Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Aeby - an electronic vibe

I met Aeby for the first time in 2016 at the Los Angeles College of Music. I remember hearing him sing at during our Orientation Week and was completely in awe of his beautiful voice. I was inhibited to sing in front of an audience and he told me that it's okay and I shouldn't be afraid to sing. Although I didn't brave it right away, Aeby was a comfort to have around.

The most sensual thing about him is his uninhibited willingness to be vulnerable. 

To find the appropriate words to express one's thoughts is a skill. Some acquire it early on and others take an entire lifetime to master it. But to be able to express what's in the deep recesses of your mind through music is a rare gift.

Growing up in El Paso, Texas, Luis Abraham Perea (professionally known as Aeby), discovered his passion for singing, when he was only 10 years old. While in high school, he simultaneously trained at the El Paso Conservatory of Music and The Golden Voice Institute. In September 2016, Aeby moved to Los Angeles, where he is currently studying Voice at the Los Angeles College of Music. 

Aeby's sound embodies the sincerity with which heartfelt music is created; the direct line of communication between a deep reservoir of emotion and the world around him. 

Having been exposed to the ordeals of the world at a very young age, Aeby chose to search for beauty in the imperfections of his life. And in this search, there is something we can all relate to: pain, longing, desire, fear, hope, love and more. We can all identify with a confusion that debilitates us until there is clarity. Aeby depicts this struggle with passion and honesty.

His tender voice cradles his lyrics with care, carrying the message of his heart through a melodic journey. The delicate and sensual electronic vibe beautifully complements his low-range Indie R&B vocal style. 

Aeby's recent releases Planets and Addicted mark the beginning of a journey of self-discovery and evolution, and an exploration of humanity. 

A comforting balm to a wounded soul, Aeby personifies the knowing voice that lifts the weight of one's shoulders and brings relief to the heart. It is said, in some cultures, that when something has been chiseled with history, it becomes more beautiful. It becomes one-of-a-kind. Aeby.

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Women of steel are made of steel, not feelings.

"A strong woman never gives up."

 I just don't want it anymore. The medals of bravery. I've had it with everyone patting my back and calling me champ after they ruin my happiness and think it's okay to do it to me because I'm brave and I'll survive it. I die a little every time. I have lesser and lesser emotion on my face every time. And no, that doesn't make me Zen either. 

Monday, April 6, 2015

Happiness in a bubble.

Chest swelling with emotion
No trace of tears or fears

Just orange skies, golden fields,
Faeries, magic and stardust.

Secrets whispered into each other's ears
The knowing looks exchanged
A song for every thought, touch.

Nobody knows our world, but us two.
'Tis our little haven, our grove, our escape.
Where we find ourselves, and found each other too.

Each moment is a kiss.
A smile in baffling disbelief.
The blushing of cheeks and reddening of lips.

Hold my face in your hands,
And hold me there for an eternity. 
For I will not tire of it. 

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

In the high though you may reside,
To your opinions we needn't abide.

To govern the land but not see it
Tis a lonely world if you do not free it.

Writing off a name as common or poor
Never knowing that poor soul for sure

Who have you known, truly so
That indicates you really know?

Tuesday, January 13, 2015


The much-debated, resisted, agitated, forced, yearned for, depressing and yet uplifting word ever.

Most people can't tell anymore if it is something we want or can do without; whether it is what makes the world go 'round or the reason it's gone awry.

I don't know about anyone else, but love is something that lifts me, overwhelms me, makes me laugh and cry at the same time and feel like I'm not just one body but a sea of emotion that is flowing in every direction and creating currents through the universe. It opens my heart in a second and releases all my energy, love, positivity, inhibitions and restraints. It unshackles my thoughts. It sets me truly free, such that I feel I'm making music from thunder and dancing in the chaos of the world.

Something so valuable, when lost, is bound to hurt. And hurt I do, so much. But does that mean I won't heal? No, that's up to me. And I have, many times over. By that, I can conclude that we humans are much stronger than we give ourselves credit for. And if hurt we do, then so can we heal and live to love another day. I'm ready to break a hundred times over, if it means I get to feel that love again and again.

There is need for love -- a lot of love -- in this world; for compassion and understanding. And loving without asking for it in return. Unconditional love doesn't mean scraping somebody's name on your skin. It means loving someone because you do, not because of what they think of or feel for you. It's because of how loving them makes you feel about you. Yes, there is some selfishness in unconditional loving too. And it benefits us all, so effortlessly. But for some reason, it's become less important and overshadowed by greed for validation.

To anybody who feels as I do, I urge you to love. It doesn't take much, except the goodness in your heart. Show that compassion and understanding in everything that you do, with everyone you interact. Even if it means helping someone in need on the street - whom you will never meet again. Trust me, that kind of love is the best kind of love. Because for that one moment in time, you mean the world to each other and that memory will remain with you both. For that moment, you have brought warmth and comfort to someone and they feel loved. You have helped somebody forget their pain, even if it's for a second. To that person -- the second was an eternity. And you may not get it back immediately -- but it does come around. If we can spread the love, one person, one deed at a time, it could set a chain reaction to beyond what we could ever imagine.

I hope we never forget what love feels like and don't give up on it. It is the kind of power that can heal without words, medicine, money or logic.

To anybody I meet or speak with or encounter anywhere I go, as of this moment and for every moment that I know you, I love you and from my heart I hope you are at peace.

Sunday, June 29, 2014

Picture (not-so-) Perfect

Images. A composition of sights. Collection of pixels. Combination of colours. Something we see and process, with the help of any prior knowledge or with present information.

But images are far more than that. Images determine your identity. They determine where you come from and where you are headed. Images have the power to alter your life. Images. 

