In April, my sisters and I went to Coachella for the first time, and it was amazing, exhausting, exciting, and a little bit painful all at once. We went to Weekend 2, which was apparently the “better” weekend this year. The energy was great, the surprise guests were fun to see, and I felt like I could embrace the music festival lifestyle. But overall, the biggest takeaway for me was the inspiration I received from these musicians and the stories they told through their performances.

I am by no means a professional musician, but I started writing songs back in 2016 after receiving some encouragement from a friend to put music to a poem I’d written. I made some tweaks and it turned into a song I was actually proud of. I wrote a handful from then till 2022, but then life started taking over and I didn’t find anything inspiring enough to write about. I’ve always written about my feelings, but I felt strongly about being private about my personal life, especially regarding relationships. I judged artists like Taylor Swift for writing so many songs about boys, as if songwriting was just public emotional oversharing with a tune.

But, after feeling moved by Laufey’s performance of her song Promise, I felt an emotional storm wanting to come out of me that challenged my previous opinions on “privacy” and “artistic restraint.” I talked to my sister briefly about it, telling her I didn’t want to immortalize people or memories in songs, and she helped me put things into perspective. I started embracing the idea that a song takes on its own meaning even if it’s inspired by a moment in time or a person, just like any other work of art. Ultimately, it’s a form of expression to make sense of my own feelings, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of or embarrassed by it.

When I came back from Coachella feeling all sorts of ways (hydrated, dehydrated, inspired, dusty), I listened to Laufey’s song again and just wrote out everything that had been sitting in my heart. I had a tune in mind already and a truckload of words, but I didn’t know what I wanted to convey. What story did I want to tell?

One of my favorite parts about writing is how words and sentences just start arranging themselves as if on its own. After spending a few days piecing things together to see what came out of it, I had a song that meant something to me. Recording and mixing was a longer process as a very green amateur, oscillating between “this is amazing” and “why does my voice sound like that?” every few minutes. I obsessed over it for weeks.

Now, officially, it’s on SoundCloud: my heart out and exposed for the world to hear if they so choose.

Writing and producing my own song did feel like an emotional release. I removed my storm from inside and created it into a tangible thing that I can control, manipulate, and see from the outside. I could look at it, shape it, and occasionally muse on why inspiration often emerges from sorrow and pain. (As Edvard Munch is quoted saying: “Art comes from joy and pain, but mostly from pain.”) Most importantly, it helped me move forward from where I had felt stuck before.

It’s hard for me to say I’m a musician, a writer, or an artist of any sort, but it doesn’t need to be perfect or professional for these avenues to be an effective form of expression. If my sorrow, grief, or processing can create something I feel proud of, it feels worth it. Even if it’s just something a few people listen to and don’t immediately turn off—that feels like enough (for now).

It’s great to be in the moment most of the time. I spent a whole decade learning how to be more present. But sometimes being very much in my own head allows me to process and create more freely.

If you want to hear it and other songs I’ve written, here’s my SoundCloud profile. New projects will be coming soon…