How I Write Music for Melancholy Moments

A personal reflection by Areisha

There are days when the world just feels… off.
Not heavy. Just quieter. A little more tender.

Sunday evenings, when the weekend fades.
When something beautiful ends — an event, a season, a mood.
When the coffee runs out but the day still stretches ahead.
Or when you’ve done everything you were supposed to —
but not a single thing your soul truly needed.

On those days, I often feel restless.
And yet something in me wants to move — even if it’s just a short walk through the fields, with music in my ears.
Sometimes it’s just a single chord progression that touches me.
It triggers something deep and quiet — and from there, new music begins to unfold.

I usually play that chord progression back.
Not to copy it, but because it moves something in me.
That’s the starting point. The seed.
In the past, I always began with kicks and percussions.
Now, it’s the emotion that comes first.
The harmony. The mood.
The rhythm comes later — like the heartbeat to a body that’s already alive.

My music often feels cinematic, melancholic, and intimate.
Maybe because I naturally write in minor keys.
Maybe because I love movement — I use key changes to let the track breathe.
It begins with a feeling. Then melodies evolve. Modulations follow.
And slowly, the piece becomes whole.

Then I enter a different phase — listening. Observing.
I write notes: What’s too long? What’s missing?
Where did I expect something that didn’t happen?
I do this until I can let go — and give the track a name.

I used to share my demos early on — hoping for approval.
If someone didn’t like it, it hurt.
Today, I see it differently.
Not everyone will feel what I feel — and that’s okay.
What matters is that I never release anything I don’t truly believe in.
No trends. No presets that don’t speak to me.
No cheesiness.
Just sound I stand behind.

I make music that’s meant to last.
Not for one summer —
but for moments you can still feel five years from now.

I don’t write songs to please.
I write them to be honest –
so that you might find a piece of yourself in them.