Hey everyone!
I finally have some time to write again and update this blog… with an old story. This is yet another chapter in my unhinged obsession with ONE OK ROCK—this time, it even took me to another country.
If possible, let’s all embrace the “we read and we don’t judge” mentality here, because, well… I may have made some questionable decisions along the way.
December 18, 2023
I rolled out of bed at an ungodly hour, fueled by sheer excitement (and the looming threat of missing my flight) of seeing One Ok Rock. Again. By 4:30 AM, I was at the airport, armed with a backpack, my favorite sling bag, and a very clear “DO NOT DISTURB” energy. I had already informed my boss and coworkers that I was on leave, even going so far as to post an IG story that screamed, “EXCITED TO BE ON LEAVE,” just in case anyone got any funny ideas about sending me a Zoom link.
Breakfast? Coffee and a sandwich. Hydration? Well, let’s just say I was personally victimized by the outrageous price of bottled water on the international side of the airport. I swear, it’s like they charge extra for the privilege of being thirsty.
While waiting for boarding, I indulged in some good old-fashioned people-watching—families, couples, groups of friends, all heading off for their end-of-year vacations. Usually, if I were at an airport this time of year, it would be because work decided to throw me into the travel equivalent of a Black Friday sale. But not today. Today, I was on a mission. A One OK Rock pilgrimage.
The flight? Smooth as butter—just a breezy hour and a half in the air. Naturally, I spent every second marinating in my OOR playlist, mentally bracing myself for the near-religious experience of seeing Taka, Toru, Tomoya, and Ryota in the flesh. Another IG story went up—this time tagging my bestie, the very person responsible for dragging me into this beautiful disaster of an obsession. If I was going down, she had to fully grasp the chaos she’d unleashed.
Singapore, I was ready for you. Let the adventure begin.
RJ’s Adventures and the Great Changi Shopping Temptation
I landed in Singapore at around 10:30 AM, smoothly gliding through immigration like a seasoned traveler (or at least someone who desperately wanted to get through without awkward questioning). With a good chunk of time before I needed to head to Singapore Indoor Stadium, I did a quick pit stop at the bag locker (sacrificed $10 SGD to the storage gods and set myself free from the burden of my backpack), and I did what any rational solo traveler would do —I loitered.
And where better to loiter than Changi Airport, aka the Disneyland of airports? This place is basically a theme park disguised as a transit hub, so naturally, I decided to explore. Like a stray cat with no real destination, I wandered aimlessly, almost got seduced by brand discounts, the cutest snorlax merch from the Pokemon Store, and Jewel, obviously. The last time I was at Changi was pre-COVID, pre-Jewel, and basically in a different lifetime. The Rain Vortex? A masterpiece. My camera roll? Now 90% waterfall, taken from every possible angle, because obviously, one photo is never enough.
Now, let’s talk about a core struggle of my existence: selfies. I hate them. The angles? Tragic. The lighting? Betrayal. The results? Pure emotional damage.
So, instead of subjecting myself to the horrors of front-camera photography, I came up with a genius workaround—documenting my trip through my bag charm, RJ (yes, the minini plush RJ from BT21, because of course every aspect of my life is BTS-coded).
And just like that, “RJ’s Travel Diaries” was born. Everywhere I went, I took pictures of RJ against iconic backdrops, turning him into the main character of my Singapore adventure (and later on basically everywhere I go). Was this mildly unhinged? Yes. Did it actually make me feel like I had a travel companion? Also yes. Was this peak ARMY behavior? 1000%.
So there I was, a grown adult, carefully angling my tiny plush charm for the perfect shot while tourists took normal human pictures. No regrets. Because in some weird, twisted way, it actually made my solo trip feel less… well, solo.
And if taking plushie POV travel pics is wrong, then I don’t wanna be right.
Powering Up Before the Ultimate One OK Rock Experience
By 1:15 PM, reality hit –I was exhausted, mildly lost, and my phone was gasping for life at 20%. Given my absolute dependence on Google and my sacred duty to document everything with excessive photos and videos, this was a full-blown crisis. Mission: Find a charging station. ASAP.
After some frantic Googling, aimless wandering, and mild internal panic, I finally stumbled upon salvation at Terminal 3’s arrival hall—a charging station that felt like a divine intervention. But I wasn’t just here to revive my phone; I needed to recharge my own existence. So, like any battle-worn traveler, I grabbed some bread and chrysanthemum tea from Cheers (because carbs and hydration are the foundation of survival), claimed my spot, plugged in my phone, and settled in like I was about to pay rent. For the next 40-ish minutes, as both me and my phone gradually returned to full power, I felt a strange yet comforting sense of belonging in this tiny, sacred corner of Changi.
By 2:30 PM, I was fully recharged—physically, electronically, and spiritually. Next mission: Get to Singapore Indoor Stadium.