We meet at a party. Should I drink? No, they'll think I'm an alcoholic. Should I go sober? No, they'll think I'm no fun. Should I go dance on the floor? No, they'll think I'm 'wild'. Should I stand in the corner? No, they'll think I'm boring and wonder what's wrong with me. 

Everything we do, think, say or believe projects a certain image -- not necessarily one WE choose, but one that the viewer interprets, much like how art is interpreted at a gallery. Of course, with art, you can't change what's done, once it's on display. And the painting itself has no feelings or sensory abilities. So no matter what the judgement, the painting will remain exactly the same. And no one will question it, only marvel at or criticize it and then walk away to the next painting to give judgement. Why the judgement, you ask? That's because while only a handful of people who go to galleries to observe paintings are actually art enthusiasts and are studying the subject, the other chunk want to feel important. They feel like saying something to the painting, which it most certainly cannot refute, and feel like they have the last word in the matter, satisfied that their opinion held some weight at the time. They haven't given a shot at understanding where the thought-process of the artist was coming from, or why he made it that way. They judge what they see and nothing more. 
"It's too menacing.
"The strokes seem half-hearted." 
"I'm not feeling it." 
"What's with all the black? It's a painting, isn't it? Where's all the colour?" 

Let's say the artist is Nature and we are Her paintings. Nature created us and put us out in the world on display. We are what we are. But Nature's way of passing boredom was giving us a brain and with it the ability to feel. Feel good when we are flattered. Feel bad when we are insulted. Feel exhilarated when someone smiles. Feel inadequate when someone is disappointed.

How is it that by portraying one 'image' of ourselves for approval from someone else, that we are being what we were created to be?

If I go to a party, when all I want to do is dance like no one is watching (much like all those 'famous' quotes going around, motivating you to 'believe in yourself'), why must I tone down the wilderness within to gain the approval of someone who might not like it? And by getting that approval - perhaps of a prospect I'm interested in - am I guaranteed happiness? No. I've actually lied about who I am, tried to fit into a shoe that's two sizes small by crumpling my feet in, tried to walk elegantly when all I feel is excruciating pain -- all for an image that somebody else likes. 

But so many of us do this, and are eventually (or sometimes from the beginning) oblivious to what we are actually doing. Are we being ourselves or who they want us to be? If it's the former and we are disapproved of, are we inadequate? And if it's the latter and we are approved of, are we really whole? 

I don't deny that change is good. Change is the only certainty we can hold on to, apart from death. But it's change that benefits ourselves, our personal growth and evolution that really matters. Change to improve -- change away, I say. But change to be accepted?

I suppose when we are looking for approval to get ahead in life, such as a job interview or an arranged marriage, we would like to portray the best version of ourselves. For a job, a certain degree of responsibility is required and the image you portray may determine whether you get the golden ticket or not. But is it so necessary for getting a life partner, too? If we are going to spend the rest of our lives together, wouldn't it be best to be ourselves? And of course, ideally the partner would like us for that? And should he or she not, would it be better to change our true nature or be alone? 

There are too many questions my rebellious mind is churning up all at once. And black and white is easier on a canvas, when compared to a person's mind. I would like to believe that everybody has their place in the world where they fit in; where they are who they are and are content with being so. And in their contentedness, they are loved. I do believe it. 

Friday, November 8, 2013

What's Your Story?

There was a man, who sat in a corner of the sidewalk, crumpled and bedraggled. His bony legs protruded from his coil and huddled close together, to keep him warm. Oft he would sing songs or stretch out his hand, cupping the air above it. At first, a drizzle of coins would clang upon his hard, mottled skin. But even those stopped trickling after a while. Earlier the songs could be heard by the little birds that perched up on trees nearby, or the cat that lazed on ledge above him, digesting the early morning chicken and fish bits fed to it. Now, no sound emitted his half open, parched mouth. His dry, cracked lips remained still, unflinching even to a fly that would take a breather on them. Now he was a creeper on the wall, a stain on the tile and a ghost in the cosmos.

Soon he began to wonder if he had actually died a while ago, and only his ghost remained in the same position. He initially looked around for his body, but could not find it. He screamed in shock and denial of his non-existence, but no one listened. He flailed his arms and ran about wildly, hoping to grab attention. Anyone would have done, even a flicker of an eyelid in mild annoyance. But the wheels on the bus went round and round, and nobody looked outside the window.

So he sat, dead, in his corner, parted lips and departed soul. Until one day, when he briefly snapped out of his reverie and decided to hobble across to a nearby puddle to bathe himself. He would have to get off his sidewalk (it was "his" now, since no one argued his claim in the first place), and crossed the street onto the open ground on the other side, where recent rainfall had left shallow ponds of water and muck.

He got up and began to walk across, when all of a sudden ...SCREEEEEEEEECHHHH! THONK! CRASH *HONK HONK HONK* "Kidhar jaa raha hai, pagal? Signal nahi dikhai deta, kya?"

He found himself lying on the road, dazed and numb in shock, with a crowd of people circling him, bewildered, some of which pointing at him in anger, some in sympathy, some in disgust at the drivers and some in mild curiosity over the sudden screeching of cars and subsequent accidents.

Physically he was unscathed, since the car had halted just in time to save his bony legs (albeit unable to save its own backside). But he was suddenly flooded with sound, smoke, visuals and emotion. His heart was thumping wildly in his fingertips, his lips tore as his mouth widened in shock. His knotted hair bled erratic beads of sweat. His skin has goosebumps. His eyes blazed in fear of having woken up a monster he could not fathom.

He hadn't in his wildest of dreams thought that he would be where he was: at the center of attention.