Don't Look Back in Anger

Seeing Oasis reunite all over the news stirred a bit of jealousy in me. They were never at the top of my bucket list—but maybe that’s why I missed my chance. I didn’t write them down because deep down, I never thought it would happen.

I remember being in Singapore for Franz Ferdinand in 2006, and the whole gang was abuzz, "We're heading to Bangkok tomorrow! Oasis is playing a festival! Come with us!" I declined, not truly grasping the weight of that fleeting opportunity. In 2002, I had tickets for their Araneta show, only for it to be canceled, for "security reasons", citing this or that threat. I just thought I'll have another chance someday, when I'm more ready.

So, for my first Fuji Rock in 2012, one of the selling points was the Gallagher brothers themselves. Both were there, performing on separate days, even staying in the same hotel I was in. I could only bask in the idea of that proximity, imagining them on the other side of the hotel wing, or on the floors above, oblivious to a fan and photographer dreaming in their orbit.

Liam played with Beady Eye, Noel with High Flying Birds. I clung to the hope of some indirect stage banter, the subtle jabs they were famous for, but there was none. I settled for a Beady Eye shirt as a consolation prize.

Radiohead, though—they were on my bucket list, headlining the final day. I was most looking forward to photographing them, declaring, with all the earnestness of my younger self, that I wanted to cry during their set. “While in the middle of the valley, surrounded by the mountains”. In the end, I  was simply too utterly exhausted. Life, as it turns out, rarely aligns perfectly with our cinematic expectations.

Yet, a cry did come. It was after shooting DJ duo Justice, a frantic, mile-long sprint from one stage back to the main stage for Noel's set. I barely made it, just in time to catch his last song at the farthest back of the valley: "Don't Look Back in Anger."

As the intro riff hit, cold air of Niigata filled my lungs in exhaustion, I couldn't protect myself. The tears just fell, warm and unstoppable, as I was transported back to 1997, buying my first Oasis CD. Several months later, my dad gifted me my own 14-inch Sony TV for my 14th birthday, a tax-free treasure from his work in Subic. It was, I could say, the most important contribution he had given that would change my life. I remember how they creeped up on my bedroom while I was asleep, trying to install the TV on the shelf. They would pause when I would flinch, worried that my waking up would ruin the surprise. I woke up with a TV staring at me, and it felt like Christmas in March.

That TV was my introduction to the visual side of music, MTV on cable was my constant companion. It was my night light. I slept with it on, woke up to it, ate in front of it, and did my homework with it as a soundtrack. There was no other channel for me. In many ways, that small TV somehow contributed to why I do what I do. Seeing and hearing music is the most natural thing in the world for me. Everything else about life, just happens elsewhere.

It's not like before, where upon hearing about a tour, I'd prepare myself by uprooting my entire life and zeroing out my bank account. The FOMO back then was very real, a powerful current pulling me towards every possible experience. 

But over time, I started to see how the experiences I did ask for, the ones I fought for, had already given me the answers I needed. And I've come to understand that wanting to repeat or force things to happen is never going to yield the same magic. The past, in its essence, cannot be perfectly replicated.

There’s this beautiful Japanese saying, Ichi-go Ichi-e, which translates to "one time, one meeting." It means this moment will never happen again. And it is in the "no longer," in the quiet acceptance of what has passed, that we truly get to see what matters, to fully experience more of what we have in the present. It’s a lesson in valuing presence over pursuit.

To be able to just catch the two of them there in close proximity was enough for me. I did dream about the time when one day they'd unite, and all the hilarious drama that will surround it, but I also considered the toll it takes to bring back something from the past if only to repeat. Not just the logistics, but the personal effort.

That realization not only about the show, but many things were happening in my life at that time, my mind opening up to this new world of high profile international festivals catering to the biggest acts in the world, how somehow just going through that I did not come home the same person, and no matter how hard I tried to love the things in the way I used to, I just knew I grew out of them. And how one experience can drastically change the whole trajectory of your life. 

I'm profoundly glad I had those experiences. I don't see myself going back to that particular way of life, but the realizations that came during those trips persist. It's mostly about wanting to see what greatness looks and sounds like. What your heroes are like up close. I was always a curious cat, and this was the thing I would always search for. I wonder how certain musicians could influence millions across the globe. 

Going home, I started searching for that in the Philippines, and see little glimpses of that same potential in our own artists here, waiting to be revealed. And if not a full revelation, then a solitary second that shows the hint of it, preserved with a camera click.  If I see it, I know that the moment will never happen again. Not in the same way, at least.