"I finally mustered up the discipline to write this post, weeks after the concert. It's almost time for the epilogue."

Dear Diary,

It has almost been half a year of practice, and it all boils down to this very day.

A combined performance with a 120-strong choir -and- the Singapore Symphony Orchestra, right at the very heart of Singapore's art scene- The Esplanade. What a way to end it.

I remember the months before that all of us would scuttle to and fro our classes, and start learning our pieces for the Christmas show. Always a fan of John Rutter's work ever since I first heard Et Misericordia, Mr Poon's decision for YJChorale to participate in such a concert was almost godsend (pardon the pun).

Perhaps it was the passion to perform (ooh alliteration) that made me commit to the concert even after quitting YJC. Maybe it were the people. On hindsight, definitely the people.

Eric would always come in with his signature "Make way, hot stuff coming through!". It has never failed to crack me up. It was eye-opening to see the professional choirs work with such zest, and a pleasure to meet jokers like Mus-- (You are damn lame, can?) There were times when we whined and complained of late practices (Mus did that alot), but still, there was this certain sparkle in his eyes that told of his willingness to perform. That, or I might have been hallucinating. Thick coffees right before choir practices do that to you.

Funny, there was always that certain affinity I felt with the choir, no matter how much segregated it was said to be. I doubt we differ much really, we're all here to sing. And that's all that matters.

Unless you're a stickler for perfection, but even that's understandable. Give it your best shot, and never say die until you actually are. Dr Goh (remember ah, I'm a doctor! I can give you MC okay!) gave us a final dry-run, corrected a few mistakes, and let us go. Well, not the tenors though.

All of us were instructed to occupy Mr Poon's room, and he made all of us change colour. Both literally and metaphorically. I have a vague recollection of turning green as I struggled towards a vibrato. I succeeded that night.

It's appalling to see a half a year's vocal training make a difference. Nonsense, that would be what Miss Yap would say if you said that you 'can't'. Maybe it was that very spirit that allowed me to hone my still-abysmal voice. It cracks less now. I've therefore come to a conclusion that I can't sing.

I'm still trying.

Break a leg. It's your big night. Just relax and enjoy everyone, you deserved it.

Sure as hell we did. The crowd wasn't intimidating at all; The orchestra flagged the frontline.

A few minor adjustments and a flick of a wrist later, and we were all off.

Magnificat, magnificat. Anima Mea, dominum...

The sheer intensity of the song was atomic. I could actually hear the sound resonate back to where I was standing. That's easily half a mile travelled.

Just think of how far human culture and technology has improved in order for us to perform such a piece, from scratch even. Dozens of different instruments, eight-part vocals all harmonizing into a vibrant assimilation of jubilancy.

All that, for a mere five minutes. That humble five minutes where everything else just didn't matter. It was you, your peers, the conductor (always keep an eye on the conductor!), and your audience. Nothing else.

It was when everything settled down to silent melancholy that a round of polite applause should break it.

Plenisunt caliet terra, gloria tua. Hossana et excelsis...

That's where beauty transcends the set boundaries of language. A single non-conformity that implicates all senses, throwing all of them into chaotic disarray. With each and every different movement the audience was treated to melodic peace, abruptly interrupted by the foreboding layers of creeping, instilling fear. You don't know what to do or think anymore. You're enveloped by the climax. You are living the moment.

Salvation. You give your thanks and pledge allegiance. You bound around in joy. There is a nexus between you and your your benefactor. You can't feel any less protected than you already are.

Hark the herald angels sing, glory to the new-born king.

Amen.

And just when you thought that it was safe to breathe a sigh of relief?

"What would Christmas be without any carolling?" Oh right, the carols. It's Christmas after all.

We wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy new year...

Less than a fortnight to the new year, and it's been a great ride.

Merry Christmas.

Signed,
Don