Photos by Gee Garcia.
Today’s the anniversary of the Surprise Me demo tape being finished. I’m writing this when I should be sleeping, strung out on the beautiful blog by Rachel Yupangco, my ex-officemate, and BTS’s new release, EUPHORIA, off of their coming album, LOVE YOURSELF: WONDER.
I don’t have enough energy to put the ocean of feelings I’m swimming in into words. I’m sure you guys have noticed that I’ve been more than a little unstable since late 2017, and I’m grateful for your continued patience and understanding. Turning 25 isn’t a HUGE deal in the grand scheme of things, but I had a map and then I lost it and now this year just feels like one giant unknown. And I hate not knowing.
Two years (and a few months) ago, I thought I was set for life. I thought I knew what I would be doing for the rest of my time here. I had a band. We had an EP that had JUST been reviewed by ABS-CBN. Gigs would come. Labels would come. We would be rockers, young forever, coasting on the power of music. I had brothers in arms, a family in which I thought I was both “mother” and sister. These were going to be the most beautiful years of my life.
Except they weren’t. Now, I am twenty-five, a solo act (if you can even call me that), floundering in conservatory, with one good song and the fear that I don’t have another left in me. It’s a pattern of mine, after all—one good book, one good poem, one great love. I used to want to achieve everything young. Now I worry that my youth is behind me, my “flowery years” gone, with the band and the dreams and the brothers, now just strangers who maybe still know my name.
I used to think that the only time you could ever make your dreams happen was in your youth. My youth is slipping away. I will never be as young and as beautiful as I was in those last two band years. I will never have that magic again. But here is what I think I might have, at nearly 4AM on a weeknight: the renewed understanding that seasons change. Eras come and go. You can never go back, no matter how many photographs you thumb through, impassioned screams into the void you cry. And that’s okay. Those years still existed. There are still beautiful moments to freeze and look at, even if I cannot live there any more.
At 25, perhaps my flowery years are over. Maybe the blinding, super-saturated energy of youth is gone. But here, where I am, maybe I can still bloom.
At any rate, I am trying to love this mess, where it is. Where I am.