Something in the Night

I wholeheartedly sing my lines of Christina Aguilera's Reflection to my sister.

There is always something significantly beautiful about night shows –the way the night blanket would drape across the pastel sky at dusk and twinkle with thousands of stars and with the darkness, it would seem like the whole world is fading and there is nothing but the illuminated stage and people who anticipate a good time.

Everyone’s faces are dimmed, except for the fire of excitement in their eyes and their wide smiles. Everything is ethereal and magical, and you can’t help but wish that this moment would last for an eternity –where reality is just a faraway dream and happiness is not short-lived.

I love these moments, and when they happen, I try to paint everything in my mind and make them immortal in my heart. They are pleasant memories I go back to –memories I remember with tranquil, wistful feelings.

Naturally, I was tremendously happy when my sister and I were given a chance to sing on the bright stage, to be part of the enchanted night. But it was hard. We were anxious despite our constant practices, and I was fretting all over the possibility that I could jeopardized this show in Pardo for everyone. My fingers trembled backstage, but when I held my sister’s hand as I guided her up the stairs to the stage, epiphany washed over me. This is our night. Nothing would go wrong. Nothing could destroy it.

I held my microphone in a tight grip, a foreign feeling settling in my chest. I silently thanked my poor eyesight; it diminished any traces of anxiety as faces were reduced into mere blurs. And we sang, igniting the night as words smoothly poured out of our lips. We glowed, radiant as the morning star, and we didn’t care if ever we were out of tune. The evening was ours.