone has called the olfactory system. This is your sense of smell. Psychology Today talks about how the olfactory bulb has a direct connection to two areas of the brain that deal with emotion and memory. It is mentioned that information from the other senses does not pass through these two specific areas of the brain. The amygdala and hippocampus are only accessed through the olfactory system.

“…the smell of Sunday chicken after church” one of the country singer Kenny Chesney’s famous lines in his song “I go back” connects the idea of smell arousing the senses and taking you back to another place from a distant memory. The song lyrics reference a number of different places that he recalls from his childhood. The smell of an old gym floor, his old church, a Chevy truck, and even a few friends that he has lost along the way. The idea of wanting to go back to that place in your past and feeling like it is within grips is something most of us experience with great intensity at some point.

A group of individuals from Brown University did an experiment to see if smells really did activate the amygdala. They used a fMRI, which is a test that shows brain activity. Participants were asked to choose a specific perfume scent. They smelled a random perfume scent along with their chosen perfume in the scanner. The study showed the greatest activation in the amygdala and region surrounding the hippocampus is when the participant smelled their chosen perfume rather than the random perfume they were also asked to smell. This must mean that familiar smells do activate an otherwise exclusive part of our brain that triggers certain emotions and memories.

It is funny how a smell can transport you back in time. I remember smelling the same pot roast recipe in my parent’s kitchen on a Sunday afternoon that I now make in my own kitchen. Back then, I didn’t even like to eat pot roast. I hated that the meat was stringy and got stuck in between my braces. I always knew if Mom was making pot roast, within a few hours my uncles would be over to have dinner with us. They would always turn on the football game in the living room and start yelling at the TV while the cornbread went into the oven. Back then, this was such an annoying noise and I just wanted to keep my headphones in to drown out the sounds of referee whistles and crowds cheering.

“I can still smell your perfume… unforgettable” Thomas Rhett wrote his song Unforgettable about his wife and one of their first dates. He recalls in the song how he can still smell her perfume that day and how it makes that specific date feel unforgettable in the best way possible.

A study concerning smell and emotion was conducted with individuals suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Specifically, one individual that stood out during the study was a man that would experience involuntary reactions such as disturbing thoughts, nausea, and immense guilt when smelling diesel fuel. He avoided situations where he may smell diesel, like driving behind trucks because it was such an intense reaction for him. He was a veteran that served in Vietnam and the smell of gas reminded him of a time where he couldn’t save his fellow soldiers. Some days are unforgettable in the worst of ways.

“The smell of your perfume is floating down the stairs… I’m speechless” from Dan + Shay’s hit song Speechless talks about being overcome with emotion to the point that you don’t have words to express feelings. A smell can trigger big emotions as well as distant memories sometimes leaving the person unable to express how they feel.

Here I lay for what seems like an eternity, broken. Defeated. Unaware of your intentions from the start, your light amidst the murk inevitably beckoned me to your side. So attracted to the unknown with wings weighted down from the earth’s debris, our encounter was inexorable.

I approached you. The closer I got, the warmer I felt. “This is where I belong…yes. Yes, this feels right!” The appeal to touch became increasingly consuming! I reached out my hand, “This is where I belo-”