I dozed off for two hours this afternoon to wake up with a start, tired. When I returned to my office, I received emails from clients. I forgot to do this, there are problems there, I have to get back to work. Then I dive into the subway to go to my singing class.
This moment, with my teacher, passes too quickly. Although I am progressing, I feel all the work, what am I saying, all the constant effort that will have to be given to hope to evolve. Singing is liberating, it informs me about the state of my body, how it vibrates, how it reacts to the slightest stress. I am no longer twenty years old, this is reflected in the tension I bring to do too much well, to succeed, because it is, of course, about performance and success. I am continually striving towards this goal without understanding what drives me.
I could do nothing, be nothing. I could drop everything. I know that to live, you have to fight. I do it all too naturally. There’s this impatient ember trying to set everything on fire. However, my teacher literally made me breathe through my nose today. I’m getting too much air right now. Closing the mouth before singing, inhaling through the nostrils causes a more natural work of the diaphragm and promotes internalization. Singing is first and foremost self-expression.
This also pertains to writing, to photography, which I am urged to do again.
I have to rethink everything, breathe through my nose, less look for that air, because it is there to tell me again that I could be nothing, that I will be, anyway, one day or another, that nothing, that silence. I sing, I work, I try to love by being deeply religious. It’s difficult because I don’t want to believe stupidly. I’m not one of those innocent people with full hands. I am guilty of all my intentions and feelings.
This is a great paradox. Everything is self-evident, it seems to me, everything is logical, I understand, I don’t protest. However, what should calm me down ignites me. I cling to the youth of the present time, never lost, but never found. A door seems to appear in the wall of my ignorance. I hear its hinges whining.