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Jazzpiration

The night came and went too quickly. And all too soon, it was over.

Just like that.

I love my band(s). I really really do. We guys really clicked from the beginning, and we pulled through it all, the multiple practices on our weekends, the sms-ed meetings, the semi-productive canteen meeting, the performance. Sara's concentration lapse during her Georgia solo (I didn't notice!), Adam's "whatever should I do with my solo?" for quando, Boyle's "I don't have my guitar today. I don't have any amp", Tania's "I can't remember what I played yesterday!", Gaoyuan's "I can't tighten anything else on my sax!", and my lousy attempts at scat singing, and the voice dying away just 3 hours before performance. Man, it was a rollercoaster.

Just 3 hours into the performance, I realised my voice was dead because my throat hurt badly, and my voice came out so disgusting it was very disgusting. I was popping lozenges like there wasn't a tomorrow. And then we had a super long practice the day before, and gaoyuan and tania were playing at the mini amphi. The sax sounded way out of tune, and everyone was panicking because there wasn't anything gaoyuan could do, save tighten weird knobs and keep playing. It was a whole semitone higher. I ran to LT2 in a frantic attempt to check pitch. And taadaa! The piano was a semitone lower! My goodness we almost had multiple heart attacks then and there. It was little things like that..

"Yes... I would give my heart gladly."

Then the performance. The spotlights, the microphones, the eye contact, the songs, and all the pre-concert jitters going on backstage just before. I hate the feeling of waiting. Of possible failure, because you know you cannot and should not fail, but yet, who knows really.

"Blue moon.. Now I am no longer alone.. "

Sara prayed a short prayer with kelly, james, adam and me. It gave me peace. It stood as a reminder that I'm singing for God. My gift, if it really is one anyway, is from Him. The opportunity is from Him. My friends, my fellow band mateys, all from Him. And then I wasn't afraid anymore. I realised that if I continued thinking I had somehow, by my own pathetic human means, developed my own voice, then I would be sadly mistaken. I would be so naive.

Soli deo gloria. Always.

So we went up. I sang to the crowd, and among them were the fantastic people from a13a. The whole row of them were there for sara and me, and some even with bated breath and very stressed vibes. Most looked on, but I saw sarah grin, smoot and michelle smiling, sabby waving the pink flower. And it was all great. Really. Smoot sent an sms just before "don't worry the class will support you no matter what". Sara and I really felt that support, and it is things like this that really make you go: thank you God. For all of them.

Haha I think a few people liked my "strut" or gallop as my sis called it. I know I was walking a little too much, but it helps gets rid of nervousness you see. I can't stand in one spot for too long without feeling fidgety, so I walk. (Or prance, or sashay, or strut, judging from the comments heh) Vivek thought it was cool, but mum said she heard some fellow behind her go "why does she walk so much". Oh wells. At least I have "some man lungs" even though I really am not one. (:

Thank you smoot mich sab william martin peck annliang ben rayner juliet mingyan. Thanks you mich and sabby for giving me pre-concert hugs! Thanks bren for the flower before. It was so very nice of you! Thank you a13a for the sms-es just before. I'm having carrot and broccoli soup for dinner too!

"Tell me when will you be mine".

Thanks to tanneh and lun for being such great seating companions. Teehee. I loves you two so much.

Thanks to anyone reading this who went to the concert. I really hope you enjoyed it, because we sure enjoyed performing it. (:


And to adam boyle gaoyuan sara tania: we did it.

"the road leads back to you"


thanks to peck and al and boyle for carrying it for me at j8!






yihan said we looked like sisters! Yippee (:






huanglu! I shortened the 30 cm difference in height! hehe







(more photos in other cameras (: )
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I have a problem accessing my own blog, how utterly depressing is that. I don't know whether my computer is on another revolt, or it's just me and weird links, but I can't view my whole web page, and in that way, my connections to friends' blogs are left untouched. Oh well.

Jazz was very fun today, despite my feeling extremely inadequate and worried because whatever little clarity I have in my voice is muffled when I use that horrid thing that is called a microphone. It depresses me. I think it hates me too.

