Bright Lights and a Bird Set Free

As a reticent 6-year old, I was silently ecstatic when I was picked up for the junior choir. Our choir conductor was the prim and posh Mrs. H. We adored her lively music classes, and during our morning assembly, she jingled away at the piano with happy tunes for our still somewhat infantile tongues (Ah, Mr. Dickens, your words!). 

Her amicability with children aside, Mrs. H was also known for her exacting coaching when she trained us for school performances. The big day arrived, and we nervously, and as primly dressed as our conductress, fell in place on the podium behind her piano. The first song started slow, picked up mid-way, and we finished on a high-note to exuberant applause from our teachers. Whether it was the applause or the lights and podium, I can never tell, but a fair amount of nerve set in. 

For the next song, I found myself pushed under a microphone. I peered into the darkness above the lights, but the microphone seemed to appear magically from thin air. The lights, the microphone, the overall upbeat atmosphere - surely there was no better time to push my vocal abilities? Loud and clear, I took off with the familiar lyrics, only to be interrupted by a voice over the speakers that seemed to know no melody. Confused, I stopped for a few seconds before picking up hesitantly again and the unseen off-key debacle picked up alongside, just as hesitantly. 

The lights now seemed to add to the confusion as hands tugged at me. With a frantic flick of her head while she continued to play her piece on the piano, Mrs. H conveyed the message - move away from the mic. Cringing from the now not-so-magical mic, I discovered the art of lip-syncing for the rest of the performance and all the way through my school years.

Our fears and reservations die down, don’t they? Especially when you forget to cling to them. And so this one did too, over the years. I’ve learnt to accept I can’t sing to save my life, and mercifully, I’ve never had to. I can’t help breaking into a song every now and then, and I stand mocked for those private performances, but mostly by friends whose jokes are better than my melody, so I can’t resist giggling along; or if their jokes need a lift, I intensify my performance.

This seems to be the right place to quote the lyrics of one of my favourite songs - Sia’s Bird Set Free:

And I don't care if I sing off-key

I found myself in my melodies

I sing for love, I sing for me

I shout it out like a bird set free

I’ve known a good many singing voices that have died down over the years. The ones that had no reason to fear anything with a voice so firm and beautiful, and yet they’ve decided to forget the melodies that once defined them. Letting go of fears and reservations means you now have something new to hold in its place. And what you choose to hold onto next is entirely up to you. Courage, for instance, is a great choice! Courage to step up to the pitch and swing, when colleagues and peers gather round to watch. Courage to fail, because I cannot and may not want to win them all. Courage to fly, when the weight of my self-perceived limitations pulls me down. And courage to be a bird set free in a world full of choices and infinite experiences.