I wonder if my choice of music has shaped me into who I am today.
And who am I today really, but:
… a casual follower of indie rock music (if that is what it truly is);
… loyal admirer of a merry band of bearded men decked in ties and nicely-pressed suits;
… shameless lover of addictive guitar riffs and long groovy jams first, and silky smooth baritones and brooding vocals next;
… mediocre fan to song lyrics and writer of none;
… strict non-advocate of the dreaded shuffle mode in music players;
… habitual listener of albums that simply must be played from start to finish, lest life and all that is good in the universe is deemed incorrigibly incomplete.
So if I were not hopelessly devoted to that brand of music or those few bands I love, then would I still be me, and living a life of perpetual recluse and solitude? Because I cannot for even one second picture myself dancing aggressively to Latin pop or making complex notations for a classical composition in a prestigious school of music. And that thought alone somehow scares me.