Music is a universal language, everyone gets it. It connects us all. I’ve always been curious about people, what they see, feel, think, and how they experience life. Yet, for some reason, I could never bring myself to ask anyone about it. When I was a kid, I was too shy to raise my voice when I spoke. I couldn’t bring myself to be heard, honestly, I didn’t even listen to myself. I couldn’t. It was a whole mess inside, until I hummed, and everything stopped. And then I started singing louder, and my thoughts became clear. For once, I could hear my train of thought, and I knew where it was going.

I like music.

28 springs, spent trying to figure out life. Reality has never felt as simple as everyone else made it out to be. But music always reassured me, it connected everything outside with everything within. It’s always been my compass through it all; it made me feel less bad about not figuring out algebra and history, and it spoke to my mind like magic. It was like a flame catching fire inside my head, guiding me through thoughts and feelings I never knew I had. It gave me tools of expression I didn’t even know I needed.

Music fed my creative side, and I grew addicted to any form of creative expression: sloppy photography, singing off-key melodies, making giant senseless jewelry pieces… and with every outlet, my thoughts turned clearer.

Now I have the words. And I try to ask as many questions as I can, to unravel the bigger picture, bit by bit. You see, people are like books, and I’ve always loved to read.

I’ve always been fascinated by how the mind works. I loved how animals coexist naturally under one unspoken law, and I was always baffled by how plants grow and prosper into these sensitive, beautiful creatures, gifts that just keep on giving.

I like gardening.

My grandma had a small jasmine plant on her balcony. She took great care of it, watered it regularly, and left it in the sun. She gave it all her love, and as much as she gave, the jasmine gave back. After she passed away, I tried to keep her memory alive. I bought a plant, wanting it to be my companion, but it died. There were a bunch of victims, honestly. And that’s how I learned that everything is finite.

I’ve always loved life. I never quite knew whether the thought of it ending scared me or excited me. Life felt like too much, but there was also too much to see, live, and feel.

I remember obsessing over the idea of living without making mistakes, until I decided to stop tiptoeing around my own life. If we’re only meant to live it once, then we might as well press all the buttons, right?

I cooked without fearing the mess. I sang loud, even when I couldn’t carry a tune. I walked up to strangers and told them they had the most beautiful hazel eyes. And I hugged myself for everything I did wrong and told her I loved her.

I love myself, and I love my peace. I love how I love the colour yellow, and the sun. I love sad music and how green the trees seem in bright daylight. I love how I’d never forgive myself for picking a flower, or how I get anxious about leaving the tap water running a second too long. I love my black hair and my family, rooted in tradition. I love my mom’s bangles and the incense she adores.

I’m learning to live by making all the mistakes I need to make, by going through life all in, and not denying myself the experiences my soul longs for. I’m learning to understand all the contradictions that led to the "me", and appreciate what turned out.

I’ve had enough dreams where I screamed into a void, and no sound escaped. I learned not to be afraid to shout, and let it all out.

I dream of a better me every day, a better cycle. And I work for the life I dream of, every single day, with every adventure I embark on. Every feeling is an adventure, every colour is a journey, and I paint my life different with every new day.