Waking up on a bleak Sunday morning with barely a wink of sleep might seem like a disgruntling thought, when today, it’s anything but.
I’d like to express my deep gratitude to each and everyone of you – Route 196, bands, friends, and attendees – who have been a part of The Rest Is Noise Part 7. I could never think of anything better than to spend a cold, windy, and starless night in your warm company. It was admittedly a risky, if not reckless, call to twiddle our thumbs in vain – hoping the wrath of nature spare all of us not just tonight, but entirely. Maybe at least for a couple of hours, permeate us with a lovely night to recall, cozying up in a room full of friends and strangers, before we return to the biting cold of our beds back home.
It might seem too juvenile, but as our event draws nearer and it was just the dark getting darker, we pushed through. It was a decision made not out of complete and utter disregard for everyone’s safety, which includes our own, but the weather was trying its damnedest to cooperate.
It was so overwhelmingly surprising that at 9:30 pm, Route 196 was already filled with people. They who chose to be there rather than elsewhere. It felt like a million things are happening at once and I am in the middle of it all, simultaneously going through and bouncing off of me.
At the beginning of Bullet Dumas’s set, with only his guitar and his voice thundering and ricocheting around the room, I felt as if this is maybe what people mean when they say, “let the chips fall where they may.” I felt as if every feeling I ever had and will have, but more importantly, what I have right now, is magnified a thousand times, too acute, and too palpable that I can wring it out of my body and touch it. Right then and there, my tears wanted to escape my eyes and become sadness, but instead, I was overrun by the realization that I will be fine. All the immeasurable pain that wrought me will mend my broken, but resilient heart. I will be fine.
By the end of the night (which is, of course, around 3 in the morning already), the wind was already savage and the cold already stings. It was time to go home. As I bade farewell and gave awkward hugs and high fives to people, I felt a little warmer. I heaved out a sigh, not merely out of relief, but also of contentment. Because my heart is already filled with it, I had to send some to the wind.