Finding your voice

When I was in primary school, I had a music teacher named Mrs Bong. She was the choir teacher-in-charge, and also led community singing sessions during assembly every week. I looked up to her as she made music fun.

One day, Mrs Bong announced that she needed students for the school choir, and that she would be auditioning us in class. If she liked our voice, she would ask us to join the choir meeting in the afternoon. If not, she got us to sit back down.

When it was my turn,‌ I‌ stood up nervously. I really wanted to be picked.

“Little froggies sing a song…,” I‌ sang.

“Sit down,” said Mrs Bong.

My voice wasn’t suitable.

For years after that, I didn’t enjoy singing much.

I only sang in my room, where no one would hear me. In karaoke sessions with friends, I preferred singing group songs so I could hide behind other people’s voices.

I learned how to be quiet so my voice would not stand out.

Silencing myself had an insidious effect not only on my voice, but in other areas of my life. I learned not to speak up, not to assert myself, not to ask for what I want. I became a wallflower.

Gradually, I forgot I even had a voice. I learned to drown myself out in the noise of society’s expectations. I‌ got through life by learning how to please others.

That’s how I ended up becoming a banker, then a civil servant. I didn’t particularly care for these jobs, but they were prestigious and safe. They afforded me the status of being a normal, functioning member of society. I just had to do whatever my boss wanted.

Yet, a little voice screamed inside of me. I didn’t want to be a cog in the wheel, a unit of economic production, a robot making everyone happy but myself.

I had a voice too. A‌ voice that wanted to be heard.

One Sunday morning, I decided to do something bold.

I walked into a crowded food court, and started singing. I didn’t care that I wasn’t any good, that my voice was untrained. I didn’t care that I‌ hadn’t memorised the lyrics, that I was holding my phone as I sang. I didn’t care that the food court was full of strangers eating their lunch.

Tonight
We are young
So let’s set the world on fire
We can burn brighter
Than the sun

I sang loudly. I sang out of tune. ‌But most importantly, I sang.

When I reached the end of the song, I turned around to walk away.

At that moment, the food court burst into applause.

I‌ was stunned.

All I had wanted was to express myself.

I learned an important lesson that day.

It was never about how good a singer I was. It was never about being perfect.

It was about having the courage to be me, to express myself, to be who I truly was, regardless of consequence. And I didn’t need permission from anyone to do that.

It’s been four years since I‌ sang in that food court.

Since then I’ve taken singing lessons, attended singing workshops, and started expressing myself more. I’ve sung in front of strangers. I’ve sung in front of friends. I even made music videos of myself and uploaded them to YouTube. I performed at open mic nights.

The scariest thing? Singing in front of my parents.

My parents were both trained as engineers. They had conventional careers as managers and consultants. I never imagined they would understand this expressive side of me, the me that wants to carve my own path instead of conforming to the norm. 

To my surprise, after hearing me sing, my mum asked me to teach her how to sing. My Dad started sharing with me his favourite songs. We discovered a new channel of connection.

I’m no longer a banker and no longer a civil servant. I am a life coach, trainer, and vocal coach. I also write personal development articles.

Today, I do for a living what I most feared once upon a time – expressing myself in front of others. Through my coaching, singing and writing, I share my most vulnerable side with people. This has brought me more connections, more joy, and more love than anything I ever did to please people.

When people see the real me, they share their real selves too. They sing. They express their emotions. They feel safe to reveal who they truly are, because I let myself be vulnerable first. 

In one of my singing workshops, a lady who had never sung in front of strangers before sang in front of 20 people. People found their confidence in performing through my workshops. Even those who believed they were tone deaf were able to sing after some training.

Today, I hesitate less before opening my mouth.

I am no longer afraid of speaking up in front of authorities.

I can sing in front of anyone and not feel shy.

I can express my emotions freely.

I can say what I need to say, and ask for what I want. 

I can sing when I’m happy, and I can sing when I’m sad.

I do work I love – touching and inspiring people by striving to be the best possible version of myself. 

I’ve learned that sharing who I am, whether or not I believe I am good enough, can make a difference.

Finally, I feel like my voice is mine.