Before grade 8, I didn’t really listen to music. Well, I didn’t choose to, at least. I’d hear songs on the radio during the ride to school, and wake up to my sister’s songs in the morning. But I never bothered to listen to music on my own time because—I don’t know why. I must’ve been crazy.

I can’t play music, either. I took piano lessons when I was younger after begging my mom for weeks, only to quit because I lost interest. I took violin and had lots of fun, but quit when the year was over. I also played guitar, and recorder, but that crumbled into shambles too.

I can’t hold a beat on my life. I tried playing drums on Rock Band only to fail miserably on beginner mode (it’s impossible to fail the song for the first half, believe it or not).

To say that I am not good at music is an understatement.

However, I—and all 7 billion people on this planet—have to admit, that music is everywhere. Music speaks to each and every one of us and tells us that it is okay. It will be alright in the end.

Whether it is Beethoven, or Demi Lovato, or Neil Young, or The Beatles, or Green Day or Elton John, we find ourselves dancing with our loves. We find ourselves dancing with our friends. We find ourselves dancing with strangers.

And most of all, we find ourselves horribly dancing alone in the dark, with some old school music blaring around in the background. And not caring.

We cannot deny that music makes us move like no other art. It can make us feel so many things: sorrow, happiness, nostalgia, emotional.

And the perfect music is when you’re dancing so hard that you’re afraid your heart will fall out. It is when you are sitting wistfully, remembering the past. It is when you feel. And perfect music is when you don’t care and just submerse yourself in this wonderful, enigmatic, magical art.