Choral Passion

I enjoy singing in choir very much. I love making side jokes and faces with my neighbors in between singing, chuckling at their humor, and, on occasion, sharing the pain of hearing discordant voices who can't quite detect their error. It's an enjoyable change in routine, as I traditionally prefer the company of myself.

What I love most, however, has nothing to do with socializing. I love the challenge of improvement, tackling a song one phrase at a time; the rush I get when I nail a tough interval; singing a low A with a broad vowel in my mouth; feeling goosebumps ripple along my limbs as individual notes burgeon into beautifully blended music.

I love making sweet harmony with something that is bigger than myself.

In high school, my class schedule never allowed me to be a part of the award-winning concert choir, so I never got the chance to sing beautiful pieces of music with passionate peers -- something I'd always dreamed of -- and recieve great recognition for doing so. I was stuck with my small-time church choir, never really coming across a truly moving arrangement or composition.

Imagine my surprise when I came across the works of Eric Whitacre and his virtual choir:

Underneath my stilled heart and mesmerization, as I listen to the music I can't help but feel a sense of longing: longing to be a part of that choir, longing to have had that opportunity just months ago. There's also a knowing that I just missed the boat on this. It's a crappy feeling.

I sometimes wonder if I'm destined to forever be the alto extraodinaire that could have been. It's a small hole in my heart, this dream, and although it's an absence of substance, it weighs heavy within me.

Boys

I decided to rescue this post from the dregs of my draft pile, as it still holds true to my feelings. Written sometime last year.




Is it so unusual for me to never have had a true, go-weak-at-the-knees crush? Anyone who finds out is very surprised, and must ask me again. "Not one?" they ask. Unless the puppy love for Kevin Richardson of the Backstreet Boys at the age of five counts, I have never had a crush on any boy, ever. I don't think it's weird.

There's this boy who has a grandmother in my church. He lives in California, but he spent last summer up here. He's my age, he's tall, he's tan, and he's very handsome. He was at church again today, and he leaves for home tomorrow. Yesterday, a friend of mine and her mother came up to me and told me that he had been here these past few Sundays that I've missed, and that I should make sure to attend today because he would be there. "So make sure you come all dressed up!" they said. The giddy, excited look in my friend's eye was almost comical. I felt like I was in Pride and Prejudice. It was almost as if they expected me to have the same reaction to his presence.

No. Not I. Although he is very, very handsome, he is still a teenage boy. He still gets a kick out of practical jokes, he still loves first-person shooters, and he still enjoys "that's what she said" jokes. I want something deeper. I want a thinker, like myself.

Granted, I still get a cheap laugh out of "your face" jokes, but we're all allowed our cheap laughs -- on occasion. What I'm getting at is, I see this boy for what he is on the inside, and my conclusion is that our personalities are not very compatible, as far as dating goes. I guess that's a mark of maturity on my part, because even though he's fun to drool over, I'm not a big fan of "eye candy". It's what's on the inside that counts for me.

Worth Telling

Watched a few episodes of "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" and saw the many stories of individuals who overcame adversity, live with hardship, or fill their hearts with love.

Do I have a story worth telling?

...I don't know the answer to that question.