Kiana

My heart thumped as the crowd roared to life. My feet automatically jived with the strumming of guitars and the booming bass lines. There they are, Death Cab for Cutie, in the flesh. Of course they’d pick “No Room in Frame” as the first song in the set because it starts off, “I don’t know where to begin…” It was an obvious witty move, but it still came as a pleasant surprise. Ben was prancing round, looking immaculate under the flashing halogen lights. I immediately fell in love with the scene, how everything on that stage was pulsing, and everyone looked so good, and sounded so good, though for a second I thought they sounded strange. I think I blacked out? Though not really. But I was sure I fell under the spell of this band I used to only listen to through headphones. It was unbelievable, to find myself scream-singing with Death Cab for Cutie, SHRIEKING really, in that cramped, sweaty, hot, uncomfortable space.

The crowd was singing along, too, which now comes as a surprise as I call to mind a conversation I had with D when he noted that most concert goers don’t get to bask in an event’s atmosphere anymore because they’re constantly looking at screens, recording everything. But also because I thought, YAY I’M NOT ALONE! OK! I’m thankful to note now, as I’ve been there firsthand, that maybe this inclination is triggered by human beings’ general fear of losing something, an inability to move on and get into what has happened and what is here. We always want to have something to look back on, of course: It hurts to forget. And maybe in the process of forgetting—of a memory dissolving—something within us dissipates, too.

The day after the festival, I met up with a friend. We talked and roamed around Manila, a city I’m vaguely familiar with. I felt like a tourist, but not quite, because I spoke the same language as the locals. I’m thankful for Death Cab for Cutie playing the song “You Are a Tourist,” which has gotten me through tough and lonely times in cities I was altogether terrified of. Since it would hurt to forget this experience, here are snippets I’ll save. Conversations ending in “me, too!” reminding me to stop overlooking others’ presence and thinking that I’m all alone. Epiphanies that affirm my place in the world: I’m meant to be overly sentimental and melancholic and I should STOP BITCHING ABOUT IT. Looking into people’s eyes and finding #thelook that lets you know they, too, are terrified and insecure, or bored, or lost. Lastly, even though this may sound like a TED talk (sorry!), the sheer simplicity and magic of asking. ♦