The first thing I loved more intensely than my parents wasn’t a doll or toy or a thing of comfort. It was a book. Everything else in my life seemed to me in-transient. The book was the first thing that was mine, now & forever. Even when the edges frayed & the paper wore thin, the story would live on inside me. It wasn’t the story itself that I loved, but the words in it. These words were permanently ascribed to paper, each word standing the test of time; and yet their meaning for me changed as I changed. I loved how the words sounded in my head as I read them & how each word sounded, tripping across my tongue. More importantly, I loved how the words made me feel for something or someone who wasn’t real, but not really imaginary…at least not to me. As I read more books, more stories, I became voracious. I wanted to read them all. I wanted to hear every story, every word. I spent hours in the library finding new books, new authors & new words to read & fall in love with. I wanted to read, but more importantly, I realized that I wanted to write. I wanted to live permanently in someone else’s mind. I wanted them to read the words I wrote & feel them. I wanted to write words that would cross someone’s lips & leave them grinning, or make them see something that they were previously oblivious to. I wanted to find the secret to writing words so perfectly put together, that one sentence would evoke a light the reader never knew existed within them. So, I began to write. My matter seemed so mundane at first, that other people would read it & smile. No…not smile…they’d ‘smirk’. Either that or they’d look at me like I was a precious little angel, who needed shallow praises & useless affections. Then I fell in love again, & this time, I fell in love with music. I fell in love with the words of the music. I didn’t care about the popularity or brand names of the artists. I listened to musicians who made music for themselves…not to please others. I can distinguish between those kinds of musicians & the ones who’re in it for money, because the latter are never able to give me a sense of pleasure when I listen to them. Music, in a lot of ways, is exactly like writing. The symphony of words & notes has to blend together in such a precise manner, that the audience is able to appreciate it as a whole. They’re both very abstract puzzles; it has to look exactly right to the mind. When you read/sing /play them, it has to hit you in the gut. That’s what makes any piece compelling. You may be wondering what relevance this article has to psychology. Well, for starters, combining words and music can be very therapeutic. It can be used to cure depression, help patients with epilepsy and can also be combined to cure dyslexia. Moreover, the combination of words and music is, to me, the ultimate source of happiness because it sets your soul free from the shackles of daily life. I would like to conclude with this quote by Bob Marley, “One good thing about music is that when it hits you, you feel no pain.”