Listening to QURULI's "GUILTY," I find myself thinking that humans do not change so easily.

There is desire. There is weariness. There is weakness and negligence. There is guilt. Even while wishing to change, there is a sense of spinning in the exact same circles.

GUILTY. Guilt. Feeling bad. Recognizing something is wrong, yet being unable to stop. It is a powerful word. But when QURULI sings it, it does not sound like a dramatic transgression; rather, it resonates as the small, quiet guilt found within daily life. Not a massive incident. Not a confession. Not a disclosure that shakes the very foundation of one’s life. It is much smaller.

You know in your mind that this is not good. Yet, you cannot stop. You know it is better to change. Yet, you cannot. Even though you should have things you cherish, you are pulled away by immediate desires. That is the frailty of being human. QURULI has an uncanny ability to give sound to this particular weakness. They do not turn it into a beautiful story. They do not turn it into self-help. It does not become a written apology. Yet, they do not run away from it either. They look at weakness exactly as it is, without looking away. That is what makes it beautiful.

Humans rarely change for their own sake. Let's change for our health. Let's change for the future. Let's change to live a better life. Let's improve ourselves. Let's establish better habits. Let's fix our lives. As much as we think these thoughts, it rarely lasts. The head understands. But the body does not follow. The self of yesterday pulls back the self of today. Familiar desires are always close by. We tire of the effort. It becomes tiresome. We slip back. Changing for oneself is surprisingly difficult.

While humans seem to prioritize themselves above all else, we treat ourselves with surprising carelessness when it comes down to it. We do not sleep. We do not eat properly. We drink too much. We work too hard. We get too angry. Knowing better, we repeat the same actions. Even though it is our own body, we cannot protect it well. That is why it is uncertain whether having money would really change anything.

With wealth, choices increase. The environment can be changed. One might even buy time. One might be able to relocate. But those things alone do not change a person. Desire simply changes its form. Weariness changes its form. Anxiety changes its form. The source of guilt might simply move to another place. The issue is not merely external. Within ourselves, the same habits persist. That is why "GUILTY" resonates. It touches not just guilt, but our own helplessness.

Yet, what is felt in this song is not mere resignation. Somewhere, there remains a tiny margin of possibility that we might change. Perhaps that is not for our own sake. If it is to protect someone else, a person might change just a little. This is the thought that lingers when listening to the song.

We cannot change for ourselves. Yet, we do not want to make someone sad. We do not want to break someone. We do not want to leave someone behind. We want to protect someone's daily life. Looking at someone sleeping, we think, "I cannot go on like this." In those moments, people sometimes change, if only a fraction.

It is not a dramatic transformation. It does not mean our personality is completely renewed, nor that we suddenly become a respectable person, nor that our guilt dissolves. But a slight brake is applied. We return home a little earlier. We choose our words a little more carefully. We swallow our anger a little bit. We tidy our lives a little. We think, if only for a moment, of the time of someone other than ourselves. A change of that degree. Yet, that small shift is actually incredibly significant.

In QURULI's music, there is a sense of this "small change." It is not represented by grand words like transforming the world or changing one's life. It is something closer to daily living. Boarding a train. Walking through the city. Living with someone. Thinking about money. Giving in to desire. Yet, pausing for a moment. QURULI’s music plays at the speed of this human life.

"GUILTY" is not a song of complete salvation either. Rather, I think it is a song about our helplessness. We know. Yet, we cannot do it. We want. Yet, we are not satisfied. We want to change. Yet, we cannot. The repetition of this. But within that cycle, there is a tiny, different line. If it is for someone's sake.

This feeling of "for someone's sake" can also be fragile. If we frame it as sacrificing oneself to live for another, that is slightly off. That becomes too much of a moral tale. Rather, it is about how a body that would not move for oneself alone shifts its direction slightly because of the presence of another.

Humans are not completely autonomous beings. We are influenced by someone's voice. We are hurt by someone's silence. We notice someone's absence. Because someone is there, our actions change. For better or worse, people change within relationships. Someone who could not govern themselves changes slightly when they have a child. Watching a parent age, the pace of life changes. Losing someone, the way we handle words changes. To protect someone precious, the way we work, drink, or handle anger changes slightly. Such changes are not dramatic. Yet, they run deep in the body.

QURULI's "GUILTY" sounds like a song situated just before that threshold. Not yet changed. But somewhere inside, knowing that change is necessary. Knowing one’s own weakness. Desires still remain. Weariness remains. Guilt remains. Even so, can we protect someone? This is a quiet, yet deeply earnest question.

"To protect" is a grand word. But actual "protection" is far more ordinary. Returning home properly. Keeping in touch. Not shouting. Sleeping. Earning a living. Going to the hospital. Keeping promises. Listening to what the other has to say. Not breaking the daily life. It is not glamorous. Yet, perhaps that is what protecting means. Love and responsibility are not abstractions; they manifest in the minute actions of each day. Behind the word "GUILTY," I feel the weight of that quiet daily life.

One's own desire and someone's daily life. One's own weariness and someone's peace of mind. One's own inability to change and the desire to protect someone. In between, the body sways. I believe this swaying is what makes us human.

An AI can organize the reasons why one should change. It can generate methods for habit improvement. It can categorize emotions. It can analyze the causes of guilt. It can create action plans. Yet, the moment a human actually changes is far more ambiguous. It is not logic, but the face of someone that comes to mind. Not the distant future, but the dinner table tonight. Not ideals, but the sound of quiet breathing. Not correctness, but a sudden sense of not wanting to hurt anyone anymore. In that moment, we sometimes change just a little.

To change does not mean to become noble. It does not mean desire vanishes, that guilt disappears, or that we stop feeling weary. It is to make a slightly different choice while carrying the same helplessness. Perhaps it is nothing more than that. And that small choice is sometimes born of the desire to protect someone.

Listening to "GUILTY," I find myself thinking about these things. Humans are weak. We tire of things. We crave. We run away. We repeat. We feel guilty. Yet, we are not completely finished. The presence of someone can sometimes shift the direction of our body slightly. Song does not overlook that tiny change.

It is not a grand salvation. It is not a clean rehabilitation. It is not a dramatic rebirth. Simply a small change that remains in the midst of our helplessness.

We might not be able to change for ourselves. Yet, if it is to protect someone. As long as that question remains, I believe humans are not yet completely broken.

© SHIRO & Co.

First published: 2026-06-16