01/07/2026
Michael -Why Cath
What you are describing is actually a well-studied phenomenon. It doesn't necessarily mean you're obsessed in a pathological sense. It may be that your brain has formed a reward loop.
Here's one way to think about it:
Like → "I enjoy this song."
Love → "This song feels like part of who I am."
Attachment → "I need this song to feel emotionally balanced."
Compulsion → "Without realizing it, I keep replaying it because my brain expects the reward."
Every time you hear a song by Michael Weikath that resonates with you, your brain predicts the emotional payoff. Dopamine is released not only when you hear the song, but in anticipation of hearing your favorite part. That prediction can make you replay it over and over.
From our previous conversations, I notice something interesting. You don't just listen to music for entertainment. You analyze lyrics, connect them to philosophy, psychology, Islam, and your own life. Songs become thinking tools. So the reward is probably not only musical—it's also intellectual and emotional.
Your cigarette example from before is related too. You noticed that scarcity changes your behavior. Here, there is almost the opposite effect:
The playlist is always available.
Your brain knows the reward is guaranteed.
So it keeps returning to it, almost like visiting a familiar place.
The important question is:
Does the music serve you, or are you serving the music?
If listening helps you think, write, or find peace, that's healthy. If you find yourself replaying songs even when you want to do something else, then the reward loop may be becoming too dominant.
One thing I find fascinating is that many of Michael Weikath's songs are not straightforward emotionally. They often combine optimism, irony, struggle, and hope. That kind of complexity can keep the brain engaged because there's always another layer to notice. For someone like you, who enjoys finding patterns and hidden meanings, each replay can feel like uncovering something new rather than merely repeating the same experience.
I'm curious: is it the music itself, Michael Weikath's lyrics, or the state of mind you enter while listening that keeps drawing you back?
Those are three different kinds of attachment, and understanding which one it is may tell us more about why your brain finds it so rewarding.
Answer
For this particular track is the playfulness he is, and he is confused why people don't like this song, even though it's a skit.
It is real. He wonder if people listen with full ears. He is willing to change to suit their ears. Bending he is just to make his song marketable. Does not want to deprive people from knowing his music. Not realising he is the only one like the song. He wanted to play it to someone else until he found the candidate. And he really cannot sing.
For other track in helloween, is about melodies.
I listen to the band for 30 years already, and never had interest in the who write the lyric and melodies. It just another band until recent pumpkin united tour. And the story of staggering debt, I wonder how much tour they do to clear the debts. I can say endurance of him and Marcus. Perhaps a little bit of narcissism, ops it a harsh word, but yes maybe another word. Survival. May be faith.
Answer
I don't think "narcissism" is the word I would reach for based on what you've described. There are other explanations that fit the evidence better.
What strikes me is that you're no longer listening only to the songs—you've become interested in the person behind the songs.
For thirty years, Helloween was simply a band you enjoyed. Then you learned about the members' history, the financial struggles, the reunions, and especially the personality of Michael Weikath. Suddenly, the songs acquired another dimension.
The skit you describe fascinates you because you hear a composer asking questions that many creators secretly ask:
"Did they really listen?"
"Should I change so they'll understand?"
"Am I the only one who thinks this is funny?"
Those aren't just questions about music. They're questions about being understood.
You also mentioned that he wants someone else to enjoy the song, even though he knows he can't really sing. That doesn't sound like someone chasing admiration for its own sake. It sounds more like someone thinking, "I made something that delights me. I hope it delights someone else too."
That's a very human impulse.
Regarding the debt, many bands go through periods where touring is less about becoming wealthy and more about staying alive financially. Touring can pay off debts, keep a band together, and rebuild a career, but it's also physically demanding. Enduring that for years requires persistence, commitment, and probably a belief that the music is still worth making.
I also notice something about you. You often become attached not because something is perfect, but because it reveals the creator's humanity.
You were drawn to Rabia al-Adawiyya because of the sincerity of her devotion. You're drawn to Abu Hamid al-Ghazali because he openly described his spiritual crisis. And now you're drawn to Weikath because you perceive someone who is playful, self-doubting, stubborn, and still creating.
There seems to be a pattern: you admire people who continue despite uncertainty.
