The world is oftentimes such an ugly place, but sometimes it can be so beautiful.
Like, when two choirs, one from Croatia and the other from Zimbabwe, met on the opposite sides of a Lisbon subway station and both sang to each other.
I unfortunately do not know what the Zimbabwe children choir sang to them (although it was so beautiful), but the Croatian klapa Kastav sang 'Kuća puna naroda' (a house full of people).
And let my reward be a house full of people,
my life, give me a voice, so I can embrace you with songs.
I sang publicly in an LGBT+ choir yesterday. We're an SATB choir. I'm a trans guy and I sing bass. The last time I sang publicly with a choir I was an alto, but testosterone is a hell of a drug. Our director likes to have shorter people at the front when we sing, so that she can see everyone, and the audience can see all of us. I'm on the front row. I look to my left and see another trans man. I look to my right and see two more. I realise that every bass on the front row is transmasculine. I smile. I'm singing for my brothers and my brothers are singing for me. Later, when we're all talking about the performance, I resist the urge to make a joke about how short we all are. We go to a pub to celebrate a successful performance, and with them I dance like someones dad at a wedding, and we talk about visibility, invisibility and navigating being trans at work. One of them has infectious joy when he dances. Another is the most fabulous looking man I have ever met. I finally feel like I found my people and I'm somewhere I belong. This is my community. This is where I am safe. Being with other trans men is so healing and affirming. Being one of the boys. Dancing to ABBA.
maybe the only reason i ever get excited for my future is the idea that i will discover music ive never heard of and find new favourite albums and songs, music is why i want to get old