The Soundtrack of My Life: How Music Shaped My Journey from Self-Discovery to Connection

The First Track: Growing Up on a Mixtape

I didn’t grow up in one of those houses where the walls bled Top 40 radio or where the family road trip playlist was sacred. Instead, music found me in unexpected ways—through the modest, clinking jukebox in my parents’ café. There was something deeply poetic about hearing jazz standards, Cantonese love ballads, and Alanis Morrisette’s Jagged Little Pill back-to-back while sweeping crumbs off café tables. It was chaos, but it was my chaos.

Looking back, I realize that this odd, multicultural “playlist” mirrored the way I approach relationships. Every connection begins with a discordant mix of personalities and experiences—you don’t know what the next song will be, but, wow, does it keep things interesting.

If my childhood taught me anything, it’s that life is better when the soundtrack is unpredictable. Blame that jukebox if you want, but it also explains why every pivotal moment in my life has been quietly soundtracked by music—songs that saw me through confusion, growth, and all the delicious uncertainty in between.

That One Song That Made You Feel Something

I like to think most of us have that song. The one that stirs us no matter the time, place, or context. For me, it was Jeff Buckley’s haunting cover of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. I stood still in a strange, messy way the first time I really heard it, which was on a scratchy CD borrowed from a musically enlightened high school friend who also introduced me to Radiohead (we all have that friend, don’t we?).

At sixteen, in my IB-induced identity crisis, Buckley’s falsetto cracked something open in me. It was poetry, yearning, and catharsis wrapped up into 6 gentle minutes. It wasn’t just a song; it was an excuse to feel deeply. And feeling deeply? That defined my teenage years to a fault—crooning along to heartbreak ballads when I hadn’t even held someone’s hand yet. But isn’t that what music does best? It gives us the soundtrack for emotions we don’t yet have the words to explain.

Music Abroad: How Melbourne Made Me Dance

Fast forward to my year abroad in Melbourne, where I accidentally fell into what I can only describe as a love affair—not with a person, but with live music. From sticky-floored pubs to shoe-box-sized indie venues, I discovered that sharing music with strangers was about the most intoxicating thing ever.

Melbourne’s soundtrack was wild and liberating: Tame Impala, Courtney Barnett, a bit of Flume for some electronic zest. These were the songs that played as I learned to go out alone, dance like no one was watching (spoiler: they definitely were), and embrace newness. For someone who always clung to cozy familiarity, music became the safety net that let me leap into a thousand tiny adventures.

Here’s the thing: no matter where I went, music connected me with others. It was the non-awkward icebreaker at parties and the thing you could scream over a hostel breakfast table (“Wait, you love Arctic Monkeys TOO?!”). It reminded me that even when I was halfway across the world, I wasn’t alone.

The Breakup Anthems I Didn’t Know I Needed

Ah, breakups. A universal human experience that deserves its own master playlist. Mine came in my 20s, and maybe I should’ve seen it coming when my then-partner told me that the only song they really liked was Sweet Home Alabama. That’s not a red flag, per se, but it wasn’t exactly giving “emotional depth.”

When it ended, I defaulted to every dramatic breakup playlist imaginable. Adele. SZA. Phoebe Bridgers. It was my hopeless balm for the weeklong urge to cry over my oat latte in a too-trendy Vancouver coffee shop. But here’s the plot twist: none of this music actually made me feel sadder. It made me feel connected. Behind every heart-stomping lyric was a comforting nudge, a whisper of, “Hey, you’re not the only one who’s felt like this.”

So, if you learn nothing else from me today, take this: heartbreak songs don’t just drown you in your despair—they baptize you and bring you out on the other side.

Playlists as Love Languages

Can we acknowledge that making someone a playlist is, bar none, one of the most underrated romantic gestures? Forget flowers; send me a thoughtful playlist that features a mix of my nostalgic faves (Spice Girls should definitely be in there) and a few tracks I’ve never heard before. THAT is peak intimacy.

When you build a playlist for someone, what you’re really saying is, “Here’s a piece of me I think you’d enjoy.” You’re giving them an insight into your life, but not in a creepy, 600-texts-in-a-row way. Back in Vancouver recently, I made a playlist for someone I’d just started dating. The mix included tender folk songs, upbeat indie rock bangers, and a sprinkle of electronic beats—sort of like me, the playlist refused to stick to one genre. I sent it nervously, heart hammering. Their reply said it all: “Wait. This might actually be the perfect playlist.” Reader, I swooned.

If you’re dating someone new, here’s your mini-guide to playlist flirtation:

  • Keep it balanced. A mix of their favorite genres and your own. It’s not a job interview; keep it fun.
  • Sprinkle in hidden meanings. A subtle nod to an inside joke or a lyric that fits your story is swoon-worthy.
  • Don’t overthink it. A good playlist feels genuine, not over-curated. You’re not auditioning for Pitchfork.

When Silence Becomes Its Own Soundtrack

Of course, music can’t score every moment, and I’ve learned that this is okay too. During a peaceful, water-washed summer in Tofino, I lived with no wifi or Spotify and spent time surfing (badly) instead. Most days were soundtracked by natural silence—a soft drizzle, crashing waves, or the crunch of sand beneath my flip-flops. The quiet helped me reset, something I didn’t realize I needed until I was knee-deep in it. When I returned to music, it was with a fresh appreciation for every note.

Sometimes, silence is a bridge between chapters, the pause before the big crescendo. In relationships, too, it’s the quiet moments that let us breathe and revel in simply being.

The Call to Make Your Own Playlist

Here’s your nudge to create your soundtrack. It doesn’t have to be perfect; all that matters is that it’s unapologetically you. Make a playlist for your morning commute, your late-night musings, or your next big date.

Because when you really think about it, life and relationships are just mixtapes waiting to be made. Some songs will fade. Others will stay forever. But every note—even the messy ones—has a part in the story you’re weaving.

So go ahead, turn up the volume. Your soundtrack is just getting started.