Two transits later, I stepped out, took a deep breath, and realized: I was now breathing the same air as Taka, Toru, Ryota, and Tomoya.
This was it. My One OK Rock destiny was about to unfold.
Merch Line Madness: A Test of Patience, Friendship, and Questionable Choices
One thing I’ve learned from concerts? The merch line is a black hole. Once you enter, there’s no guarantee of survival. So when I arrived at Singapore Indoor Stadium at 3:30 PM, there was already a snake-long queue for merch, winding around like a cursed RPG dungeon. Thankfully, I was already decked out in my One OK Rock’s Luxury Disease shirt (bless the Jakarta concert for that post-concert merch drop!), so I had zero intention of suffering in line. But then… my bestie. Yes, the same bestie who dragged me into this beautiful OOR-induced madness needed the hand towel. And because I’m a good friend (with questionable decision-making skills), I decided to queue for her. One hour later. The line moved like a sloth in slow motion. I looked at my life. I looked at my choices. Then I noped out of there and went to scout the gate situation instead. At that moment, the band was still sound-checking inside, and let me tell you—hearing the faint echoes of The Beginning and Clock Strikes while standing outside?
My soul was headbanging. My heart was screaming. Yet, my face remained chill. I had to look cool – even though I was losing it inside.
The Great Queueing Debacle: Lost NPCs, Ticket Twists, and The Mysterious Mr. RLX
Now, if you remember my Jakarta concert experience, I had stood in line 5 hours before the show. But here? Live Nation Singapore said NOPE. Queueing wasn’t allowed until 5 PM sharp.
So, at exactly 5 PM, I joined the line… only to be met with absolute chaos. “Where do I even queue???”
Everywhere, people were wandering around like confused NPCs in a video game, trying to figure out where to stand. The Singapore concert had numbered queue tickets, which meant it didn’t matter when you arrived—you had to go to your designated queue number (QN) to enter the venue. Sounds logical in theory. In practice? Utter confusion.
Luckily, I found my queue pretty fast and then began the two-hour standing marathon before doors opened at 7 PM.
To pass the time, I started talking to some queue mates—one Singaporean fan and a mother-son duo from the Philippines. They were just as hyped as I was, and when the mom said: “We couldn’t go when OOR went to Manila, so we came here instead. I would do anything to see Taka live.”
I was like: SAME, MA’AM. SAME.
And then—the funniest discovery of the night. We started talking about tickets, and I casually mentioned that I got mine from StubHub (because, well, original sales sold out too fast). Turns out, they bought theirs from Viagogo.
Then, I looked at their tickets. And nearly choked laughing. Their ticket had the SAME name as mine. Excuse me, Mr. RLX sir… how many OOR tickets did you buy and resell?!
However this revelation made me relieved. I originally was a bit nervous because in Jakarta, they were strict with ID checks. But since my queue mates’ tickets were also under “Mr. RLX’s” name and they were ahead of me, I calmed myself with the most solid logic ever: “If they can get in… so can I.”
And so, I waited. Heart pounding. Praying to the concert gods that everything would go smoothly.
This was it. Showtime was near. 🎸🔥
Cosplaying Mr. RLX, “Premium” Illusions, and Zero Regrets
When the doors to the venue hall finally opened, my excitement was through the roof. This was it. But of course, in true concert fashion, getting inside wasn’t as simple as just walking in. Since my ticket was for Premium Rock Zone D, we had to wait for Sections A, B, and C to go in first. And because I was at the tail end of the line for D, I simply handed my fate over to the concert gods, praying that I’d at least have a clear view of Taka.
Then came the moment of truth. I anxiously watched my new queue buddies—the mother-son duo and my fellow ticket twins—get in smoothly. Good sign. Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath. Prayed to the invisible forces of concert luck. And hoped that my cosplay as Mr. RLX was at least somewhat convincing.
And then… I WAS IN.
Now, here’s where things took a slightly questionable turn. Unlike the Jakarta concert—where there were clear barricades separating VIP A and B—this time, the Premium Rock Zone and the Regular Rock Zone had no barriers. Translation: We “Premium” people entered first, but since I was near the back of the line, I basically walked in at the same time as the Regular Rock Zone people.
So technically, I paid for Premium. But did I feel premium? Debatable. I was questioning my financial decisions, did I just pay extra to walk in five seconds earlier? Probably. But was I about to overthink it? NOT. ONE. BIT
At this point, all I care about is : “I’M ABOUT TO WITNESS THAT LIFE-ALTERING, TRANSCENDENT EXPERIENCE AGAIN!!”
When the Lights Go Down: Concert Euphoria and Betraying My Bestie for a High Note
Lights off. The instrumental intro swelled, tension thick enough to cut with a guitar pick. We all knew what was coming. WONDER.
