I know that I always go to music for advice.
And one seeks advice when one is puzzled, confused, temporarily pessimistic, or almost wants to give up. In my (not so) long life, being an only child with working parents and shifting schools, it’s hard to find someone who can truly understand.
So in these moments, which mostly occur at night, when my mind is free to wander but instead finds itself in a pit, and I need to cry my heart out: my parents find me desperately looking for my earphones.
And after convincing them that I NEED to listen to music (trust me, good marks help here) I flop upon my bed, dim the lights, and lose myself in the sounds.
It doesn’t matter what kinds of music it is, there is just something about the beats blasting at ‘audioboost’ in your ears that makes you forget. You, your surroundings, your situations, you minor and major problems vanish with minor and major chords.
Wait, is music a drug?
Music swallows me up, and this is the time when I switch to soft/sad songs. My taste. When their holy words wash my ears, I indeed find myself wondering if there is anyone wiser than the singers and the lyricists on this planet.
And after sometime, it is the lyrics and the beats that convince you that you can sort it out,or encourage you to let it be as it is. Music makes you forget, makes you remember, makes you accept, makes you realise, makes you sympathise (with the singer and yourself), makes you laugh, makes you emotional. It makes you sit on a flying carpet and takes you ‘there’.
It is almost a drug.
If music was a person, he or she would be a psychiatrist, a doctor, a saint, a damsel in distress, a drug dealer, and a friend with whom you might want to go to the bar.
Finally, believe it or not, I fall asleep to blasting music, with me tugging my earphones before I tumble into unconsciousness.