Jazz dinner was crazily funny. Fortunately or unfortunately, I was the only girl around, and then you have 4 crazy guys talking about rock and roll, and all sorts of weird things guys do in secondary school. Highly entertaining, for sure. (:

Then I had a little discussion with my senior about relationships and stuff. And I don't really understand why he got this impression I have substantial experience in the dating game.

Nope. I don't.

And actually, I don't think it's difficult to believe really. I mean, I have had my head patted quite a few times by a few tall guys (why am I not surprised), and called a younger sister in the class family tree by many. Come to think of it, even smoot pats me on the head.

But it's okay. (:

Then I have new revelations about certain things. It's not a good idea to type them out. I'll just be playing with fire, and get then first degree burns.

Ok, so far, let's do a recap of my injury list.
In the past 5 months, I've had second degree burns, a twisted ankle, a busted knee, shin splints, and currently, a fractured pelvis.

I can't help but say: owned.

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It was supposed to turn out different.

This was supposed to turn out all different.

Nothing should have changed. Nothing could have..

Supposed, nothing, should...

Words which have no meaning, not any more. except for a tug of regret. Regret is bittersweet.

______________________

There will come a day, when I will look back on A13A

and say
those were the days..

Chatting with Janessa today, her reminding me how she used to get singing lessons from me before our Woman's Voice options.. Seeing alfie along corridors, having economics tuitorials with moni and janell. It's spatially different.

You know what?
I miss those times.

I miss the crazy singing lessons after school, the weird projections we'll make. I miss opening my locker, and always squashing the hanging bear above it. I still haven't found out who it belonged to, can you believe that?
I always wanted to know, since sec3. But I've never found out.

I miss the curry chicken rice on thursdays. I miss "i'm on a diet" darling xiao yu, Panadol gulping sabby, sunshine ann tay, ribena chay, tennis pro lwin, pipa jing xuan.. and everyone else. I miss shaking my head at the weird neoprint taking antics, and being forced to take a few myself.

Those were the wacky times when we were just ourselves, crapping away. And crapping back then actually meant something you know?

I miss the rgs choir. I miss walking back with lun, always with many things to update. I miss singing with xinzi and dear smoot, and laughing like maniacs with a few of the best girls in the world- SSS. I miss blasting, I miss conducting warm ups. And oh my goodness I miss conducting. I miss sharing this special bond with the whole choir, and looking over at lun, lyn, smoot, tanneh, and then we'll smile at each other, only because we know we're really making that music, only because

we could.

we're growing up guys. (Do you miss the times when 'guys' meant the girls, where you didn't have to specify?)

And it ain't so bad really. You make new pals, you learn new things in a fantastic environment that pushes you hard, and so far.

And then you count your blessings, and smile.

But before you move forward, before you move on, you close the chapter of Past, the part where you let go to move ahead with the long and dreary journey.

Maybe some part of me has already let go. Or maybe I'm still hanging on. I'm good at hanging on, really.

________________________________

What if you could pick up the phone, and start dialing someone who you think could understand you now.

When you feel so strange, and when you know you're not yourself. You feel like you're drowning into this oblivious being, with no face, no name.

I don't understand the whys, the hows, and the whens. No, not any more.

Oh you are so confused.

Are you feeling that way now, I wonder. Confounded, hesitant, pained.

This air of confusion envelops you. But what is it you are confused about, you ask..

Is it life? Is that it?

Do you find that there are so many things you have to accomplish by the end of the day, and when you've done them, you really wonder if they were worth the time. The hours of your life, the seconds of your heartbeat.

What did you really do anyway.

Nothing?

But nothing's not an answer. I mean, there is always something, isn't there.

Okay then. So you did do something.

Then why the feeling of vacancy. Of aridity. Of bleakness.

Of a cold desert with a cavity. It is an abyss, and you are falling. Or are you flying?

You see, it's all about perspectives then. You can be falling, or you can be flying. Which is which, and why the confusion?


They tried to prove that you could do more than this. You could live more, you could take more living breaths, you could prolong life itself. Gulp it in. That is your life.

But what is life but an empty shell, deficiency apparent. Life as an empty shell is indeed the epitome of pained angst, you say.

