bittersweet

"O Crew, you take my breath away. You make this broken vessel feel whole again, you are the reason I dance. Thank you."

That tweet needs context.

I'd been ready to leave. Ready to say my goodbyes, accept that life happens, people change, passions die. I've never felt more deadened in classes, more disgruntled; in the past when it's occurred it's only happened with items, with a surfeit of too many people all clamouring me-me-me.

I'd been ready to stop. I had-- have-- no right to inflict myself on people; I've been insufferable for three different items in three different concerts in a row, now, and if third-time's-the-charm wasn't indication enough for me to quit for good then I honestly didn't know what would be. More than that, I'd begun to feel again that I was throwing my energies at a brick wall-- energies perhaps better directed elsewhere. "I did my best" is an excuse for mediocrity, indeed.

I was ready to go. I was fretting about civil litigation, about the lateness of the hour, about going back to the office, about printing and binding and shredding and reading.

I don't know what made me stay. I think--

I think it was the memory of last year. Of us sitting on the floor in semidark, my notes spread before me, slippered feet still bare from Jessica's item. I think it was the joy I remembered feeling, the stolen pleasure of watching them do run after run, of our shamelessly outstaying a non-extended welcome, of only sneaking out rather surreptitiously when there was practically no one else left.

This time round I watched alone. For a time when I sat next to Kit Yee I tried-- and failed-- to explain the wordless anhedonia gripping my frame, the dismay at the passing of time, the choking-up that wanted to engulf me each time I looked at the stage and thought of the difference a year made.

This is what I saw: Gin's resignation-- 40 minutes of stage time, but half of the crew wasn't there-- followed by the elation that accompanied each cheer that went up as each succeeding member walked in. There was a sense of completion in the air, of something becoming whole. They drew strength from each other-- it was a sight to behold. Watching them work together was an exercise in leadership; someone might take charge at one point, but everyone was always pushing. No free-ridership here!

And then the music started.

Life happens. People change. Passions die. We leave, we give in, we say goodbye. But watching O Crew tonight gave me a little fuel to bank my embers; a bit of hope, a little joy. The item wasn't perfect, but the imperfections filled me with greater fervour-- when I watched KH practise relentlessly, when I watched Allegra or Gin fight to come back to the music when it threatened to overpower them, when I watched An An's intensity and concentration ("WCO-trained 的就是WCO-trained 的!"); Zaihar's flow; Terence's exactitude; Hua's immersion; Weijie's hits, DSS' magic, Fredy's mastery. I cannot name them all. It made my very dysfunctional self the happiest I've been in weeks.

2 more chapters, then bed, then recital!