The Voice Within

When I first fell in love with performing, it was through music. Singing, to be specific. At the age of eight or nine, I would spend hours and hours going through my father’s cassette tape collection listening to everything ranging from Beethoven and Mozart to Donna Summer, Abba, Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie. It was at ten years old though that I clocked that I could actually be a singer and at the peak of the dominion of the Spice Girls over the world (and over my mind), I determined that I was going to follow in their footsteps. Over the next three years, you couldn’t get me to shut the fuck up. I would sing all the time and everywhere!  Frankly, I’m pretty sure it was God’s grace that saved me from my mother slitting my throat as I slept in an attempt to sever my vocal chords.

And I don’t blame her though, seeing as Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On was a particular favourite of mine at the time! If that’s not the ultimate suicide song, I don’t know what is. I sang that song at family get-togethers, in the car on trips, at school with my friends, in the supermarket and once in the hotel lobby of the Sheraton hotel (I can no longer sing it, however, without irritating everyone around me and fearing for my life for what they might do to me as a result).

Then something happened.

Not one thing perhaps, but a series of things.  A series of negative comments, a string of remarks all designed around the notion that I wasn’t good enough, started to get tossed at me.

“You don’t have the voice…”

“Singing is a competitive business and most people fail when trying to make it!”

“Music is a nice hobby…but not a career!”

“Would you please just BE QUIET!!??  Who the fuck made you out to be Whitney Houston!”

And somewhere along the way, and against every fibre of my being, I believed them. I stopped believing in my ability as a singer. I later found and fell in love with acting and I focused my attentions stubbornly on that, blatantly refusing to listen to any more of the nasty, negative things people had to say, but I grew to fear singing on stage.

I never ever stopped singing altogether though. I still sang at home, in choirs (where I knew I could hide behind the voices of others), in the shower etc.  but I started to grow morbidly afraid of singing solo in front of people. And I still suffer waves of it to this very day, which is why I’m adopting quite a serious tone regarding this.

Looking back, I loathe the fact that I let anyone talk me out of doing and going for what I loved. Being so defiant and focused and so insistent that I don’t give a shit about the mind-numbing, limited, boxed thinking of others…I guess I’m disappointed  to discover that I actually still do kinda give a shit.

But not for much longer, because in true BITCH style, I’m going to be facing my fears.  

And I would like to invite you to be a part of me doing so, because on Thursday 5^th December at 8pm in Bikya Maadi (oh yes!) I’m going to be having my very first, very own solo concert. Just thinking about it gives me the sweats, but I think it’ll be good. It’s been far too long and I don’t know what’s going to happen. All I know is that I’m tired of being scared for no apparent fucking reason.

As Seán O'Casey once said: “All the world's a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed.” 

Truth is, most of us don’t know what the we’re doing in life anyway, so I might as well not know what the fuck I’m doing by stepping on the stage! FUCK IT!

I can’t promise you I won’t die on stage, but I promise I won’t kill you by attempting to sing My Heart Will Go On. And on your end, feel free to come along and bring all of your X-Men friends.  

Looking forward to seeing you there!