shakira p'rang sira ka!

Shakira Shakira!

It was perfect. In the morning Hamed called and said he couldn’t make it to the Shakira concert… and I could have both tickets! Yahooooo! Sherry was the sensible choice since she’s going out with Amir, Hamed’s friend. I was a little bothered because I also wanted to bring Jen. Turned out Anton had a media pass and didn’t want to go. So we all ended up going! Yahoo!!!

He picked me up at my place and we went to Japengo, and to my horror he didn’t have any intention of using chopsticks. But he gave me the Shakira tickets and I was happy. I was happy. Happy happy happy that we even had tea afterwards.



Finally Sherry, Jen and I arrived at the concert venue. I was overdressed and tried to forget about it by frequenting the drinks counter. I had two glasses of chardonnay --- in a plastic cup to tone down my flamboyant outfit.

The concert was delayed for about thirty minutes. The crowd gathered very slowly, lazily, like Shakira could wait. We camped out in front of the stage eating our free M&M’s and smoking and drinking and going to the loo. My bladder freaks me out I swear. I must have gone four, five times.

Shakira was sexy, pretty, lively, a sight to see really especially when she was belly-dancing. But how could she sing twelve Spanish songs out of the sixteen on her list? How could she not sing The One, the song I was humming until right before the concert? But I had an overwhelming moment when she sang Underneath Your Clothes. I sang that song at Hibiki and he listened to it like I was the best thing that ever happened to him. And on its fortnight Shakira herself sang it. It was like a dash of salt on a fresh wound. Shit. And the next few songs were a celebration of love and life again. I swear I could go insane that night!
We danced and sang along and looked amazed. You could say that the audience were … err, cooperative. They were ok, humming along, dancing along, but not enthusiastic enough. Unlike your typical Manila audience --- lots of clapping, ooh, ahhhh, name-chanting, riots, stampedes woohoo…..
To prove my point, after singing her fifteenth song, Shakira blew a shukran kiss to the crowd and said goodbye without even singing Hips Don’t Lie. So the audience simply accepted her farewell kiss and started walking away. Knock knock. Who’s there. Encore. Encore who. Jun Encornacion, may he rest in peace. I don’t know if she had a crappy audience or the production team was more crappy for succumbing to the so-called encore tradition, which was, to quote my flatmate Yolanda, was supposed to be a spontaneous thing. Either way, Shakira reappeared with the same level of energy -- -even higher, with a bunch of belly dancers and confetti and this Cuban guy in her band who was a sub for Wyclef. So we danced to the last song. I felt like I wanted to dance forever and get drunk. I wanted the song to go on forever and ever. Not because it was my favorite, but because it felt so good to have an excuse to let go of myself.

But in a few minutes reality came crashing down and we found ourselves walking for an hour and a half, trying to find a shuttle that could take us the hell our of Dubai Autodrome, which was in the middle of nowhere. We finally asked Ethel to pick us up, thanks Ethel!

Oh Shakira. Thanks for making my weekend less lonely. In fact, it was fabulous!