Music and Me

Hi, I’m D’Asia. Before I dive into some songs that really speak to me, I want to share a little about how music found me.

A bit of context about my mom—she knows I’m sharing this, so I’m safe. She had my oldest brother at 17, my middle brother at 19, and me at 21. Yep, 21! She was young, full of life, and somehow balanced being a mom while still soaking up all the experiences her twenties had to offer.

We grew up in South Carolina after moving from Texas. Our house was a mix of generations and sounds. Lucky for my mom, some of her trips to Atlanta let her meet big artists of the time—not just hear them on the radio. That energy, that closeness to the music world, seeped into our household.

Picture me in the backseat of a boxy Volvo, half-asleep, hair oiled, body cocoa-buttered, waiting to get dropped off at school. The radio was always on. Rickey Smiley’s morning show—a staple in the Black community—usually played before the music.

Through that show, and later other stations, I heard early 2000s R&B and hip-hop—Monica, Ashanti, Chris Brown, Jeezy—the soundtrack of my mornings. Most of it blared from HOT 103.9, Columbia’s #1 for Hip Hop and R&B, as I fought to keep my eyes open.

But it wasn’t just the music of my childhood. My mom, a child of the ’70s and ’80s, made sure I was steeped in the classics too—The Gap Band, The Temptations, The Whispers, The Isley Brothers. Family gatherings, church, Sunday dinners—all came with a side of soulful music. Mom grew up in Mayesville, near Sumter, where long church services and Lowcountry soul were just part of life.

By the time she hit her twenties, a new wave of music had arrived, so in our house, you’d hear gospel, classic soul, and whatever was hot on the radio. Soulful, fun, sometimes both—always loud enough to keep me awake in that Volvo backseat.

Then came my own musical awakening. One Thanksgiving, I stumbled on a channel called Music Choice and found my favorite artist at the time: Tyus. This was before Apple Music, so SoundCloud and Music Choice became my gateway to music I couldn’t find anywhere else—especially underground or mumble rap. That’s when I got hooked on Wifisfuneral, XXXTentacion, Denzel Curry (pre-XXL cypher), Ski Mask the Slump God, Tru Hero, and also more lyric-driven, message-heavy artists like Aminé, Sam Stan, Ataah King, and Sy Ari Da Kid.

Even as I explored all these new artists, my world was still pretty contained. Meeting Kayla in high school changed that. She introduced me to artists and bands I never would have found on my own. She was my first “real” white friend, and through her, I discovered Nuttin’ Nyce, Millkzy, Men I Trust, Mac DeMarco, Falling in Reverse, and Deftones.

Thanks to Kayla, I realized music doesn’t live in one genre, one space, or one community—it’s everywhere. The way people connect to it is just as diverse as the people themselves. That’s when I truly started to understand that music can be a window into someone else’s world—and my love for exploring it fully began.

But enough about me. Here are some songs that really capture what music has come to mean to me today:

Current Favorite

Share an example of music that’s your current go-to. What’s something you’d throw on Spotify (or wherever you listen) just because you enjoy it right now? Tell us why it’s on repeat for you these days.

Dreamin’ by PARTYNEXTDOOR.

I don’t even fully know why it hits me the way it does, but there’s a part that always stays in my head: “I’ve been, I’ve been, I’ve been waiting for you to get high, get high, get high with me, yeah, I must be dreaming.” To me, the song feels like it’s about escapism—the artist losing himself in parties, relationships, even drugs to get away from reality.

But the reason I love it has nothing to do with that. For me, the song is tied to a memory. My partner and I had taken a weekend trip to Charlotte, North Carolina, just the two of us. On the way to see Fantastic Four: First Steps, the car felt like its own little world—just us, excited for the movie, playing a playlist stacked with 2000s throwbacks and bits of new-school R&B. And somewhere along that drive, Dreamin’ came on. From that moment, it became one of our songs.

Now, whenever I hear it, I’m taken straight back to that night—the glow of the city in the rain, the music, the way everything felt slowed down and simple. That’s what the song means to me. Like the artist, I hear escapism in it, but mine isn’t about distractions. It’s about us. My relationship feels like that—an escape from the noise of the world, a kind of happiness that only exists when it’s just the two of us.

Personally Meaningful
Share an example of music that has held lasting meaning for you. Maybe it’s tied to a specific event or person, or maybe it’s a song that’s resonated with you since childhood, college, or another important stage of your life. Explain why this piece continues to matter to you.

Paramore’s Ain’t It Fun has a chorus that always sticks with me: “You’re not the big fish in the pond no more, you are what they’re feeding on. So what are you gonna do when the world don’t orbit around you? Ain’t it fun, living in the real world?” On the surface, it’s playful, even a little sarcastic. And no, living in the real world isn’t always fun. It’s confusing, unpredictable, and sometimes heavy.

But that’s what I love about the song—it reminds me that there’s beauty in the unknown. Life doesn’t have to feel “fun” in the traditional sense for me to enjoy it. The joy comes from simply experiencing it. That chorus feels like a reminder that the world will never revolve around me—and that’s okay, because it means I get to exist in this messy, chaotic mix of everyone else’s stories too.

There’s a quote that says, “It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.” That’s exactly what this song makes me think of. Life doesn’t come with a manual, a sacred text, or a list of dos and don’ts passed neatly from one generation to the next. What we have is history—fragments of stories, choices, mistakes, and triumphs from people before us, stitched together into what we now call life.

And honestly, I’m glad to be part of that chaos. Even if it’s uncertain, even if it’s not always “fun,” there’s something freeing about knowing that the beauty comes from being in it, right here, right now.

Hard to Connect With
Share an example of music that you don’t really connect with or understand. As you describe your perspective, try to put it into respectful terms—after all, someone else might consider that song a favorite or deeply meaningful.

Honestly, when it comes to Sexyy Red, I have mixed feelings. She’s a relatively new presences in hip-hop and rap, but I don’t really connect with what she raps about. And it’s not just her—there are a lot of artists in the genre right now who lean into certain stereotypes, usually the negative ones. With her specifically, though, I find her music a little too inappropriate at times, in ways that feel unnecessary.

That said, I don’t want to dismiss or discredit the evolution of hip-hop and rap as a whole. This genre has always been deeply important, especially for marginalized communities. It’s been a space to voice struggles, to share experiences, and to tell stories that don’t always get heard elsewhere. That kind of expression is powerful and necessary.

But I also believe there are ways to do this without feeding into the same harmful narratives that society already places on those communities. Hip-hop can be raw, unfiltered, and still deeply human—without being dehumanizing. And that’s the balance I hope more artists strive for.

Optional: Other Music
If there’s any other music you’d like to mention that doesn’t fit into the categories above, go ahead and share it—and let us know why it stands out to you.

Øneheart is a Russian electronic music producer, though his work feels more like ambient soundscapes than traditional songs. Ambient music, as Google puts it, emphasizes tone and atmosphere over structure or rhythm—and that’s exactly what I hear in his work.

There’s one track in particular, Snowfall, that means a lot to me. I used to listen to it on the way to track meets, right at the start of a new season in my life. Something about that timing made it feel like God was directing me forward, clearing space for me to grow. Almost every time, I’d find myself tearing up quietly, staring out the window while the world blurred by.

It was the stillness the song gave me. In those moments, it was just me, the music, and my thoughts. It gave me permission to let go of how I wanted to be perceived and simply be—to exist freely, without masks or expectations. In its own quiet way, Snowfall and other ambient tracks like it have been healing for me. They’ve given me space to breathe, reflect, and feel whole again.