I closed my laptop, walked a dozen steps, and plopped myself on the bed, when the words _“I'm a big, big girl in a small, small world”_ appeared in my head, complete with a piano soundtrack. I didn’t know the artist, but a quick search led me to the song (earworm::[Big Big World by Emilia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_Big_World_(song)?useskin=vector)) on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wpkS2DU_qMs). What amazes me is that I remembered the exact tune, the lyrics—everything was perfect in my memory.
A twinge of curiosity tugged at the edges of my thoughts. _When had I last heard this song?_ I was confident I hadn’t heard it in the last decade—yet Last.fm told me otherwise: [July 3, 2023](https://www.last.fm/user/xavierroy/library/music/Emilia/_/Big+Big+World). _Hmm…_ Months had passed. *What caused this song to resurface now, of all the countless tracks I’ve heard since then?* *And why now?* I tried retracing my path through my thoughts. The thread vanished somewhere in the labyrinth of memory, a Theseus without Ariadne to guide me.
An hour later, I still didn’t know why the song sprang to life. I smiled, letting it be what it was: a fleeting, playful proof that thought and memory are never entirely ours to command. *Maybe an errant misfiring synapse*. Yet a reminder too, of some strange delights hidden in the quiet flicker of memory.
Share this post on social media.