Tonight, I have a story to tell.
I have been busy drawing lines on the manila paper as I write the program for our tasked concert. I hear the footsteps of the talents walking past behind me. Tik-tok-plok. Right to left, they go back to where they have come from. Left to right, they proceed to the stage area where they are expected to perform.
I write the letters, the words, the phrases: the scratches of the pentel pen screech a sharp, silent sound. They sing the notes, the melodies, the songs: sopranos, altos and bases form a soft, loud sound. The pen's complaint on his smooth tip's collision with the coarse surface of the paper seem to speak aloud, but the passionate singing of the performers overpowers his screeches. Tik-tok-plok. The performers continue to move from left to right, right to left. The show has just begun.
Tonight, I have a story to tell.
I have been busy writing letters on the manila paper for our sequence guide. The performers who have walked from left to right has probably reached the stage, starting to hum the melody of the night. The ambiance slowly transforms into a heavenly-feel. Hmmm... Hmmm.. Hmmm. Starting from a low note, their voices rise to a high note, going back again to a low. They have reached their destination, have begun their performance, and have now exhibited their voice's flexibility to the heeding and viewing public. I continue to write the letters, now with a heavenly feel.
Hmmm... Hmmm.. Hmmm. The melody transports me into a realm beyond what I see to be real - that we call memory. Imagination strikes harshly - sight flashing the past, hearing harkening the lost note, touch vibing the bygone. I continue to write - roman numerals, english words, commas, semi-colons. Periods. I write the last period. The singing of the performers stops, applause proceeds therein. The performers walk again - now from right to left. Accomplishing their performance, they go back to where they have come from.
Tonight, I have a story to tell.
Tik-tok-plok. I hear the thumps of their heels, soles and feet. From the notes that they have sung, memories spring forth. The table where I have laid down the manila paper seems to transform into a pond of illusions. I hear a familiar music, I see a familiar face, I hold a soft hand, I clutch to a firm arm. I respond to words of honesty, sincerity and wisdom. I wait for an additional hour. I dream. I believe.
Someone walked past behind me, humming a melody. Hmmm... Hmmm.. Hmmm.
I love. I fear.
Tik-tok-plok. Another one walks, now in the opposite direction. Another group of performers pace towards the stage. From left to right, they lead their own ways to their destination. The pond has returned to a table.
I love. I lose.
Tonight, I have a story to tell.
That stories simply repeat. But the endings - it can be changed. Depending on from where, to where you walk your way. Depending on the melody you choose to hum.
This is the story that I have always wanted to tell.
This is the story that I have always wanted to tell.
I have written this on December 3, 2009. It made me smile on three reasons:
- I vividly remember the feeling I had during this event. It was the UST Christmas Concert. I remembered celebrating the same event with someone during the previous year. He taught me a lot: thanks to him! Truly: Stories simply repeat. But the endings - they can be changed.
- I was amazed by the way I have written this entry - with consistent alliterations and spontaneity. I could attest: every word really came from the heart.
- I have learned enough. This is the story I would like to tell to myself.
On another note:
Thank you to Dani for passing the Versatile Blogger Award to me! I really appreciate it. I hope to flood my blog with updates in the days to come!
