My first note-worthy experience with my Sony Walkman was when I was ten years old and school had just ended for the Christmas. I remember sitting cross-legged on my parquet floored room, rummaging through a shoe-box jam-packed with mixed tapes, searching for the ones filled with swoon-worthy songs from Michael Learns to Rock, the Backstreet Boys and Hanson (my musical obsession at that age) when my brother poked his head into my room and told me it was time to go. I grabbed my black Sony Walkman off my night table, randomly plucked two tapes from my collection, stuffed them in my pink Jansport haversack and ran out my room.

It was four am, and while I normally would be a moody-grouchy mess at that hour, annoyed at having had to cut my beauty sleep short, I was pumped full of excitement. The prospect of two whole months travelling through various states in America and Canada is bound to make any child happy. I followed my family – and our humongous pile of luggage – out our condominium apartment, down the five stories in the elevator, and into the waiting taxis. Half an hour later, we were in Singapore Changi Airport, in line at the American Airlines counter checking-in our luggage.

I was bored.

The check-in process was barely exciting – too much standing, putting up with the noise from fellow children accompanying their parents on equally exciting trips abroad, and the never-ending wait to reach the overly made-up counter lady giving bored smiles to passengers. I plopped my pink haversack on the ground, dug through the sweaters and notebooks and what other nonsense I had packed, feeling for the cold metal that I knew would provide an escape from this snake-like hellhole of a line. I found it tangled in my sweater together with the tapes I had thrown in with it. I stuffed the earphones in my ear, inserted one of the tapes, pressed play, and instantly Jascha Richter (singer of MLTR) crooned "I won't forget the way you're kissing / The feeling's so strong were lasting for so long / But I'm not the man your heart is missing / That's why you go away I know"

Why the hell I would swoon whenever that song would play on the radio or through the earphones of my Sony Walkman I cannot now recall – I am pretty sure the only loving I was doing at that age was crushing over Zac Hanson and this adorable boy in my class, who both – in retrospect – did not warrant any swooning since I was ten, had no real grasp of the notion of love or the concept of leaving someone heartbroken and obviously had yet to romantically kiss anyone. But aside from that little weird fact, I was glad I had my Sony Walkman with me to accompany me throughout check-in process, the walk towards the gate, and even – oddly enough – in the plane as it soared over the Pacific Ocean. I know that it was rather dangerous of me to whip my Walkman out in the middle of my 13-hour flight since it had an a.m/ f.m radio feature which could have easily disrupted the airplane’s radio signal bullshit (I clearly know nothing about airplane jargon) and caused a plane crash (not really sure if that would really happen); but I was having difficulty sleeping (the airplane seat was rubbing my back the wrong way) and needed the soothing voices of the Backstreet Boys to lull me to bed – even if it meant crashing the plane. Of course the plane didn’t crash because here I am blogging about me being stupid at the age of 10.

Anyway, more than 13 hours and various stopovers later, I found myself stepping through the clear sliding doors of Chicago O’Hare International Airport, freezing to death as the chilly wind bit my face a gazillion times, forcing me to wrap my tiny little head with my furry gray scarf. I stood by the curb, together with my family, watching the crazily choreographed dance of the mess of vehicles dropping and picking up passengers as we waited endlessly for our rental to arrive. Eventually it did; and with my earphones still snug in my ear, blasting the same songs that had been playing during the long tedious flight and the even more boring check-out process, I hopped into the white van, cradled my Sony Walkman between my hands and stared out the window – ready to live the next two months of my life travelling between San Francisco (where my grandparents once lived) and Crystal Lake (where my dad once spent some time working) and other various states we would visit over the following weekends.

Sometimes – like right now – when I try to remember how it had felt to see vast fields of white almost everyday during our little stint in Illinois as opposed to Singapore’s scorching concrete jungle, I search through youtube and watch endless videos of Michael Learns to Rock and I remember.

When Jascha’s voice dances out my speakers, I get transported back to the stretch of highway leading to our hotel and I remember the shadows of sleeping trees whipping past as my dad drove through the night. Then the image triggers remembrance of Chicago and Crystal Lake and the annoying pooping ducks that stained the cottony-morning snow; and how the car window would sometimes appear cracked from frost, and how I’d press my cheek against it to see how long I could stand the cold, before tracing shapes.

As the song reaches its peak, I would imagine a blanket of ivory weighing down the shadows, frost dancing along the window, and my index finger - as it traced imagined cracks in the air – would shiver; then, I began to feel like how I would always feel during the numerous car-rides along the highway, as my ten-year old eyes focused on the blur of blanketed trees under the frosty twilight, while the music blasting out my Sony Walkman hushed the voices of my parents upfront. I felt cold, yet satisfyingly warm, like the embrace of honey spiked tea trickling down my esophagus to tickle my tummy happy, uncaring towards the numbness of skin and chatter of teeth.

Wonderful.

I guess at ten years old, my mind had already conditioned itself to automatically add a corresponding soundtrack to memories. The most memorable times of my young life is peppered with music, not just to help me remember as I age and forget, but to enhance the experience as I was living it.

So my Sony Walkman definitely gave significance in my life just like Sony's World’s First Noise Canceling Portable Music Player which will provide my mind a clearer soundtrack to add to my ever active life; because when you think about it, me staring out the window now as my driver chauffeurs me to school in the morning is not as interesting as me staring out the window with Fightstar's "Mono" dancing in my ears, turning my mind into a swirly mess as each quivering note urges me to escape into the glimmering orange-red tint hiding behind gray clouds upon a pale blue canvas.