The Soft Collapse of Aisa’s “jsjs”
By. Alicia Zamora
After his 2025 release, "Tell Me How You're Doing," Aisa returns with "Jsjs," a song that begins with something we don't often see: accountability. Before pointing fingers or searching for someone else to blame, he starts by admitting, "And I know the fault's mine." It's a small moment, but it changes the way the rest of the song unfolds. Instead of asking who's responsible, "Jsjs" asks a different question altogether: what do you do once you've accepted that responsibility?
The opening immediately establishes that tension. "I think it's about time / to get on my shit again" feels like someone standing at the beginning of a reset. There's hope in those words, but there's also hesitation. Change isn't presented as something that's already happened. It's something he's actively trying to choose. That honesty makes the song feel incredibly grounded because growth rarely begins with certainty.
From there, Aisa doesn't rush toward an answer. Instead, he moves through different possibilities almost as if he's thinking out loud. Maybe it's validation. Maybe it's medication. Maybe it's a lack of discipline. None of these ideas are treated as definitive. They simply become different ways of trying to understand why his mind feels the way it does. Rather than giving listeners a solution, he lets them experience the process of searching alongside him.
The lyric that stayed with me the most is, "How do you fix a clouded mind?" To me, that's the emotional center of the record. It's the first moment where the conversation shifts from acknowledging the problem to wondering whether there's even a clear way through it. Everything that follows feels connected to that question. Each possibility he raises is another attempt to make sense of something that refuses to be easily explained.
Then the chorus introduces another layer. The repeated "Maybe it's you" slowly becomes "I know that it's you," transforming uncertainty into conviction. Whether "you" represents a relationship, a source of comfort, or simply the clarity he's been searching for is left open to interpretation. I don't think the song is asking listeners to settle on one meaning. Instead, it captures how easy it is to look for something—or someone—that makes the noise in your head feel a little quieter.
One lyric I kept coming back to was, "You're my New Year's resolution." On the surface, it sounds romantic. But the more I sat with it, the more it felt connected to the rest of the song's themes. A resolution isn't just a promise to do better. It's an acknowledgment that something in your life needs to change. Framing another person that way suggests they represent not only hope, but the version of himself he's trying to become.
What I appreciate most about "Jsjs" is that it understands accountability isn't the end of the story. Admitting fault doesn't automatically bring clarity, and recognizing what needs to change doesn't make changing any easier. Instead of pretending otherwise, Aisa allows the song to live in that uncomfortable space between realization and resolution. That's what stayed with me long after it ended, and it's exactly why I'm excited to see what he does next.
