We are on one of those late summer night car rides. You know, one when it’s lush with moisture in the air, with a sleepy haze in the ambience and light, shiny raindrops racing down the window. To the mellow sound of my dad’s finger tapping the wheel to the beat of the song on the radio, I concentrate on the droplet glued to my window. The raindrop animatedly slithers through its companions, and in a second is lost in the masses. The song crackles to an end, leaving us in momentary silence. Then, a familiar piano chord rings through the car. Closing my eyes, I feel myself embarking on a journey of nostalgia. “When you’re strange, Faces come out of the rain” I grin against the cold blast of air from the AC. “When you’re strange, when you’re strange, when you’re str-ange, all right yeah”

The Doors have always held a special, stowed away, place in my heart, and People Are Strange has got to be one of my all-time favourites, predominately for the emotional bondage that I have generated of it over time by listening to the all too familiar tune whilst in the car riding to school, sunbathing in the hot Mediterranean sun, or on the flights in between numerous, and wondrous destinations.

Apart from the sentimental value, this song holds, the lyrics, although simple and repetitive, hold deep, personal meaning. Tuning in to the lyrics, I cannot help but be comforted, knowing that I am no less indifferent to alienation. The words uttered out in such a melancholy strain, swathe around, and paradoxically comfort my sore heart. The reason is that for much of my short existence on this glorious, floating rock, I have often felt distanced, if not, isolated from other people around me. Every time my family would relocate, the absurdity of making new friends only to know that I shall be up and away in a short while, made me feel strange, forgotten as if no one will remember my name.