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I’m truly content with the opportunity’s music opens for me to embrace life; and to find immeasurable hope in both.

My parents were the main gateway to what music my brother and I listened to when we were younger. A father with a 60/40 ratio of niche Latin music taste and music that made him feel ‘American.’ Plus, a mother with an affinity to local radio, making every ride to and from school a recap of the top 100 songs that week; I never felt closed off. The range to what was out their felt limitless. 

Knowingly, my parents opened a door to a house that led to an endless cycle of rooms for my brother and me. My dad invested in what his children were listening to, not just in terms of “Que no tengan maliciones.”, but production and content. He wanted his kids to be aware of the meaning within it all, as a body of art. My dad once sat me down, his hands over my eyes and all he said was, “Escucha. Oye las palabras que canta.” For who knows how long, I sat crisscross applesauce, in the dark, and listened. I can’t even tell you what song it was, but I can tell you that I cried.

Inevitably because of those two and the influence of Hannah Montana, my first dream career was to be a rockstar. I remember searching lyrics up on YouTube (thank you family laptop!) for songs from/by Camp Rock, Zoe, Michael Bublé (specifically ‘Jingle Bells’ ft. The Puppini Sister.) Sitting my parents down in our first family home living room, wearing my blue communion dress, and singing “Being Good Isn’t Good Enough – Glee Version” to them. By the time I was given my first phone, a prestigious white iPhone 4, it was met with illegally downloaded music on who knows what godforsaken app by the second day of owning it.

Music has been there to nail the coffin in my darkest times while simultaneously setting the mood for some of my best. I wholeheartedly, genuinely, am in love with all of it. Though through it all, what makes me so excited about music, is how I can feel it. In my toes, my fingers, my chest. Once it’s on, it’s on. The idea that once music starts playing the whole world disappears isn’t a far-fetched one. What I’ve come to realize is that I gain an oppositional perspective.

I hardly ever feel grounded. Always stuck in this in-between state of knowing my stomach is full but not remembering a single taste of what I must’ve eaten. Knowing that the trees that I’m passing by are beautiful, but most times not bothering to give them a second glance. Music turns that around for me. It’s probably cliche, and overdramatic, but it makes it easier to savor life. My eyes feel like they’re actually connected to the nerves that help me process color and movement, my ears feel open and understanding. My fingers and feet gaining rhythm and balance, my chest finally light and non-constricting. I get full breaths when I listen to music. I get a good look at the sky, the trees, the way the grass moves when a strong gust of wind breezes by. I get my body back and I get a taste a life.

I think that’s why I’ve also come to like clubs so much. I’m a pretty reserved person (or so I would say?) I don’t really like talking to new people, never one to see the appeal of going out and ‘mingling.’ When it became clear that I was not enjoying myself during these kinds of outings, I pinned it on the board as me just being shy and feeling out of place. I met people with comments like “That’s not really my thing.” and “It’s a bit too much.” 

Until a one-on-one with my dear friend Rachel, where I was invited for the sole purpose of dancing to good music. Almost zero to no chit chat, just sweaty bodies under fluorescent lighting and a friend by my side, and it hit me. “This is so my thing.” with the adding realization of “I need to do this more.” It was perfect. It felt made for me. I don’t have to talk at all. I can close my eyes and move however I feel is appropriate, and I feel all of it at 150%. The music bumping physically at my feet, in my ears, in my chest, and the feeling of looking around and realizing that everyone is there with me. That I am not alone at 150%, honestly, it’s a bit inexplicable.

Though I know it’s fleeting. The feeling working too hand in hand with what my ears are eating, I hold no resentment towards it. If anything, I hold a lot of hope within it. Music gives me the chance to be human. To love, and laugh, and cry, to connect.

One of my favorite gifts I’ve gotten was from my brother, a pair of Bose noise cancelling headphones. When I thought they didn’t work anymore I threw a tantrum. Amid asking him to try and fix them I caught a glimpse of my face mid-question, and if God had told me I was asking my brother to do everything to save a family member from death, I would have believed Him. That following Christmas my parents got me a headphone charm, something so simple, yet tightened my chest a lovingly amount. It serves as a reminder that wherever I go there is this something, this non-committal thing, that is mine. That regardless of if 13 million people listen to it too, I can still depend on it, in whichever way works for me; and so, can everyone else.