Ying Hui's Scrapbook: AAR Gives Me Heaven

Infiltrating the VIP area + Being encircled by sizzling hot dudes + Breaking our legs and blasting our larynx in a mad fervour to fawesome song after song + Basking in Tyson's all-consuming exuberant stage presence up close + Drinking in the energy emanating from the band like a thirsty beast for more than an hour + Giggling hysterically while bobbing and pointing at the band as they strode from their trailer to The Holy Tent for Meet and Greet + Having Tyson's hand on my back during the group photography session

= THE FUCKING BEST CONCERT IN MY ENTIRE LIFE

Oh. Just to stress a point.

When we were ushered into The Holy Tent, because I was the second in line, I half sprang half hopped and plonked myself right beside Tyson (:

Thus, as the cameras flashed away...

Tyson placed his hand on my back.

TYSON RITTER PLACED HIS RIGHT HAND ON MY BACK.

TYSON RITTER FROM ALL AMERICAN REJECTS PLACED HIS SWEATY RIGHT HAND ON THE SMALL OF MY SWEATY BACK FOR MORE THAN 15 SECONDS.

It was like stepping on a live wire, except I was grinning from temple to temple, humming tunelessly to myself in the most unimaginably high pitch and suppressing with much difficulty the urge to shriek in elation.

OOH OOH OOH.

After the Digi professional photographers (seriously, dudes, where's my bloody photograph?!) were done, I twisted to my right and gingerly shell out the string thingy to Chris, who was like, "Wow, gee, thanks!"

I flashed a smile at him, then quickly twirled back to my left and squeakily went, "Tyson, we made something for you," and dropped our (or more like, my sis') handmade gift into his open palm.

He squinted at it. And rotated it between his fingers for an immensely long time, while me and my sis struggled to remember how to breathe.

Before the 5th second, my sis couldn't take it anymore and angled the string thingy horizontally as he held it and exclaimed, "See, it spells your name, Tyson!"

"But I don't get...How does this...?" He wriggled his left index finger into the loop where you could attach a metal ring to turn it into a keychain.

SADLY, we were shooed out at that precise moment. Horrible pestering plague of Cantonese-speaking guards.

"Can you please help us give these to Nick and Mike?" and we pressed their souvenirs into Tyson's hand.

"Oh, sure..." He continued staring at the oblong gift in confusion.

The last thing we saw was Trecia Tan thrusting a pen and a magazine poster of them at Tyson. And the first thing we heard was her deafening screams of "OH MY GOD OH MY GOD TYSON SIGNED IT! SEE! IT'S TYSON'S AUTOGRAPH! HE SIGNED IT!"

But the 3 of us knew very well she wasn't shrilling to us, but to herself. At her own triumphant victory.

The rest of the night was a electrified blur (if it were possible). My skin felt like it was shrouded with a shimmering glow and alighted with spitting sparks, though I was only vaguely aware of my whereabouts. And the fact that my sis made tons of videos throughout the journey home, including the not-so-short supper at Devi's.

I remembered her taking a video of us shouting "Tyson touched me!" when this Caucasian dude turned to look at us and laughed. Oh. Also, a car that went pass us heard us yelling "We love you AAR!", joined us and together we screeched "AAAAHHHHHHH AAR! AAR'S THE BEST! AAAAAHHHHHHH!"

United we are (:

Of course, the first quarter of the concert wasn't this perfect. Don't feel like mentioning it, though. I mean, tell me, who freaking SMOKE in a sardine-pack concert?! Go grow a brain.