I had a roommate who would hum, sing, warble and perform a certain song all the time. She had no way of knowing this song brought back painful memories and it made me unhappy to hear it. When she'd sing it, I would go to my own room or would leave the apartment completely.
I decided against politely asking her not to sing the song anymore. I felt that that would require explanation and I didn't wish to share my private memories with her. Of course, I could have lied, but I don't like giving people power over me. I felt that by admitting to her that the song troubled me, she would then know something about me which I couldn't take back.
So I didn't tell her. I just tried to avoid the song. But, insidious, it would slither up in places I didn't expect. I would walk into department stores and hear it playing. It would find me in half-sleep.
And this morning, it appeared in an instrumental version on my Pandora radio.
People say that nothing has power over you unless you give it that power. According to this philosophy, I should be able to control my emotional reaction to this song. It shouldn't sadden me. It shouldn't make me catch the scent of a bittersweet bouquet of faded flowers. It shouldn't cause me to reflect on a bygone past and wonder pointlessly. I, the all-powerful human, should be able to master my mood.
Mastery of one's moods is not a particularly honest pasttime, however. If the song is a kick in the gut, there's a reason that's the case.
Stormy tempest, maelstrom of moods, wash over and confound me; I am Poseidon's daughter and I'll greet you with a smile.