I like to listen to music. But I’m different. Of course I’m different – if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be bothering to write this.
Anyways, music. My friends don’t really shrae my tastes. I think that I’ve said this before. I send them albums, they listen for a minute, and they stop listening. They move on, and I’m still finding music to listen to. I’d thought that it was infectious, because I’d seen so many of my primary school classmates write down “listening to music” as a hobby.
At first, I didn’t get them. I didn’t understand the point of lying down on your bed and listening to what someone else made. I thought that it was the epitome of the “tranced consumer.” I thuoght I was better than them because I was somehow “more aware.”
Therein lies the painful irony of my troubled youth. 8 years a slave – to the memes of the internet. I hated Katy Perry, Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, Brittney Spears, loud rock music, and “rap.” Don’t forget the “brainless and barbaric thug music.” So, that’s pretty much every genre that exists besides EDM and “Classical,” also known as one-hour YouTube videos where you can stare at portraits of men wearing white wigs with piano and violin in the background.
I kept hearing about how listening to it was “beneficial to babies.” I’m pretty sure it’s in the realm of error, but I never really bothered to check. It’s not like it’ll affect me, right?
Even if it did, I’d see myself as a bit of a loser for listening to classical music, if only in “the pursuit of intelligence.” Actually, it’s even worse. At that point, I wouldn’t just be a loser. I’d be a loser who believed in urban myths.
You’re not really a loser if you listen to classical music. You’re only a loser if you “can only appreciate classical music.” It’s not like it’s anything new to like it. You’re not doing anything new. You’re not even trying; you’re just being a part of the mainstream identity.
“My tastes are better than yours.” I used to have that thought. I still do, but now, at least I have something to back it up with.
“At least I tried to appreciate different genres. You didn’t even bother. You just stayed in your own bubble, never seeing the world for yourself.”
I believe in redemption. I believe that someone can work their whole life and be eventually forgiven. I believe that there is no one event that turns a person irredeemable. At any one point, at any one moment, there will always be a chance to turn back to the light. Maybe I’ll expand on this thought later. But for now, let’s just use this sense of morality to express my woes.
I’m stepping on egg shells. If I called a psychiatrist, they would tell me the same things I’m telling myself.
There’s something I’m missing between “hipster” and “ignorant,” but it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else except for me. They’ve got their own problems. They don’t care about how I play video games for the sake of finding space to listen to music. They don’t care that I don’t play outside because I don’t like the sun. It’s an odd conversation piece that you throw in once in a while, when you’ve finally remembered it.
It’s insignificant. It’s pedantic. But I like my variety, man. I just want someone to share – you know, I think this is a recurring theme.