Night of the Navy Port

“The naval port is so quiet at night, the waves sway the warship softly.

A young marine rests his head on the waves like a pillow,

revealing a sweet smile from his dream…” (Su 0:16)

— “Night of the Navy Port”

My dad used to sing me this marine song as a lullaby when I was a child. The melodies created by his voice continue to echo in my mind, though I have never heard of the original song itself. On one homesick day, I found the song on Spotify and listened to the original track for the first time. It was almost a completely different, unfamiliar song. Because my dad, like me, cannot sing in tune, the feelings of comfort associated with this song belong solely to his voice. This revelation of “distorted reality” is rather a sweet and playful one. However, it makes me think of how other images of my childhood surroundings are also muffled, and became clear only when I stepped out of it.

How do you negotiate a paradoxical relationship with home? How do you portray a version of a home you only have access to while looking back from the outside?