My Discman

I will not speak for anyone else, but the Covid-19 age has brought out certain traits in my character that I never wanted to consider. My book collection has grown exponentially (Facebook's Marketplace has ruined me). My running habit has made me actually look forward to getting out of the house. I have joined several online pages that allow me to write, scribble, note my thoughts, and continue with the idea that I can be creative in the worst of times.

And I am also aware of the place where I live. My neighborhood is quiet, safe, dull and not always my favourite place to contemplate my life. My home is quiet, safe, dull and not always my favourite place to clean up. But of course, I do take the time to keep it looking respectable, meaning that I go through too many old boxes, wonder about why I keep so many things (my t-shirt collection is quite impressive), and try to toss out what no longer works for me.

And that is when I found something from my past that I thought was either lost, stolen, or simply buried someplace by some other technophile in my life: my old Sony Discman.

I am not sure why I bothered to dig it out and see if it could still work. I have lost use of a tablet and my laptop is too addictive to use all day (and it does not really fit in my pocket). Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I have not really been listening to music the way I once did. Instead of letting an album be my focus, now I just let the songs on my phone wash over me as I sit on a bus commuting to work.

And I blame my time overseas for this.

I spent three years in Japan as an ESL (English as a Second Language Instructor). In that time, I was also published in the Japan Times, climbed Mt. Fuji, swam in the Sea of Japan, hiked around an island whose purpose was once a point of banishment for political exiles, tried many unique types of food and drink (see my entry on 'Tsukudani'), fell in love (no further details needed), and became a truly fascinated observer and consumer of my new home.

It is not that I had no Walkman with me when I landed. My first Discman could have substituted as a doorstop. In my shared home, I was laughed at the first time I pulled it out to play a CD and was told that I could do much better with my listening devices. I had to be patient; I had to be paid; I also had to be introduced to Akihabara (nicknamed 'Electronic Town'). Now, this is the area of Tokyo for people who think that Tokyo only has anime, video games and new digital toys. I still regret not purchasing a watch I saw that came with a small monitor and a remote (you could watch TV on it). In my defense, it was in the late 90s...and there was nothing that good on, anyway.

But seriously, I did finally get my Discman, some unique Japanese interpretations of hip-hop, jazz and reggae (one group called Dry and Heavy will always remain a favourite in the latter category). And then I came back home to school, work and the life of a man who thought that the Discman died out with grunge, vinyl records (apologies), and my hair (another long story). But here I am, once again, playing my past.

Nostalgia much? Yes, I do, and I am sure that there are many of you out there who also have some old device buried in a drawer, box, attic or sofa cushion that you still think of.

Maybe you should dig it up and think about why you loved it so in the first place. You probably have the time for reminiscing over that obsolescent toy.

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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