Hit or Miss

The curse of perfection invaded every aspect of my life to this day. I thought that there's nothing wrong with trying to do things perfectly and make everything turn out according to my expectations. I am that stubborn - I'll-get-what-I want-no-matter-what, otherwise, I'll drink and sink. Or, you'll give me what I want or you'll sink. Thankfully, this has not become life-threatening yet, though as I get older, I'm becoming aware of the existence of this inner demon better. It has become too easy to demand myself and others what I want as I become less caring and more independent. It has become easier to ditch a not so perfect friend or someone. It's a fight or flight kind of thing. However, perfectionism has also become a necessary evil for I will never have tried new things in life. Honestly, I don't really know where this is coming from, this burning desire to be perfectly right. My intense relationship with my obsessive-compulsiveness is now taking its toll, making me even crazier than I already am. It seems that there's never a grey space for me in there, I can't live in the middle of perfection and failure. I will either be perfectly emerging from a pile of rubble or someone who will just stay in the comfort of that mess.

I paused UNI at some point because there was a thing I couldn't get right with my thesis mates. My life had been an utter mess so I decided to take on something new. Either heaven or hell once again. One night, I walked into this new rock or metal bar in town and became quite infatuated with all things dark and loud. I was quite random when I'm feeling blue. I easily fall for things. I would probably take that free cocktail without thinking if there was some date rape drug in it or something. Thankfully that never happened nor will I ever wish for that to happen even if my body has been totally possessed by a diabolic spirit. I just wanted to work for that bar as a bartender or waitress, with no experience at all, just with that eagerness to learn blurb, or please, just give me a socially acceptable job or something, will you? Anything new in my life would do, a temporary escape from my mind.

I became friends with the manager/owner as I bummed around his empty-most-of-the-nights bar thinking of better things to do in life over a bottle of beer. Probably due to my devilish charm of being single out of school youth at the time, he had a better idea. Probably because there was no job for me or that he couldn't afford to hire me. A light bulb moment occurred to him, a rare opportunity for me to finally be a star in the darkness. I knew that I was not the working for someone else type simply because it is hard for me to submit to authorities. I'm a stubborn child that's why. I guess the entrepreneurial spirit was born out of sitting at the far end of the bar away from the rest of the cheering crowd. You got to be a little different to start something new.

I started organizing gigs for his bar. I thought this was a big responsibility but then it wouldn't hurt to try. Anything for money hey, as long as it is legal. The next thing I knew, a gig was happening. Sure it might not be such a big deal for some, but for my age at the time, it was something grand. It was my chance to run my own gig, make some cash and have some fun. I had fun. It was the best time of my life. I had many best times of my life actually. This time though, I was in charge of having the best time of my life. I was getting the bands, doing the marketing and all that part of being a small-time gig organizer. I didn't follow bands like a cheap groupie, the bands followed me. I told them where the event was going to be held and when they were going to play. All the details. Will they be satisfyingly opening the first set or risk not having the audience anymore by playing the last, that would suck. Being a female gig organizer has its perks. Not being too narcissistic, just slightly, but everyone needed me, everyone liked me. I'm the leader not that I'm a power-hungry totalitarian. I love that I'm in control of my own life and in control of others, not that I'm a total control freak. Just please never elect me as the president or leader of the world. I might put some people straight to the cemetery but I can assure it's retributive justice.

The internet was still at its worse back then, visual basic gray buttons and bright red, yellow, and blue flashy gifs, Yahoo and all (Did I just give you a clue?). I still had no idea of photoshop or graphics design yet, but somehow, putting some random gothic photo on Microsoft Word then typing something on the textbox would do. A printable black and white ad would do. My first mistake in this endeavor was printing a lot of posters and posting them all over the town without the start time of the show. For I was once again too focused on the perfection of placing the right rockish photo on Word. The metal scene in the city was too underground, the crowd was too small and too special. They knew when the special bands were playing, whether it was a glossy flier or photocopied 8.5 by 11 inches paper.

The first gig might be a flop but hey it was not that bad for starters, at least that was what I was told. It was actually more of a punk show. I got the faceless or so-called underground bands dying to be exposed listed. They played for free and some people came. There you have a gig! Everybody happy. The rock bar which was actually too big of a music space for a new entertainment establishment in some strange location was not overflowing with human bodies soaking in perspiration and cheap alcohol, but it was not that bad, believe it or not.

The next gig was a success after meeting a drummer/business Chinaman. He saw my first gig and he was the one who told me that it was not that bad. He had a lot of connections in the underground metal world, in short, I needed him. Strangely for his stature and business image, he was also part of this uber metal band, the one you pretend to appreciate despite not understanding the lyrics and sound. The one you pretend to appreciate because the drummer was smashing the drums in one smash per millisecond or something with only the soul of his hands flashing right in front of you. And the guitarist's fingers were crawling on the fretboard in a speed that you could not make sense out of the tablature anymore. Perhaps that was just me not making any sense out of that kind of music so I was schooled by this new friend. I learned to differentiate grindcore from melodic death metal.

I actually became very good friends with the metal band's drummer and we took it to the next level. Great times, by the way, I learned a lot. However, at some point in my life, things had gone wrong as always. It seems that things get fucked up when I put some emotional investment into it. It might be better to remain as a psycho-loner entrepreneur if I cannot really manage myself with anyone. I have some serious issues mind you. I'm all over the place. I think I've already demonstrated that in many ways. Love or hate my chaos.

I stopped organizing gigs and started working for some company in order to get by, slowly getting into the real world I should say. I started thinking about getting back to school after experimenting with new things, good and bad girl stuff. The bar where I used to bum around and where great things started stopped operating after the owner finally realized that it was just not working. The gigs were kind of a hit or miss. Not trying to save my face but I was not the only organizer though, it was not only me trying hard to make it survive. I think it is just the way it is in the underground music scene, the bands live up to their 'not sell out' ideologies in their uppity high noses while the establishment where they get to play their assess off also has to make some real money, so the bands can sit around and talk about their grand performance beside their pale girlfriends or groupies, looking cool with their Stratocasters and black leather jackets.

I was already working as a corporate slave and I tried to revive my gig days for the fun out of it or perhaps for the female rage and power out of it. I get to be the alpha male again. Deep down, there was a part of me that wanted to see someone, or for someone to see me fail. I tried to organize a gig in another bar but due to lack of connections, bad weather conditions and for having the wrong motive in the first place, it was a big time flop. The biggest of all and never again. As always, I was either doing it perfectly right or not. My then-friend drummer came to the gig and the emptiness was not such a good sight for such an ambitious gig organizer. It was not that bad for trying again.

Those were the days my friend I thought they'd never end. The only good thing for being some kind of a perfectionist-mess of a being is that I get to try many things, damn way too many things without a slight of fear anymore. That is just my risk-taking adventurous being talking. I guess I'll never run out of things to try for as long as I'm alive with body parts still intact. The gig organizer stunt was just the start of trying to make it on my own, it was kind of a wait and see life, then I waited and saw. The detachment to the turned-out-to-be-not-so-perfect was kind of liberating and a curse at the same time. I desire to continue what I've started too, that's the thing. The show must go on, empty seats or not, failure or not. Life must go on. I want to look back and tell some random person over a bottle of beer while sitting at the far end of the bar, hey I've tried that, want to listen how it's like? Life experiences taught me that it was alright not to be perfect, to be someone in between, to be still in the middle of the road. To be hit or miss and to be grateful for both.