It all started with a road trip. Destination: Dordrecht. Transportation: Mom’s car (thanks, Mom!). Jessy and I hit the road, fueled by excitement and a playlist full of bangers to power us through the two-hour journey—which felt more like three thanks to traffic jams that apparently wanted to join the party too.
We arrived at the hotel, where we’d booked a two-night stay. The room wasn’t ready, so we channeled our inner British grannies and settled in with a nice cup of tea while we waited. Eventually, we got our key card—cue the minor battle of “how does this door unlock again?”—and stepped into our cozy-but-spacious room. Two single beds, a comfy chair, a desk with an office chair, TV, and a fully adapted wet room. We quickly unpacked and set off for the main event: DI-RECT at De Kuip.
Arriving early turned out to be a smart move—though finding the disabled parking spot was like hunting for treasure with a vague map. After a lot of circling and some help from the staff (eventually), we found our spot, grabbed some food—Jessy got fries, I got a cheeseburger (balance!)—and headed inside.
The wheelchair deck had a great view and even better vibes. The people seated beside us were friendly and fun—exactly the kind of neighbors who turn a great night into an unforgettable one. The party started before the first act even hit the stage.
At one point, Jessy nudged me. “Hey, look!” she said. Now, my eyes aren’t exactly Olympic-level when it comes to spotting people, so she handed me her phone, camera open. I scanned the screen. “Oh yeah!” I grinned. “I’d recognize that smile anywhere. It’s Mirjam!”
For those who don’t know: Mirjam Stolk is one of the most famous sign language interpreter in the Netherlands. A YouTube star in her own right. I don’t know her personally, but I’ve learned so much from her videos. Even though I am privilidged enough to hear music, watching her interpret adds a whole other layer of understanding and emotion. She was a bit too far away at the concert for me to enjoy her signing, but I managed to capture a few short clips of her absolutely rocking it. It made me so happy knowing the Deaf community had her there to help enrich their experience of the show.
The evening kicked off with The Indien, a support act whose sound reminded me of DI-RECT—just with a female lead vocalist. Then came Son Mieux, and I had one of those “I don’t know this band—wait, why am I singing along?” moments. Turns out, Multicolor is a radio staple. Who knew?
And then, the moment we’d all been waiting for. The stadium hushed, the lights shifted, and on the big screen came a short film about the history of De Kuip. From iconic football matches to legendary concerts—it was a tribute to a place that’s hosted dreams for decades. As the final notes of the video played, a familiar tune began: You’ll Never Walk Alone. The theme song of Feyenoord, the football club that calls De Kuip home.
But where was DI-RECT?
Answer: in the dressing room. Just like Feyenoord, they made their entrance through the players’ tunnel—led by Jamie’s father, who co-founded the band with him 25 years ago. Chills. Literal chills.
Imagine it: your first ever concert in a stadium. With your best friend. 45,000 people, all singing You’ll Never Walk Alone in unison. I’m not even a football fan, but I felt it—that feeling. Unity. Connection. I was five years old again, slow dancing with my dad at the local social club back in England, while all the grown-ups paired off. That was our song. And here I was, decades later, singing it again—surrounded by strangers who, in that moment, felt like family. The first of many teary-eyed moments.
And then… the real show began.
Each song DI-RECT played brought the energy higher and the party louder. Marcel—our charismatic frontman—lit up the stage, not just with his voice, but with his fabulous outfit changes. (Seriously, the man has style.) Oh, and did I mention the pyrotechnics? Fire. So much fire. It looked incredible… but my lungs didn’t think it was quite as fun.
Sure enough, I felt my asthma flare up. I balanced my phone in one hand (because yes, I was still trying to snap photos) and reached for my inhaler with the other. Crisis averted. And just as I was getting it under control, a first aid team member appeared behind me like a ninja in a hi-vis vest. That kind of quick response? Reassuring as heck. I didn’t need help in the end, but knowing someone noticed me in a sea of 45,000? Yep—leaky eyes, round two.
But I wasn’t going to let asthma ruin this. I sang. I clapped. I danced. Okay, I wobbled enthusiastically behind my wheelchair. When Marcel asked us to scream, I screamed. When the stadium fell silent and 45,000 phone flashlights turned the night into a sea of stars, I stood in awe as All In Vain rang out—a raw, emotional song about lost love and regret.
One by one, the instruments joined in at the end of the song. Then, as if choreographed by magic, confetti began to fall like gentle rain. Even with my limited vision, I could see the stage lights reflect off the floating pieces. It was like thousands of tiny angels had descended on De Kuip. I held out my hands to feel it land. Another wave of tears. Another wave of joy.
And then came the grand finale: This Is Who We Are. The crowd clapped and sang together, one voice, one heartbeat. That same beautiful theme of unity tied the whole night together.
Now, maybe you’re thinking: “Nice story, but why share it?” Because this wasn’t just a concert. It was the last ever concert in De Kuip. A piece of history. And I was there—with my best friend, my sister, my partner in crime, Jessy. We were part of something bigger than ourselves.
Imagine that. 45,000 strangers, all now forever connected by a moment in time. A story you tell your grandkids one day.
Me? I don’t have grandkids to tell. So thank you, dear reader, for making it this far and allowing me to tell you.
This night, this concert, this memory—it’s mine forever. And no one will ever be able to take it away.
Thanks Jessy for this fantastic experience! 🫶
CRS Life 