In the theatre, emails and notifications flooded her work phone non-stop. Frantically replying each of them, she was determined to let nothing ruin her night. "Please, just tonight. Just tonight!" A night to herself was nothing short of a miracle, and she was intent on making this one happen.
Upon the introduction of the iconic quaint sequence of wind instruments, she sent "submit" to her last email triumphantly.
With bated breath, she watched as dancers flitted across the stage, donning all varieties of cat costumes. This was entertaining alright, but she was really looking forward to the magnificent highlight of the musical — this particular song called "Memory". She dreamed of watching it live all her childhood, and was still in disbelief that her dream was to come true.
Fifty-three minutes and forty-five seconds later, the enchantment began.
"Daylight, see the dew on the sunflower..."
Something about the pathetic tone of the soprano brought back memories of daylight for her. Daylight, an elusive luxury that she craved for. Of course, leaving the office near midnight on most days was a small price to pay for her prestigious title in her dream career.
"And a rose that is fading...Roses wither away"
Her head was throbbing - could it be that three hours of sleep were not enough? Drained of the pragmatic, highly intelligent, fast-paced corporate energy that kept her going through the day, she leaned back into her cushioned chair wearily.
"Let your memory lead you
Open up, enter in"
At this invitation, her mind wandered to a taste of time past that she barely allowed herself to sample.
"If you find there the meaning of what happiness is...Then a new life will begin"
She saw her first love sitting across from her, a cup of soya milk in his hands, condensed water droplets slowly dripping down. She remembered how he took out a crumpled 2 dollar note, handing it to the soya milk seller in exchange for a cup of the sweet drink. He offered her a sip, bringing it to her lips, stirring up a strange tingling in her heart that she did not recognise. "The moon is so pretty tonight", he said.
What did they talk about? She struggled to comprehend what they could have talked about, given that even at her young age, she knew that a future with him was out of the question. He was a mediocre person at best, sharing none of her materialistic dreams and hopes for the future.
Then, it all struck her. Banters about the most sumptuous food around the neighbourhood — plates of savoury duck rice and traditional Chinese desserts. Their shared appreciation of books, science fiction specifically. Her family bought classical books from a respectable bookstore nearby, unaware that some would end up on the bookshelf of a particular teenage boy.
She shuddered as she recalled how he saved up coins to get them a pair of movie tickets, which happened to be the most intoxicating experience of her life. That was the first time they held hands, and the last time they saw each other.
"Memory, all alone in the moonlight..."
She could still feel the cold stones beneath her, as she sat at the bay area. The moonlight reflected off little ripples of waves, tinkling of magic. Her new fiancee, a trader at Citi Bank, was late for their late-night rendezvous. No big deal, she thought. 9PM was usually the earliest he could end work, and he would understandably be held up for 30 minutes by last-minute work demands. 30 minutes later, his number lit up on her phone. "I think today won't be possible dear...MD's meeting is brought forward to tomorrow, have to stay and help." She laughed and assured him not to worry! There was a price to pay for excellence and she was proud that he was capable enough to pay this price. Left all alone, she continued looking at the bay. She willed herself to find contentment in her Asian mom's proud boasts to their neighbours, and the pricey condominium that the couple were able to afford together.
"Burnt out ends of smokey days
The stale cold smell of morning"
Another scene crossed her mind. She was 10, waking up on a cool December morning. Her country was never cold, and December was a welcome change to the rest of the hot, humid year. That particular morning smelt of rain and earth. She shuffled to the piano beside her bed, methodically going through finger exercises. Evidence of the previous day's study session with her mother was still on her knuckles, in the form of little bruises, or what she called "cane marks". Her mother disciplined her out of love — that she knew. Regardless, fear was the main motivator for her practice session.
After finger exercises, she moved on to her piano pieces. Mendelssohn's "Song Without Words" required careful technical precision to paint an atmosphere of nostalgia and longing. Soon, she found herself drawn to the song's emotions, instead of its technical demands. Strange, she thought; this never happened before. Mendelssohn's song brought up emotions that no words could describe, a deep longing for someone to understand her and love her, with words instead of beatings.
"A street lamp dies, another night is over"
A bitter sigh escaped her lips as she recalled the number of times she saw street lamps die from the window in her bedroom. When she was young, it used to be all-nighters for her major examinations. Then, it became insomnia from anxiety over future job prospects. Upon getting a full-time job, client-centered work projects proved to be more demanding than she expected. Sheer grit and pride helped her to pull through, but the physical burden of sleepless nights started showing. Just last week, she checked herself into the clinic for anti-migraine medications.
"If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is
Look, a new day has begun"
She wondered if other people would be able to understand what happiness was just by touching her and her life. Did she look happy? Were her memories happy? She knew the answer, but dared not think it. To think it meant the acceptance of defeat, and defeat was never her strong suit.
A little molecule of water exited her eye and found its way out of her eyelid, onto her porcelain face. It meandered down her cheek and dripped off dramatically, as if making a statement.
When was the last time she cried? Peaceful, contented memories had become a rarity, shining through like a blue moon in a clouded sky. For once, she found it perfectly reasonable to cry.
Her head was still aching from the lack of sleep. Perhaps, the beauty of the music highlighted the lack of colour in her own life. This childhood dream of hers was indeed heaven; the song was charming, alluring, and fascinating. However, heaven was not always what one thought it was, and at times, she wondered if the price of heaven was hell.