CROOKED: In love with my cousin's boyfriend
We were younger then, in a time when joy didn’t require a hefty price tag.
The bass, percussion, and Liesje’s voice erupted in unison, electrifying me. Emotion overwhelmed me, locking me in a state of rapt stillness. I could only stare—at her, at the band, at this song I loved, an anthem from the less commercial side of the ’90s. Some friends called Nr. 9 one of the album’s least digestible tracks. To me, it was the opposite.
Those lyrics I knew by heart—about a woman seen in Vienna, standing before a mirror with a foolish name, yet maybe capable of honesty… an arrogant kind of honesty.
Sikat na Kabanata