The moment Taka, Toru, Ryota, and Tomoya appeared on stage, the entire stadium exploded. I screamed like my life depended on it—because, in that moment, it kind of did. Then came the synchronized dance during the chorus, and I ascended. Truly, there is no greater form of worship than watching One OK Rock pull off choreography mid-rock anthem.
And then—Save Yourself. Oh, we FELT that one. The crowd roared like we were all personally going through an existential crisis, singing our hearts out as if Taka himself had dumped us right before the concert.
Next up? Take Off. My favorite poppy, jump-like-you-don’t-have-knee-pain song. By this point, the concert had fully transformed into an elite-level karaoke session, except the karaoke machine was One OK Rock in the flesh. I knew every word, and you bet I sang like I was a fifth, totally necessary band member.
Then came Let Me Let You Go, and Toru’s solo made us lose our minds!! And just when I thought it couldn’t get more emotional, I wasn’t really prepared for what came next—Clock Strikes.
And here’s where my bestie decided to test my loyalty.
She had one request: a full, untainted fanvid of Clock Strikes. And because she knows me too well, she added the very specific instruction: “I swear, if I hear your high-pitched screeching in this recording, I will block you.”
I tried. I really did. For two whole minutes, I fought every instinct, every fiber of my being, every atom in my vocal cords. And then… Taka hit the infamous 30-second high note.
Except.
This time.
It was 35 seconds.
Yes, I counted. Because when you’re witnessing vocal sorcery in real-time, you document it like a scientist at a historic event.
At that moment, all logic flew out the window. I didn’t care about the fanvid anymore. I didn’t care if I got blocked. I had to scream.
Sorry, bestie. It was out of my hands.
The Ultimate One OK Rock Rollercoaster
And then—it happened. Screaming “When am I, when am I gonna move on?” (Answer: Never) from the depths of my soul during I Was King. Belting out Renegades like it was the national anthem. Losing my mind at the pure eargasm of Neon’s instrumental intro.
By this point, I wasn’t just at a concert—I was in the trenches of full-scale musical warfare, and I was winning.
At some point, the people around me weren’t just fellow fans anymore—they were my ride-or-die concert soulmates. We screamed. We jumped. We headbanged in perfect unison, as if we’d been rehearsing for this moment since birth.
Next up were two of the newer songs. I screamed “F**k the pain away!” at the top of my lungs during Vandalize, then barely clung to life through Make It Out Alive. (Spoiler alert: I almost didn’t.)
That rock break? A full-blown sonic inferno. My bones? Hanging by a thread.
My soul? Gladly sacrificed to the gods of rock.
And then—the sacred moment. Your Tears Are Mine. The lights dimmed, the crowd hushed, and suddenly, it was just Taka, Toru, and us—the unofficial fifth band member. It was stripped-down, hauntingly beautiful, and enough to make a grown rock fan weep into their overpriced concert ticket.
But before I could fully recover—The Beginning. Oh, you bet we screamed. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Taka went into the crowd.
Let me tell you something—I thought I was spiritually prepared for this concert. I was not. Because as I stood near the side barricade, Taka passed by right in front of me. My soul? Gone. My ability to think rationally? Deleted. My life? Peaked.
And just when I thought my voice had reached its screaming quota for the night—We Are.
We. Screamed. HARD.
“Never Tell Yourself You Should Be Someone Else. Stand Up Tall and Say I’M NOT AFRAID“
That wasn’t just a lyric. That was our collective battle cry. I wept.
Then came Stand Out Fit In—and with it, a shared moment of laughter when Taka adorably forgot the lyrics.
And this? This was where my fanvid dreams met a glorious, chaotic death.
Why? Because I was jumping like my life’s work depended on it.
And then—the final climax. Wasted Nights.
That moment when Taka sang “Let’s live like we’re immortal, maybe just for tonight“, and the confetti exploded into the air? The lyrics, how it suited perfectly for that night. That was it. The peak. The ultimate realization that this glorious fever dream was about to end.
But in that moment? We were immortal.
And for one perfect, electrifying night—nothing else mattered.
As the encore unfolded with the tender Wherever You Are and the electrifying Kanzen Kankaku Dreamer, my heart sank. This was it. The inevitable Post-Concert Depression was creeping in again.
But this time? I think my bank account was relieved that Singapore was the final stop of the Luxury Disease Tour.
Still, my journey with One OK Rock is far from over. I may be 10 albums late to the party, but when I’m in—I’m all in.
From that first guitar riff to the final encore, I lived, screamed, and left a piece of my soul in that stadium. Until next time, ONE OK ROCK. After the concert, I was broke, voiceless, and probably had no dignity left. Sleep-deprived and stuck waiting around Changi until my flight home the next morning—but honestly? I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
See you in the pit.
Diary of A Chaotic Dreamer 
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