Halloween may have passed, but the things we were taught to fear—zombies, mummies, and monsters that wreak havoc when the clock strikes three—continue to haunt us. But what if the things that truly frighten us aren’t the monsters under our beds, but are actually much closer than we think?
You can’t make these fears disappear by simply turning on the lights or hiding underneath a blanket. They follow us into the most mundane parts of our lives, often disguised as thoughts we brush aside or feelings we can't quite put into words. Even with Halloween behind us, the fears that don’t need costumes continue to haunt us.
Here are ten songs for the horrors of being human.
Vienna: Fear of being the friend who hasn't figured it out yet
Tick tock. It’s the annual birthday crisis, the LinkedIn doomscrolling, (yes, the website you vowed to never touch) and the sudden urge to reevaluate your entire existence after seeing someone your age announce that they’ve landed their dream job. You assumed adulthood would come with a manual—a guide to help you navigate life—but in reality, everyone just gets thrown into it.
Billy Joel's Vienna is for anyone who's ever felt pressured to have everything in their life mapped out. Social media makes growing up feel like a competition, with a leaderboard where people can share their wins and achievements. But as Joel sings, “Slow down, you're doin' fine. You can't be everything you wanna be before your time.”
Because if your twenties are supposed to be the best years of your life, why does everyone look like they're having a quarter-life crisis?
ceilings: Fear of falling for potential instead of reality
Nothing makes someone roll their eyes faster than hearing a friend utter: “I can fix him.” You start making excuses for their questionable behavior, convinced that they're just misunderstood. Red flags turn pink, and every small sign of affection is thought of as proof that your patience will eventually pay off.
Lizzy McAlpines’ ceilings explores the tendency to get lost in romantic, delulu-fueled fantasies. It's easy to become attached to what could have been—especially when reality hasn't given you much to hold on to.
A Burning Hill: Fear of burnout
There it goes, another Pulse notification reminding you of yet another deadline for 11:59 p.m. Your to-do list keeps growing, while your sleep schedule keeps shrinking. And then one day, the things you once enjoyed somehow find their way onto your to-do list. Even your favorite hobbies feel like obligations now.
This exhaustion is captured in Mitski’s A Burning Hill. It's that lingering dread that follows you even after closing 43 tabs and shutting down your laptop, only to boot up a game and realize you don't even have the energy to play. Because sometimes, the scariest part of burnout is realizing that even the things you do to escape it no longer bring you joy.
mirrorball: Fear of being liked but known by no one
Like a skinwalker wearing different types of faces, you bear a different version of yourself for every circle of friends. Sometimes you’re the kanal one, or perhaps you’re aircon, or maybe somewhere in the middle. You pick up people's mannerisms, adjusting your humor (sometimes even morals) just to blend in.
In mirrorball, Taylor Swift sings about the desire to show whatever people want to see. Like a disco ball, you reflect whatever is around you, hoping that every little piece of yourself will be enough to keep people looking.
But what happens when the lights go out and there’s nobody left to impress?
No Surprises: Fear of living life on autopilot
Most horror movies rely on jumpscares to scare people. But life's nonchalance—its relentless cycle of routines without anything to look forward to—can be far scarier. One morning, you're submitting your crammed presentation on BigSky; the next, you're squeezing into a crowded morning commute, paying bills, and repeating the same routine every Monday.
In No Surprises, Radiohead gives voice to the exhaustion of falling into a routine that leaves little room for anything else. Its deceptively gentle melody carries the exhaustion of someone longing for an escape from the monotony of everyday life.
Young: Fear of Missing Out (FOMO)
Your Instagram feed is filled with sponty road trips to Tagaytay, random FTs in Fusion Alley, and group hangouts you weren’t there for. Meanwhile you’re in bed, choosing between finishing a paper and getting four hours of sleep before an 8 a.m. class. You tell yourself there will be other chances and even more memories to make. But a little part of you wonders how many you've already missed.
It's a strange feeling to miss something you're still living through. Vacations’ Young speaks to the fear of watching everyone else experience their youth while you're caught up in the responsibilities of growing up.
What Was I Made For?: Fear of peaking too early
There’s a whole discourse surrounding what it really means to have been a gifted kid. “Were you even good enough to be classified as one to begin with?” Some might ask. But regardless of what label you carried growing up, there’s a certain loneliness in being expected to excel all the time. Getting anything less than an outstanding grade feels like you’re letting everyone down—including yourself.
What Was I Made For by Billie Eilish is the anthem for all those who have tied their self worth to how well they perform. “I used to float, now I just fall down / I used to know, but I'm not sure now / What I was made for,” she sings. Because when you're used to being ahead, even standing still can feel like failure.
What if, in trying so hard to build a future, you forget to make a life worth looking back on?
Waving Through a Window: Fear of never truly belonging
You're somehow everyone’s friend but no one's first choice. You have different circles to sit with during lunch because you're good enough to fill an empty seat, and plentiful group chats to lurk in. But come Saturday, you're scrolling through stories of people hanging out without you, wondering where exactly you fit in. You're not friendless, but you're not sure you have a place to call your own, either.
In the musical Dear Evan Hansen, Waving Through a Window captures the desire to be noticed. It's a song for anyone who wants to matter to someone as much as they seem to matter to everyone else.
Godspeed: Fear of growing apart
One “o, ano tara” message in the group chat was enough to convince everyone to pack up and go on a random Vietnam trip. But after the mortarboards fall and graduation ends, making plans with your friends requires meticulous Google Calendar scheduling (which somehow never aligns). Life has steered everyone down different paths. Now at a crossroads, you’re left wondering when the people you used to see every day became people you have to make time for.
“Wishing you godspeed, glory,” sings Frank Ocean in Godspeed. It encapsulates the tenderness of watching people you love move toward lives of their own—-the bittersweet act of hoping they find happiness and success, even if their next adventures no longer include you.
Sign of the Times: Fear of facing an uncertain future
Maybe it's the realization that your twenties won't come with a sudden moment of clarity. You’ll still have plenty of days when you feel left behind, friendships you’ll struggle to maintain, unreciprocated feelings, and decisions you'll wish you could take back. The only difference is that, eventually, you'll have to learn to navigate all of these without the familiar safety nets you've grown accustomed to.
Harry Styles' Sign of the Times captures the overwhelming feeling of standing before a future you have little control over. It’s about having no choice but to move forward when part of you still wants to hold on to what you know.
Because as exciting as new beginnings can be, they also mean leaving something behind.
The peculiar thing about horror is that the audience always knows there's another jump scare coming. They sit at the edge of their seats, waiting for the protagonist to notice what's lurking in the background. But real life offers no such warning. The frightening parts only make sense in hindsight, when enough time has passed to understand why things happened the way they did.
But every story has its share of unanswered questions, and growing up is no exception. There's no telling what the next scene holds, or whether the ending will look anything like you imagined. For now, the record is still playing.
There's still a life to live beyond the scary parts.
