A white curtain stretched across the stage illuminated by the silhouettes of Ariana Grande and her dancers. There she was in the middle, her hands covering her eyes in the iconic eternal sunshine. I could only see her shadow, but that was enough.Â
For years, I’ve only heard Ariana’s voice through my headphones. At Oakland Arena, on night three of the Eternal Sunshine Tour, it reached me from the stage, all the way to my floor seats.Â
Inspired by her life changing 2016 Sweetener album, I wore a fitted gray mini dress, booties, a denim jacket, and my hair was slicked into her iconic half-up half-down ponytail. The outfit was on, my hair was done, and my makeup was perfected. Somehow, the fact that I was actually about to see her still hadn’t fully processed.
Somewhere between elementary school and college, her songs had become attached to different parts of my life. There was the little girl dancing around her room to “Break Free” in 2014 and the older version blasting “don’t wanna break up again” on a late night drive, fully crashing out. Seeing her for the first time meant bringing all those memories into one room.
Then “yes, and?” began.
Light flashed across the curtain with each beat, revealing and concealing the figures behind it. The anticipation stretched through those last few seconds until the fabric was dramatically snatched away. Suddenly, the silhouettes became people and the audience erupted. There she was. The voice I knew so well suddenly had a person connected to it. She wasn’t a music video on my phone or a Spotify song I could replay. She was moving across the stage in front of me, singing live, and I could barely believe what I was hearing.
My review of her vocals? Insane. Absolutely insane.
Oakland was the tour’s first stop back in June of this year, so my night didn’t include the guest appearances or surprise songs that fans at later shows got to experience. Watching those clips afterward gave me a serious FOMO, especially after seeing her bring out Ty Dolla $ign for “safety net” and Cynthia Erivo for a duet of “For Good” from Wicked: Part 2 as the biggest Wicked fan. But being there during the opening stop had its own excitement because nobody knew what could happen.
The show moved between tightly coordinated choreography and moments when her voice became the main focus. There was so much to look at, but I kept coming back to the fact that I was actually here listening to my favorite artist live in person.
Then came “eternal sunshine,” “Hampstead,” and “we can’t be friends (wait for your love).” I was sobbing. Not a single, delicate tear either. It was the type of crying that makes you question the amount of effort you put into your makeup.
Lyrics I had listened to privately were suddenly filling an arena, and I was standing there with all the memories I had attached to them.Â
Picking a favorite song feels impossible for that reason. “Hampstead” left me overwhelmed with her voice, “eternal sunshine” brought me back to the moments when I needed the album the most, and “we can’t be friends” was another reminder of how deeply a song can settle into your life. I knew each lyric by heart, but I hadn’t expected to feel so deeply hearing it live.
One of the moments that stayed with me most happened on the screens in between acts. In a video interlude, a younger Ariana guided her present-day self down a hallway lined with rooms containing versions of her from earlier eras. Familiar looks showcased her outfits from Yours Truly, Dangerous Woman, and Sweetener.Â
Watching her pass those rooms felt like flipping through a scrapbook of my own memories of listening to her. I recognized the eras, but I also remembered who I had been during them: which songs I replayed, which ones I danced to, and which ones I turned to when I was struggling.
When her younger self closed the door to the final room, I understood it as a choice to keep those memories, even the difficult ones. That idea stayed with me. There are songs I associate with the moments I wouldn’t want to relive, but I wouldn’t want to lose the comfort they gave me either.Â
Music that had felt so private became something shared. Somewhere in that crowd were other people who had found their own meaning in the songs that meant so much to me.
By the time the show ended, I felt transformed. I had entered the arena with years of memories attached to Ariana’s music and I left with one more: the white curtain, the shadow at its center, and the moment it disappeared to reveal someone I had idolized for so long.
Now, when I hear those songs, I have this night to return to.
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