I have never been too fond of concert photography. The lights are always too bright or too dark, music too loud (we stand near the speakers), and I’m always struggling to keep my eye off the shutter to better enjoy the whole process. But it was different this time and I loved it.

I suppose the whole coming together as a community thing really fascinates me. I like feeling at home (I recognise you, you and you) and meeting people whom I last saw at a previous event. There were familiar faces and photogs, journos, even concert promoters whom I realise I have some link to. I also stumbled upon a dashing young boy who came up to me. He was a very charming boy, insisted he was my cousin and put his arm around my waist. A few songs after, I discover he really is my cousin.

Absolutely stoked.

Switchfoot has made me want to take more concert pictures. To fill in gaps. To make up stories. To have moments conjured from the smoke and sounds around me. They are inspiring that way. I also like how each song tells a different story. The intro to Meant to Live will always belong to Eddie, N, Enghui and gang who spent days preparing for a gig (much to my annoyance because the instruments were in my place!) I also thought I saw an old mate by the media stands – we go way back. But we missed each other and that shall forever go down as the best ending ever to our tale.

There are so many things I want to write about, but I guess I won’t. I find myself incompetent today (having to skip clancie’s karaoke birthday to make up for my word limit.) This week, I find myself unable to offer my usual servings of words and lyrics till I have measured them all in scale. How would we know, in good faith, that these packet stories will not all go away? My head is pounding (but it’s nothing an aspirin or a walk in chinatown cannot cure).

I ALSO never knew SF sang the Mandy Moore song! So as cheesy as it sounds, I sang-along to Only Hope and reminisced to a walk to remember where letters (in our time) were written only to be hidden and thrown away in Sorrento. Lost amongst the slit of couches, abandoned.

To heighten the experience, I wore ripped jeans.

I think I depend too much on pictures and music to jog my memory.