And suddenly, the air around you stills. You can hear the chattering keyboard, and nothing else. And you wish it will all go away and leave you.

You hear the drone of the fan. It stirs the air.

The moment has disappeared. Maybe the moment was but a figment of your unrealistic hallucinations..

- - - - -

This is what painkillers do to you. They blur your world, because they blur your pain. It becomes obscure and meaningless, but yet nagging. The little orange pills can do that to your system. They leave you as the waking dreamer. They mute the pain. They mute the anger.

I should stop now. Headaches leave me with a voice speaking this language I don't really understand. Or can't.


i drink oat milk to heal. (:
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I never thought so many unhappy things would rush at me from all angles, and I would be so threatened with the onslaught of the mixture of bitterness and tears.

It was a crazy day, but it only got worse because my body was revolting, and every move I made was a painful reminder, and I was just tired. Just too tired.

But I thank God for Soomeh and Tanneh, who were there to listen to me sigh and shake my head. Who sing those beautiful crazy songs with me, and understand me with just a look, and a nod, and a smile. (:

I thank God for Sara, david and mich, who were there to just listen and understand. I needed that prayer, I needed that support, and I needed, once again, to feel Him working in me, despite the weariness that has begun its horrid invasion.

I thank God for char, bren, sru, william, xueyang, juliet. I thank God- that He has blessed me with friends who really care enough to worry.

I thank God- that he gave me such great dinner dance pals to hang with after today's crazy dance prac. Thank you jerrine, vernus, xinying, greg. Wow, I haven't laughed so much in a long while.

I thank God for the people around me. And that's means you.

Thank you.

The day isn't so terrible really. I just need an early night for rejuvernation. And it will all be better tomorrow, because I believe it to be.

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Ahh, but of course.


This is to the Someone, one fine day.

Let me divulge surreptitious details. Let me reveal the depths of this soul, and bury deep into the subconscious so I may sufficiently extract the germane instant in life that hold us prisoner to our calamitous existence, and to the gush of heavy breathing that is so characteristically surging misery.

Picture for a moment, if you will, the ebbing tide on the beach. Imagine the rising and falling of the frothy waves, the brushing of sand against the tremulous streams, its faint harmony in sync with your gentle breathing.

It is a lull. Can't you hear it?

Try harder. Can you hear the distant cry from the winds? The hushes and secrets it whispers in your ear, the faint mimicry of the lies whirling in your head?

I thought I heard the resonance of deceit for a moment. It murmured and mumbled, but I heard it all the same. Didn't you?

Couldn't you?


I don't believe I hear things. I don't feign ignorance you see. I believe I talk to myself, but only upon circumstances. On circumstances such as these, when I feel not the beats of my heart, but the pounding of my head. Pulsations which leave me devoid of true realistic emotions. Throbs which beat the time of the past, and of a certain part of this painful present.


It was only a letter. Only a few letters you see. But they were words, and those words were swords to the soul, the rapier targeted at one in general, but every one in our entities.

Ah.

Your heart is bleeding. Do you not hear the sound of the dripping faucet? Doesn't it sound just like your heart, ripping, slashing. But that cannot be. You're still alive aren't you/

But there is a little pain, you see. This pain is irrational, completely illogical, and perhaps meaningless. But can you deny its being? No you cannot.


You cannot pretend any longer. These entwined cords of mendacity; they twist at you. They try to tear you apart, and you struggle for breath. Grappling with it. Understanding it not.

Maybe if you could close your eyes, and look beyond the paltry frivolity.

( But only for a while. You cannot forget this. )

You will see kaleidoscopes. It is a mutiny of your mind. The rampage of your senses.

It is felt keenly, like a blade to the throat.

The degeneration of the mind will do strange and foreign things to you. Don't fight it.

Live with it. It will become you too. Just like everything soon will.


And then, what will we be?

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I have two secrets to share with the whole global network system. So shh don't tell.

The first being- I haven't practised poulenc for 2 weeks. Yes, two whole weeks. I can imagine my teacher hyperventilating as she contemplates the demolition of my piano-playing actuality. Kevin and debra suggested I not go anymore since it hardly makes me day, but somehow something is pulling me back from just throwing the towel and quitting piano. Maybe it's the way music moves people. Or maybe it's the huge connection I feel with the western development of music, or maybe I'm just better at hanging on than letting go.