Perhaps that's why this resonates with you. You're writing a PhD while also writing books. You've spoken before about feeling "not good enough," about overthinking, and about setbacks. When you see someone who endured decades of criticism, lineup changes, debt, and still writes melodies that make him smile, it becomes more than music. It becomes evidence that a person can continue creating without having everything figured out.
That is a different kind of inspiration than simply enjoying a good song. It's almost like finding a companion on a long road.
Answer
I think that's a thoughtful way of putting it.
"Against all odds" is usually told as a success story: someone overcomes impossible obstacles and wins.
What you're describing is a little different. It's more like:
The obstacles are part of the journey, not interruptions to it.
Whether someone calls that destiny, providence, or simply life's unfolding depends on their worldview. In your own perspective, which is influenced by Islam and your reading of , you might say that Allah's decree (qadar) includes both the hardships and the opportunities. The destination matters, but so does the path that shapes the person walking it.
That also explains why you're interested in stories of endurance rather than effortless success.
A band that nearly collapsed but continued.
A scholar who went through doubt before finding clarity.
Your own experience with the PhD, where delays and setbacks became part of your writing and self-understanding.
These aren't just stories of winning. They're stories of remaining faithful to something meaningful despite uncertainty.
There's an interesting irony here. Earlier you said you enjoy Weikath's playfulness. Playfulness is almost the opposite of fear. A playful person can experiment, fail, laugh, and try again. That mindset may have helped him survive difficult periods. It isn't that he knew everything would work out; it's that he kept creating anyway.
I also wonder if this connects to the theme you've been developing for your own books: "everything falls into its place." Over time, you've been refining that idea. Now it sounds even more nuanced:
Things don't fall into place because life is easy. They fall into place because, looking back, even the detours become part of the story.
That doesn't mean every hardship has an obvious explanation while we're living through it. But many people find that, in retrospect, the difficult chapters shaped who they became. Your fascination with these musicians and thinkers suggests that you're drawn to that pattern—not perfection, but perseverance.
Question
If Allah to open the veil a little bit more, we will all be on top of the mountain calling to him like the man in Jesus story, that he pray for this guy that the guy wanted to see allah decree a little bit more. I don't know how to put that story. And the biggest wonder for me is that else hidden beneath the making of human.
Answer
I think I know the tradition you're trying to recall, but it's worth distinguishing a few different stories.
There is no well-known account in the Gospels where Jesus prays that someone may "see Allah's decree a little more." However, there are related themes across the Abrahamic traditions:
In Islam, the Prophet Moses asked Allah to let him see Him directly. Allah replied that he could not bear it in this life, and when Allah manifested His glory to the mountain, it crumbled and Moses fell unconscious. (Qur'an 7:143). This illustrates that human beings are not yet able to perceive the full reality of the unseen.
There is also the story of Al-Khidr and Moses (Qur'an 18:60–82), where Moses witnesses events that appear unjust, only to learn later that each had a hidden wisdom. It is a lesson that our perspective is partial.
Your sentence made me think of something close to these ideas:
"If Allah were to lift the veil just a little, we might spend our lives standing on the mountaintop in awe, realizing that every decree had a wisdom we could not previously see."
Then you said something that I find even more profound:
"The biggest wonder for me is what else is hidden beneath the making of human."
That echoes a long tradition in Islamic thought. Abu Hamid al-Ghazali often wrote that the human being is far more than flesh and intellect. The qalb (heart), ruh (spirit), intellect, desires, memory, and consciousness all interact in ways we only partially understand. Modern neuroscience has revealed astonishing details about the brain, yet it still cannot fully explain consciousness, subjective experience, or why we have an inner sense of "I."
Perhaps that is why you are so fascinated by music, philosophy, and spirituality. They all point toward the same mystery: there is more to a human being than can be measured.
Islam calls part of that mystery al-ghayb—the unseen. We are invited to seek knowledge, but also to recognize that some realities remain veiled until Allah chooses otherwise.
Your reflection also reminds me of a verse that has inspired many thinkers:
"And of knowledge, you have been given only a little." — Qur'an 17:85
Rather than discouraging inquiry, it invites humility. The more we learn, the more we realize how much remains hidden. That sense of wonder, when balanced with humility, can itself become a form of worship.
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