The Songs That Remember Me

​One of my most-used apps on my phone is Spotify. Whether it’s listening to my DJ while I catalog library books, turning on my favorites playlist in the car, putting on lofi during class independent work time, or listening to an audiobook while curled up in bed, Spotify plays through a good chunk of every day. As much time as I spend with it, I’ve started to notice that my playlists have become more like an autobiography than just entertainment.
My relationship with music has been long and winding, and its role shifts with each season of my life. There have been times when I’ve used it to get pumped up or motivated, but lately my playlists have leaned calm and nostalgic. Recently, I’ve been listening to Voila, Livingston, Sleep Token, Alex Warren, and Ben Platt, all artists whose songs feel soothing or wistful. They make the world a little less loud and a little more magical. Whether it’s the lyrics or the musicality, each one helps me breathe and escape the stresses that come with each day.
While I’m always discovering new music, there’s a corner of my Spotify reserved for the artists who’ve stayed with me through the years: Josh Turner, Rascal Flatts, Pentagon, Monsta X, and Celtic Thunder. When I play their songs, I’m immediately transported back in time. Josh Turner’s albums Haywire, Everything Is Fine, and Your Man always take me back to my freshman year, when I was wheelchair bound and spending afternoons playing Star Wars: Battlefront II with a friend instead of hanging out around town after school. When I listen to Pentagon’s “Shine” or Monsta X’s “Hero,” I see my nieces and me in the car, singing loudly in broken Korean.
Artists and songs hold memories just like books. The entertainment I consume becomes more than something to fill silence; it becomes a way to visit memories. Each song is a little time capsule, holding pieces of who I was and how I felt without me needing to say it out loud.
I’ve always loved music, country, gospel, rock, showtunes, but my taste hasn’t really changed. It has deepened. As I’ve grown older and lived through different experiences, I find myself hearing songs differently. Music I once skipped past in high school now hits deeper, like I finally understand what it was trying to say. That is the beauty of music. It grows with you. Sometimes it is a comforting hug you didn’t know you needed. Sometimes it is the thread that ties you to someone else, even in small ways.
When I look back at my playlists, their moods, and their seasons, I am reminded that they don’t define me. They remind me where I’ve been, who’s been with me, and how I am still growing.