Sweat and Tears

Sweat and Tears

After the painful haste in Always With Me and Ponyo, my confidence took a stab. I'd hoped for so much more from each of us - Practices and combines have always showed that the sound we were capable of creating was so much more captivating and colorful. But there was no time to consider beyond that. Stage movements kept me busy for most of the night.

After Odoru and Red Sweet Pea, I was convinced the night was over. For a first concert, I felt mildly satisfied with this first foray into a strange new experience. I've grown to be understanding to how limits can often override expectations, and accepted the past few hours' adherence to that annoying fact. It wasn't the Dream I'd quite hoped for, but for a first concert, I could live with it.

I made my way in the dim lightings of the tiny backstage, carefully keeping my guitar (Which I might name "Newbie" - I'll explain next time.) close to my side. I was exhausted. Every bump and knock that happened between the transitions reverberated violently in my head. The tiniest of mistakes were only amplified and intensified by the tense silence that I tried so hard to maintain. By the time I got into my seat for the finale, I was almost ready for a simple end to the long, tiring day.

Fate has a unique taste and liking for irony. The first part of the Dream Medley had always been my favourite, in particular for the fact that our guitars were sure to have their fair share of stage presence for that one section. Beyond that, however, the balance of sound was left to the questionable acoustics of the PAC. Nevertheless, I started the song with enthusiasm, playing further from the soundhole just to squeeze out every nuance of sound I could from my guitar.

Then, everything went black. I wasn't looking at the scores, but for a moment every note I held in my head disappeared along with my vision. Muscle memory was the only thing driving me from chord to chord, and I picked up where I left off in a hurry, but another part of me remained in shock. I almost wanted to stop, but I saw what the darkness illuminated.

I saw the Year 6 players in front continuing to pluck and strum away. They were every bit as surprised as I was, but never missed a beat. I saw how our singers continued, confidently ignoring the absence of a microphone, their upbeat mood reaching far more hearts than their voices a few ears. I saw the audience holding up phones and lights, the light that may not have revealed my scores, but revealed what was important.

The dark allowed what was important to shine. And when we gathered outside the guitar room, listening to Dawn, Kevin, Miss Ho and Sin Hui's debriefs, I was already perspiring all over. My face in particular was covered with an unsightly sheen. And secretly, I knew my eyes were relenting to the emotions built up over the day.

My face was covered with a mixture of sweat and tears. And after awhile, I couldn't feel a difference between the two.