Cheers

I'm not going to lie. I love to sing. I adore singing. And though I've traipsed through numerous choir classes, making my way through Bel Canto and Sophomore Select and then Madrigals during my schooling, I've never quite realized how significantly music affects my life. This looming fact has only come into the light recently- since I started driving more on my own, in fact. When it's just me, the silence, and the appreciative steering wheel staring me down as I drive, I'm as bold as Madonna. However, place me in front of a group of people, and I clam up. This is a sad fact of life that I am trying to work on.

As I type this, the London Underground "Tube" ticket is distracting me as it perches on my bulletin board. Oh, what I would give to return to the crisp world of Britain.

Sometimes I wonder what it means to live. Sure, everyone exists. Everyone blinks. Everyone inhales deeply, then we exhale. Blink again. Breathe. Blink. Beat; a mantra of bodily functions, carrying on without acknowledgment.  Put a hand up to a chest and a heartbeat can be felt, pulsing and sustaining us whether we take the time to appreciate it or not. And the thing is, most of the time, man doesn't appreciate what we are given. We bumble through life, throwing on masks and slicking back our dreams and slapping on smiles that at any given time during our day could crumble in realization of what kind of lives we are actually living. We exist in fear of ourselves, our hearts, and most of all, the throng of hearts that throb along with our own.  We are the shop dummies, painted in lipsticks and lacquers to hide the cracks, then stuffed into worn and gnawed emotions that we think we ought to feel, pretending to live life as vicariously as we know how. But instead, we fail miserably behind curtains and shades and thick walls we have to build for our own protection.

We push through everything that clutters our paths and put up the "everything's okay" facade over our shirts and jeans. We blink, we breathe, we fear. We fear that at any moment, our seams will be ripped away, and we will shatter, leaving us emotionally naked and bare for the starving eye to feast upon. But the more I revel in the silence, the more I realize that isn't living. Nothing stems from forced apathy, except a void in the pit of the stomach that we try to mistake as hunger. Even our blind hearts know better. Feeling it, feeling that brimming emotion that proves so difficult to ignore, is oftentimes what keeps us going, despite the throbbing that comes with it. And that's living, I think. Scraping off the facade, erasing the mirages that we see in the place of reality, and facing the world head on, no matter what we're afraid of- that's living. And anything is better than mindlessly existing.

Anyway, those were just some thoughts running through my head. Time to sleep!