My first World Choir Games ended in a whirlwind of love and camaraderie.

When you’re in school, three years feel like forever. Heck, even one year felt like an eternity then. But it’s been over a decade of Diocesan Choral Society (DCS), and I still struggle to explain what we do collectively. Where do I even start?

Friends who grew up within the local school scene know how competitive it gets in interschool sports, music, or anything that comes with medals and rankings. It reeks of elitism (with a slightly snobby undertone, or at least as snobby as schoolkids can get) and pragmatism (more medals meant more accolades to brag about on your resume) which was hardly a healthy environment. Still, I was always grateful I found my footing. Or, most importantly, my clan amongst it all.

True story: the summer before I started high school, my mom told me I would only be permitted to sing in mixed choirs if I didn’t start seeing anyone in it. (I sang and dated someone anyways – sorry mom.)

My teachers disapproved of how I threw away my time into the big, black hole commonly known as “rehearsals”. Surprisingly, my parents gave me sufficient slack as the years passed. In full tiger mom fashion, Monday was choir, Tuesday band, Thursday mixed choir and Friday orchestra. Weekends were more instrumental groups and ad-hoc events. It didn’t really matter what rehearsal or who I was with as long as I could escape from my textbooks. I thrived on these short bouts of group time. Now I know that a large part of the unexplainable draw is what Csikszentmihalyi terms as “flow” and that music groups are commonly cited for exemplifying the uncanny cohesion. If anything, my mirror neurons are better friends with you all than I will ever realise.

Our love for competitions ran internationally too. Every summer, there’s an undercurrent of excitement as the long-awaited overseas music festivals arrive. The celebrations took us far and wide, from Asia to Europe and the Americas. But the most coveted of them was perhaps the World Choir Games (WCG), an intense week of events dubbed the “choir Olympics” with a longstanding global ranking of meticulous calculation. Strangely enough, I’ve never been on a WCG tour in any of my years, both before and after graduating.

Regardless, my emotions used to run amok in my younger years, and I often failed to process a post-tour hollowness that many would wallow in after. In hindsight, I was (and still am) terrible at saying goodbyes and letting go of the good times for fear that it would be the end of all the good I knew. Now I know better, though I admit I may have only gotten better at disguising my sentiments to a socially more acceptable level. Even so, adulting still doesn’t come easily during it all. It’s a combination of making it to all rehearsals (on time), of balancing work and life while still kneading your voice tirelessly after office hours. I embarrassingly managed to fall ill with bronchitis during my last week at work and proceeded to lose my voice for two weeks – all while my family was away on vacation and right before the pre-tour concert. It was the absolute worst timing, but that’s a story for another time.

Sometimes I take for granted our courage to tackle any language in stride, the blessings of rarely discussing pronunciation, and the strange sensation when our diction and breathwork somehow meld into one. My favourite moment onstage is always the silence before the music begins – the anticipation and stillness suggest so many things. Like when the felted steps breathe with us, the air thick with trepidation. Or when a rogue cough bounces off the acoustic panels with a blunt echo. It will always be a humbling experience to stand on the risers, in the face of a live audience. Never again will I take this for granted in the post-pandemic era.

Singing may not be my forte, but perhaps the bond and wholesomeness I feel in your presence are.

So thank you, DCS and HM, for a very blue fortnight with a heck-load of magical people. For pushing our limits in a haven we feel safe enough to call “home”. And for the ethereal summers we then get to dwell on for the rest of the year.

Until next time.

Womens’ choral outfit designed by Cerine Lee, founder of the Hong Kong-based label The Surian.

Photos courtesy of World Choir Games and our relentless photographers – Sabrina Ko, Jenny Tse, and Justin Siu.

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