Who am I without music?

After years of toying with the tides of uncertainty, I'd be remiss to say that a microphone hasn't provided me refuge. When I was an underclassmen in high school, I had no formed opinion on being in my choir nor an idea of applying myself until my friend had encouraged me to audition for an all eastern choir. With just a suggestion of direction to guide my boat, I auditioned, was accepted, and traveled two states away with five others from my school.

In just a few rehearsals, I was allured by how so many people who cared deeply about their craft were brought together by a small repertoire of songs, with each song speaking a different language to a different group of people. Moreover, people were so supportive of each other's strengths and weaknesses, and human connection had pervaded the concert hall. By the time of the concert, I transformed my desire to become a better singer into taking a stronger initiative to find more future singing opportunities, and music wrote my journey through the rest of my years of school. The helm of my boat was steadfast, charging toward one direction—with every performance, music seeped deeper into the rifts in my self-concept.

Who am I without the human experience?

As the young mind’s development plateaus around the age of 25, I wanted to challenge my mind as eagerly as possible to learn during this critical time. Thus, I've sought meticulously to question and become comfortable with my release of emotions, my thought patterns, and my stubbornness to forgive myself consistently. In my pursuit to "know thyself," I began to revel in “the human experience,” which personally indicates a full acceptance of love and change as the two human superpowers. Without the ability to love or change, there is no life of mine. Daily would I challenge my thumbs to paint an emotionally charged journal entry; daily would I learn to change how I criticized negatively or ignore work that needed to be done. If it weren’t for my rigorous focus on self-discovery, I wouldn’t have achieved nor been proud of what I have done, and the thought of being so proud of the sculpture of myself that I’ve chiseled toward now liberates me from all regret. Life always presents me with opportunities to love being human—I am a philokalist.

As such, infusing my human experience with the camaraderie that music has brought me elates me with an intense euphoria that I can't find elsewhere. Sometimes, I cannot believe myself when I tear up or physically flutter my hands with exhilaration after laughing with beloved friends or hearing bewitchingly beautiful chord progressions—after classes would finish, I'd run to the stairwell with my friends and spend a long time merely laughing and singing our choir songs or modulating chords together. Whereas each day in school felt like a standardized page of text in a book, moments like these felt like evocative scrapbook canvases of strung-together photos and sheet music. What drives me to enjoy both music and my other pursuits of life more are these exclusive, spirited moments that bring others together, known only to those who had experienced them.

Evoking such powerful emotions is what drives me not only to keep singing but also to keep pushing myself as vigorously as possible to pursue the most authentic version of myself and my desires. Indeed, I plan to become a cantor for my church to walk alongside others spiritually as well as giving to my community with my skill set. However, the pure ardor for the life I've been given manifests itself daily in the way I desire to give to others. Each of my reflections clear a mental obstacle off of my track, and the thought of not maximizing my time while living and not running straight towards what I want to pursue is unbearable. Thus, as I sail through the vast dimensions of love I will continue to experience, the water around me becomes crystal clear. Despite the new journeys on which I’ll embark, I’ve clarified the waters of my mind and developed the strength of character to get there. Such a realization leaves me with a final question:

Who am I to trivialize the beauty that surrounds me?