There’s a certain kind of familiarity that leaves a taste in the mouth long after it’s gone. Not exactly bitter. Just… recognizably stale. Like something you’ve outgrown but still find traces of everywhere.

A way someone speaks. And you think -- ah, that again.

In audio, there’s always a source. A sound doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It needs something to come from, and somewhere to land. A speaker. A receiver. A medium. And ideally, feedback. The loop completes when something is heard, responded to, adjusted. But what happens when the feedback isn’t constructive?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how that loop plays out in real life. In classrooms. In conversations. Especially in this course.

There’s an old latin saying: audi, vide, tace -- hear, see, be silent. If you wish to live in peace.

In some cathedrals, there are whispering galleries, spaces so precisely built that a whisper travels from one end to the other without raising its voice. The sound carries, not because it’s loud, but because the structure allows it to.

Not all rooms are built that way.

MMS 172 is about communication... well, to me it is. Not just audio, but the why behind it all. Because if there’s no intention, no insight, no invitation -- then what are we really making? Sound, or just noise?

They say that if you put a flea in a jar and seal the lid, it will jump, again and again, until it learns the limit of the glass. After a while, you can remove the lid completely. The flea won’t jump out. It doesn’t even try. It has learned the shape of its confinement. It continues to live under an invisible ceiling.

I think about that sometimes.

About how control doesn’t always arrive as cruelty. Sometimes it comes dressed as concern, or a correction. As a voice that insists it only wants what’s best for you.

There was someone in my life who walked with me through that. A decade of friendship... and for a long time, I believed that was enough. It took me years to realize: they had become my lid. Whenever I reached for something, they were there to remind me how naïve I was. How lucky. How privileged. How wrong. My wins were reframed as flukes. My convictions as foolishness. I stopped jumping high, because I was taught not to.

And even now, in spaces that look nothing like that jar, I sometimes feel the sting of the glass. I hear echoes of them in passing comments. 

The jar is gone, but, years later, in different spaces with different people, there are moments that take me back. 

I was reluctant to write about this, since these kinds of reflections tread delicate ground. I don’t want to misread intention, or reduce someone to a single moment, especially when I know we’re all just trying to find our place in the room. But it happened.

I’ve chosen to center this blog on the feeling that lingered. Not to accuse and dissect someone else’s behavior, but to name my own experience. 

There were... students who felt the need to punctuate the F2F session with offhand comments... specifically when it came to the reporting. Slightly mocking, slightly smug. Recalcitrant in tone, but not disruptive enough to be called out. If you weren’t paying attention, you’d probably miss it. But it was there. The kind of energy that makes the air feel just a little heavier. Maybe it wasn’t meant unkindly. Maybe it was just habit, or nerves, or a kind of humor that didn’t land quite right. I don’t presume to know.

But I’ve learned that it’s not always about what someone means. Sometimes, it’s about what it does. I would be lying if I said it wasn't off-putting. And when you’ve spent enough time reading between the lines, you feel it. That jab lingers longer than expected.

It’s not that I was personally attacked. It wasn’t that kind of moment. It was more like watching something genuine being quietly chipped away at. There were questions that didn't feel like questions. Someone trying to share, to lead, and someone else making it feel smaller. 

I bit the inside of my cheek. I let it pass.

Still, I try to return to the parts that felt right. The moments where classmates asked honest questions. Where the professor answered most appropriately. The back-and-forth discussions with my peers. That’s the version of the class I want to remember. 

That’s something this course has made me think about more deeply... and music gives me a better shot. Sometimes, the clearest way I understand myself is through what I make.

That’s partly why I chose to write and produce an original track for this class. Music, for me, is where I can unapologetically follow my own terms. There’s always a risk that we over-plan and under-feel. Or that we worry so much about what will land that we forget what we were trying to say in the first place. I’m trying to keep that in check for myself, too.

Anyway, not everything about the F2F session left a sour note. In fact, one of the most unexpected gifts came quietly, in the form of a new friend. Someone else who does music: Jehiel!

He shared his work with me, beats he’d produced, songs he’d published. Hundreds of thousands of streams on Spotify. I felt so inspired. There was no gatekeeping. Just two people geeking out over sound.

It reminded me what sharing can feel like when it’s generous. How it’s possible to sit with someone who’s gone further than you and not feel behind. 

He was kind enough to let me into his process and I've never felt more invited.

Listening is different from hearing. Some people are just meant to find you. And losing the ones who aren’t on your frequency? That’s not really a loss. It's a gain. Get it? Gain? Decibels? Okay, I don't know why I felt the need to say that.

So far, MMS 172 has surprised me. I want to say I like it even better than MMS 173. The topics themselves are things I’ve thought about before, but not this communally. Sometimes in school, you're taught to analyze things as if you’re not part of them.

It hasn’t been perfect. At times, I’ve felt the weight of performativity even here. The kind that creeps in during group work or open forums. There's often a social undercurrent to sound sharp, play devil's advocate. To be critical in the way academia rewards. It’s not unique to this course, but I still catch myself falling into it sometimes. Saying what feels right, instead of what feels true.

That said, I appreciate how the course has been handled so far. There’s a sense that we’re being trusted with our own direction. I think that matters, especially for a class built around personal process and experimentation. As for my classmates, there are moments of vulnerability, and even unexpected resonance. There’s talent in the room. And when people choose to show up authentically, it shows.

Am I anxious about what’s to come? A little. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t aware of the silent pressure to do something impressive. These projects can be both inspiring and paralyzing, but like I've said so before: the only one who can beat me, is me.

Sometimes, you find your voice while you're building. You jump before you're ready. You take the lid off the jar.

And maybe, you'd start to believe you can leap higher than before.