"Hey Siri, play Indak by Up Dharma Down."
Have you ever played a song or a playlist on repeat during a certain period of your life until it becomes the soundtrack of who you were back then? And then, years later, you stumble upon it again—unexpectedly—and suddenly you're not just remembering that time; you're there?
Last night, scrolling through TikTok (a sleepy ritual I've clung to for years now), I came across a video with UDD's Indak playing in the background. And just like that, I was back in my university years—months on end spent with their entire discography on loop, sitting cramped in a UV Express, crawling along the daily commute from Taft to my home. One to two hours, depending on when I left campus, or whether it was raining, or whether it was a Friday.
Reminiscing used to feel lighter. Nostalgic, even—the good parts rising to the surface. But lately, when I'm pulled back through time, all I feel is sadness and yearning. It's not quite homesickness for a place. It's deeper than that. It feels like I'm mourning a previous version of myself.
Don't get me wrong—my life today isn't worse than the days I look back on. I've cycled through sadness, anger, joy, and peace. I've grown, experienced, and achieved things that younger me could only dream of. I'm truly grateful for where I am now and what I have now. And yet, I still ache for the past.
Maybe it's because I crave a time when the weight on my shoulders was lighter, a time where I was simply naive and blissfully ignorant.
Maybe it's simply the natural consequence of resisting change.
Maybe it's a quiet mid-life crisis as I inch closer to my thirties.
Or maybe—just maybe—it's the quiet curse of growing older and wiser.
And all I can do, for now, is play the same song on repeat.
