We are all just PEOPLE

You wake up, although you’re not sure you actually slept. Today will be the same as yesterday, only completely different. Everything feels surreal, as if time has been slowed down, then sped up again. Everything feels normal, but not quite right. The tram feels like it’s flying, but not moving, and the world passes by the window in slow motion, or fast forward. You definitely didn’t sleep. 

You’re given a purple wristband with 5 on it. You’re not sure what that means yet. There is no line up, and there are no bands. But you’ll wait in line with the other purple 5s, that’s what it means. You have to choose a studio to start with, between 1 and 6. Without any indication of who or what will be behind the door. You choose 6...no 4, and you wait in line until it’s time to go in. You walk into studio 3. 

Inside, there’s a young guy sitting at a piano. “Hi, I’m Henning” he says. You don’t know Henning, but as he begins to sing, you feel like he may know you. The more he continues to sing, the more sure you are that he does know you. He fills up your heart until it bursts, before piecing it back together, again and again. You can’t remember if you’ve taken a breath the whole time you’ve been in here. You exhale.

This was your first room.

The whole day continues this way. In the next tiny room, and the huge room that follows, and all the rooms afterwards. It continues this way in the liminal spaces too. The patches of grass, and the tiny forest, and amongst the people waiting for food. You realise that this whole place is actually a liminal space. Everywhere, everyone, and everything is somewhere between what was and what comes next. Everything is unknown. 

You watch your new favourite band. Although they’re not really a band here, they’re just people. Aaron and Justin. There’s other people with them too. Bryce, Gordi, JT, Kate, Laura, Lisa, and a few you don’t know. You forget that bands are even a thing. You forget about headliners and hierarchies and the weight of everything. You remember that we are all just people. You could probably get up there and sing too. You did get up there and sing too, even though you didn't know the words. 

Maybe that’s the whole point. Maybe nobody knows the words, not really, but they don’t let it stop them singing.

Then, another blur of musicians and dancers and...Macaulay Culkin?! You think about talking to him, but all you can think about is Home Alone. You decide against it. Harmar Superstar comes on stage dressed as a ramen packet. He sings about Gatorade. It’s way more amazing than it sounds. It’s 2am.

This was your first day.

You wake up, although you’re not sure you actually slept. Today will be the same as yesterday, only completely different. 

More people you’ve never heard of before, and more people you love. More people playing together who’ve never even met before, and more people who blow your heart into a thousand pieces, again and again. Before putting it back together, again and again. You begin to realise that your heart is more resilient than you have ever given it credit for. You definitely didn’t sleep. And then, just like that, it's over.

You leave, exactly the same person who entered. But somehow more beautiful, somehow more ready, and somehow able to fly.

This was your first P-E-O-P-L-E.

You wake up, although you’re not sure you actually slept. Today will be the same as yesterday, only completely different. 

You think about all the performances you didn’t get to see this weekend. You think about how you're supposed to be afraid of missing out on them, but you’re not. You're curious, and inspired, and in awe. You realise that you want to do more, feel more, and be more. You realise that you can do anything, and you promise yourself that you will. You remind yourself again, we are all just people.

You wonder if you really can fly after all.

You jump.

lettersLee Crutchley