too much to think about, with exams coming up; I think I'll be sleeping late tonight. Again.


whyyyyyyyy


screw the exams. I don't want to sit for them. Would skip them if I could. Last year, it was brainless mugging; this year.... well it's just that everything has changed.


Too many emotions.


I'm going to miss everything. The orch, definitely; all those good times spent with them. I remember those endless weeks of patient teaching by Lenard; we'd all go to the back of the hall, our section's traditional spot in those times, and mug Shostakovich; I remember one afternoon I arrived late, and Lenard spent hours teaching me how to trill, even till it was overtime. There was SYF 2005, the mega-screw up on Shostakovich; but still memorable. It was then the orch spirit showed its face; everyone knew we could have done better. Symphonia, the best concert we'd ever done: St. Paul's Suite, a replay of what happened in the camp, those 5 hours when the seniors dumped us with the task to create a performance and ran off. I remember I screwed the Persian Market solo; and now I look back and laugh; it appears so easy now. Shostakovich in its full glory; Alan's Mendelssohn violin concerto, and the first performance of the quartet, the quartet which inspired so many other quartet and octet performances instead of bringing the entire orch along. Then I was ASL, and tasked with the solo on the Holberg suite, which I messed up yet again; and I felt so zibei in front of Eunice and Melissa. I promised myself to work harder; trying to follow in Lenard's footsteps. I met Sze who didn't have a lot of nice stuff to say about my playing. Then the next horribly titled concert; and we moved on into the rest of Shostakovich. I hoped for, but dared not asked for the solo. I wanted to play, yet I was afraid of screwing up; still I was overjoyed when Chan chose to make it a 2 soli instead. The masterclass was an eye-opener; listening to Eunice's Vocalise, which was nicely played, and Melissa's Haydn Cello Concerto; it was then that I realised, progress was not that difficult. Then came Sweden, and the Gothenburg Music Festival; and I do remember, for the first and last time, in that church with all its echoey acoustics, that I found my place in the music; playing the solo from the 4th movement of Shostakovich's String Quartet No.8, and I drew tears from the audience. I reserve no glory for myself; I was but a tool in the composer's hands, awed and touched, just as the audience was, by the intensity of emotion in the music. It was not me that made the audience cry; rather, it was the feelings of Shostakovich himself, transcending time to reach out to all those in the church... and to a small, but closely bonded, orchestra from Singapore. I felt a little like crying myself.


HCISO: the legend lives.


a long, long way from home;


home is where the heart is, is it not? Then, I have been driven from my home; I have overstayed myself.


I remember; will remember; always.


but a wraith in the wind;


shapeshifting etherealism in grayscale shades