… i decided, instead, to blog.

my first pop concert! colorful and noisy and absolutely awesome! misia is an amazing singer on stage; much more so than on her recordings, in fact. she had boundless energy, singing and dancing and jumping and running on stage; we felt breathless just watching her. and her whistle tone…! i didn’t exactly hear her sing five octaves (she is supposed to have that range. i don’t know if that is even humanly possible) but there must have been at least 3.5 octaves between the highest and lowest notes she sang.

and part of me wanted to have that kind of power too – to make the audience dance and sing and clap and cheer, and walk away with huge smiles.

on a more sombre note, i dreamt that i died. and it wasn’t even the first time. actually, on second thoughts, i think i won’t go into it. it was too vivid, too terrifying… much more so than i would care to admit. i’m just not ready to die yet. i don’t know if i would ever be.

i am so tired! and there is so much work to be done. so much music to learn. so many errands to run. so many trips and dinners to organize. even so… there is always still time to do so much remembering, so much forgetting, so much wishin’ and hopin’.

the tiny bird that has forgotten how to fly. (really makes you want to change “tiny” to “fat,” doesn’t it? well, for me, anyhow.)

one of misia’s songs – just another one of those japanese ballads that i actually like. incidentally, i am going to watch her perform live in two days. my virginal rock/pop concert experience! i hope it will be horrendously flashy and unforgettably loud, yet more in tune than most pop singers manage to be when they sing live.

but that was a digression… my point is i do feel like a (fat) bird that has forgotten how to fly… “at some point in time, i have lost sight of something,” and i wonder when i will find ”happiness as great as the pain born of my wounds.” so many things, and so much pain… if i ever do, i think all that happiness will just overwhelm and kill me instead.

aren’t lyricists amazing? for some reason, at some point in time, at least one of them seems to have gone through exactly what the rest of us are going through, and managed to pinpoint our exact sentiments. brilliant. but i suppose the human journey is, by and large, universal. it is sometimes just… i don’t know… ego? self-indulgence?… that makes us believe our suffering is unique. maybe, just maybe, that belief makes us feel better, and we simply do not like others to empathise and say i understand (i know i don’t!); we do not believe they can.

not that the knowledge of my own self-centredness bothers me, really. is it all that bad to live for yourself?