On Loop

July 18, 2025

Where do you escape to, to catch your breath and remember who you are?

Out of all the things I do, music is the only activity that has stuck with me the whole way. Sometimes, I think about whether I will slow down on video production, like I did on my Instagram account. Math competition has been with me for a really long time too, but I feel myself moving on from there. But music? I still feel the same pull—a connection like nothing else.

I started piano when I was five—perhaps even earlier, if you count banging on random keys. Honestly, I don’t remember liking it very much at first. My parents encouraged me to practice by keeping this notebook with a hot pink plastic cover. Inside, there was a points system that I could convert to actual money (spoiler alert: it didn’t work).

Anyhow, I first learned from my mother, and then I eventually started taking lessons from the same teacher my cousin was under. She was a really nice lady with a chihuahua I was terrified of. I was her only student who insisted the door to the piano room had to be closed, because the chihuahua had an agonizingly sharp bark, and I didn’t want to imagine what its bite would be like. Looking back, I do feel pretty bad, because the dog was always clawing at the door, wishing to be with its owner. But little me was just afraid of dogs, and I can’t really blame her for that.

My first teacher instilled in me the idea that music is meant to be enjoyed. I didn’t always understand this, because I didn’t love the discipline required to practice an hour every day. I had some stretches of time—ranging from a week to a few years—where piano was the last thing I wanted to touch. But she’s right. I always ran back to music—sometimes running to music to escape practicing music—perhaps because it was home. Even though I found practicing to be a chore sometimes, I think I’ve reached the point of appreciating music, no matter how much I practice.

The thing with music is there’s always more: more to play, more to explore. This path didn’t necessarily mean playing progressively more difficult pieces. There’s always something to learn, even in the simpler pieces. I remember listening to Valentina Lisitsa’s performance of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata 3rd movement in elementary school, and deciding that was the last piece I would end my piano career with. When I committed to learning it senior year, I found it poetic. I thought that once I was off to college… well, that’s how my piano journey would end.

How wrong I was! I finally learned it, but nowhere near the clarity and expression Valentina played. I knew the notes and the dynamics somewhat, but there was still more. It was at this point that I didn’t really see practice as drilling anymore, and I knew I wanted to continue with this art in some way in college.

I always thought I started piano so I could get good at it. While that is part of the process, I think it’s more complex than that. Originally, my parents wanted me to start so that if there was nothing else to turn to, I would have a skill I could leverage and teach to others. But to me, piano taught me to appreciate the feelings that come with listening to music. That came with discipline and patience too, but it also came with stories. Every song/piece came with one, and it was up to the listener to come up with the other half. But the player is the one who guides the listener, so in a way, it’s learning how to communicate a message.

I love analyzing lyrics. There’s usually always a song that applies to something I’m experiencing, so if everything else fails, music has stopped me from feeling completely empty and isolated, because a lyric, a chord, or even a note might speak to me. And even if I don’t directly find meaning in any song in the way I want one to, there are songs I find funny and bring me back to feeling connected again.

Usually, when I listen to a song, I listen to its lyrics. Poorly-written lyrics immediately earn the equivalent of a Simon Cowell “no” from me, even if the instrumentals are catchy. And because a lot of the mainstream songs sing about the same thing… I find myself not liking most songs. However, classical music has the benefit of no lyrics, meaning pieces pass the lyrics filter (as there are none!).

The other aspect I love about classical music is listening to others play. Generally, I would say listening to classical music performances are a lot more accessible than, say, concerts. But recently, I learned to love performing as well. I get really intense stage anxiety, but internalizing that everyone feels the same—that everyone else is also nervous and thinking about themselves—is strangely reassuring. I used to listen intently to others to pick out mistakes so I felt better going in, but that’s changed. During the most recent recital I played in, I felt petrified whenever I picked out a mistake from someone else, wondering if they would recover. I can feel for other performers—I was rooting for them. I know what it’s like to be terrified on stage. I could tell from their expression. And I like this change, because I was no longer indirectly criticizing someone else. Before, I was projecting my anxiety and insecurity onto someone else, to no fault of their own. Rather, I’m living in the same moment, the same space, one that can be cherished forever.

I can influence my mood from listening to different genres of music. If I need to calm down, I play “Meditation” by Monoman. If I am feeling frustrated, “Ballerina” by VOILÀ and The Word Alive describes my emotions perfectly. If I am going through something particularly difficult and want to wallow in sadness, pretty much anything at the end of “WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?” by Billie Eilish will do the trick.

Sometimes, I worry that I’m reliant on music to get by. Whenever I’m not occupied, my thoughts usually default to some tune, because it’s easy. It’s a source of frustration for me, actually, because it seems like most people think about their problems or play out certain scenarios to be more prepared in life. But maybe I’m reading into things too deeply—there doesn’t need to be shame in not being “productive” enough with my thoughts.

But still, music has a powerful grip on me to the point that I cannot drive on my own without listening to an audiobook or a song. Without some auditory stimulus, my driving anxiety takes the wheel, and driving isn’t as enjoyable anymore.

One time around four years ago, I was grading some math assignments while talking to the teacher I was helping. We were talking about focus, and I brought up how a lot of people listen to Lo-fi to study. The teacher said people get way too reliant on listening to music to study nowadays, and I agreed with her. At that point in time, I wanted to work on being able to study without listening to music, because not every environment is going to be optimized for studying. I was myself, an intense Lo-fi listener, to the point that I was really jittery without it. I can sometimes focus without music now, but sometimes… it’s just hard, and I fall back to what I know works well enough.

In fact, I am writing this blog post while listening to my calm and instrumental playlist!

I think my Spotify playlists capture me decently well. There’s one in which I try to capture all the songs/pieces I’ve heard in my life, one in which I capture my favorites of the bunch, or one in which I have a collection of songs I’m currently listening to. There’s also three years’ worth of Spotify Wrapped, a sad playlist, an asserting dominance playlist, and more recently, one for audiobooks that I want to listen to.

Even if I eventually stop playing piano, I will still practice music. Just through listening, there is an art in what to look for. I don’t know exactly what that is, but I want to try figuring that out! For example, I’ve never been to a vocal concert, and I think that would be very different from a piano or orchestral concert. I also know I’m not well-versed in music theory, since I tend to learn music by ear rather than by structure. And on top of that, I’ve never composed a song/piece of my own.

There is infinite depth in music, which is always expanding like the universe. But I can always try to be the hypervelocity star that speeds past the limits of this growing universe—all that’s left is to keep learning and to keep inventing how.

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