The organised chaos

Bed of nails


Two years ago, I was a bundle of nerves during the competition.

Then, we were just a tiny choir and the acoustics of the competition hall were, as Nelson K says, “rotten”. It was the sort of hall where you could be standing close to one another and still not hear anything else but your own voice. I trembled on stage and prayed that I was doing everything correctly as it should be.

Two years on, it was a different story.

Instead of panicking, I felt calm and confident. As I stood on the stage under the harsh and hot lights on July 24, I looked straight at the audience and sang my heart out. Every note, every phrase, every nuance of emotion was sung with quiet confidence, with a familiarity that was only known to a singer who loves her music and who prides herself on her art.

It’s hard to explain the reason behind the difference. Perhaps it boils down to a confidence that grew with the knowledge that this is a fantastic group of singers with stronger voices and attitudes. Perhaps I grew as a singer. Perhaps we all knew that this was the moment, this was when seven months’ worth of hard work and struggle were culminating into that 20 minutes of glory.

July 26 was the day of reckoning.

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