Do you remember that scene when Corey Hawkins first appears in “Straight Outta Compton,” lying across his bedroom floor, portraying a young Dr. Dre; he’s completely lost track of time, too immersed in the world of music he’s created through the use of his vinyl record to remember a job interview? Or Shameik Moore’s depiction of Malcolm, a teenaged-boy completely obsessed with 90s hip-hop in “Dope”?

Do you know that feeling? Do you feel that for music?

Music was my first love.

In 2nd grade, I was introduced to Beethoven and trained in classical music; graduating from the violin to cello and finally the clarinet. I was secretly excited every time we were forced to watch "Fantasia 2000" and nearly cried during “Pines of Rome.” When I was 11, I discovered my love for R&B and pop music. My sister was obsessed with Britney, Christina, and N Sync, as well as Brandy, Monica, and Usher. I would sit and watch as she imitated their dance moves, surprised at how a song could take over one's body and make them so happy. I would pace around my bedroom deeply enthralled by whatever came on the radio. I would sit with my headphones plugged into the radio, switching between stations; Hot 97, 105.1, and Z100 while my family was immersed in watching television. Even now, it’s rare to catch me heading downtown, riding the train or going to the store without my headphones on. And I love, love, when my nana begins to clean the house, early on Saturday morning. She never fails to play Etta James’ “At Last” on repeat and that’s when I know that I’m home. For some reason, musicians are able to express those words we cannot say and those emotions we refuse to reveal even to our own selves.

It always startles me when I realize not everyone is attached to music in the same way I am. That carrying your iPod around with you everywhere you go is not a necessity for some. In this way, I realize that music is my therapy. Music is part of what keeps me motivated and alive. The 90s love songs suddenly make sense. The frustrations of N.W.A and 2Pac makes me want to get up and do something. The Isley Brothers make me wish I could live during the time of black power and unrequited black love. Beyonce’s “1+1” makes me yearn for a future where love truly does overpower war. There are entire albums that represent the loneliness and triumphs of high school and college, but mostly they are a signifier of my ability to get through it.

I need music. It is the only way that I can make sense of what is going on around me. It is what calms me, moves me and riles me up, if need be. There have been songs that have been the soundtrack to revolutions and symbols of solidarity. There have been moments where I’m deeply appreciative the artist understands, and I know I am not alone.

When it seems like people will never learn to love and form bonds, I am glad that there is music.