Either way, whatever force that's keeping me going (and wasting tons of money) has this Herculean strength, and I'm not about to forgo a diploma just because I have a lazy brain and lazy fingers and lousy stamina.

The second secret shall remain a secret. Because I realise that if I were to even remotely suggest any possibilities here, it will blow up and become something so unrecognizable that I really shouldn't bother. This self-censorship will get to me, but I suppose there really is a limit to free public speech. hmm.. a dinner is not a real dinner by definition.

I was thinking about postmodernism for a while, simply because I felt like it and had nothing better to do other than feel my brain degenerate into nonsensical pulp. (I do realise I blog almost every day, which is a first for me.)

But anyway, I think what is really amazing is the paradigmatic shift from the idea that language is transparent to the disclosure of its intimacy, its QUOTE obdurate persistence, its paradoxical fragility UNQUOTE. I wasn't marveling at the manner which tanya described postmodernism, but more of the a particular choice of word she used.

Fragility.

I suppose there will be certain people who have issues with the word. Femininity, fragility, futility, fertility. It seems a little far-fetched to me, but in a way, I guess you can really see certain connections.

Then again, as Immanuel Kant believed, everything looks rosy when we put on our rose-tinted glasses, doesn't it.

Like I said, the relapse of my brain does weird things to me. Now I begin to enthusiastically translate some chinese lyrics into English on Microsoft word. I don't believe I am getting anywhere with this. It sounds shallow and obtuse in English. Then again, there isn't anyway I can pull myself out of the mushy randomness that comes with sleeping for a measly 4 hours for a week is there.

you can't get any weirder than that..

/

The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved columns of air--The edge
cuts without cutting
meets--nothing--renews
itself in metal or porcelain--

whither? It ends--
But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry--

Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica--
the broken plate
glazed with a rose


Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses--

The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end--of roses

It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits

Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness--fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching

What

The place between the petal's
edge and the

From the petal's edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact--lifting
from it--neither hanging
nor pushing--

The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space

-William Carlos Williams
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Today is a trivial day. So much so that I can sit around the teevee and watch Oprah. And eat half a tub of ben and jerry's. And listen to ashlee simpson sing pseudo-angst.

Today was rather painful as well. I was walking around in a hazy state of pain because of some unidentifiable muscle along my thigh. It was a constant stabbing pain after I did shuttle run. It hurt so bad I wanted to cry and be done with the pain, but obviously you shouldn't cry because of pain. Somehow or other I grew up with the mentality that physical pain was all in the mind. But anyhow.

And then there are my busy tired classmates. Peck who snoozes while reading Great Expectations, William who can sleep on the table, Xueyang who is perpetually tired and sleepy. Xy said I was an "eternal spring of cheerfulness" (which peck thought was an eternal spring of sickness, but never mind that.)

And the first thing which popped into my mind was "the joy of the Lord is my strength". The little tune is really catchy. But in all seriousness, the only reason that keeps me smiling is Him. It is the blessings I receive everyday, the very fact that I am healthy, that my friends are healthy, that we can come together and just talk and study and do all the Singaporean things is testimony to the blessings that have been rained upon me.

It sounds cliched. It seems overused. I mean, what really are "blessings" anyhow. I suppose many feel that if a Christian doesn't gush about blessings and God, then who will, right?

But that's the thing. You can't force a smile or look at the positive bits in life if you think that it's your bounding duty to. It doesn't work that way.

You can't decide to live life happily and not get moodswings and drag everyone down with you just because you think that's what a Christian ought to do.

Ought is such an ugly word.

I have nothing left to say, except really. The joy of the Lord is my strength. And I'll be praying for those who tire, those who crash, and those who burn.

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Here I am, at Your feet, crying out to You.

Draw me near, hold me close, Lord I wait on You.

For You're my greatest love. You're my comforter, my strength.

My guiding light.

I will run, I will soar, on eagles wings.
As I wait on You Lord,
my strength is restored.

Fix my eyes, on You Jesus, as I run this race..
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