5. Primmadonna

Though hard to please, one thing that Drew was proud of was my singing, since it garnered a lot of praise from others. Though I couldn’t resolve the unresolvable at home, at least singing was simple. Every week, for 30 minutes, I could escape my mind and delve into my body. I just had to go up there, open my mouth, and let my breath flow. And it was On. My. Own. My caregivers couldn’t just swoop in and sing on my behalf. Since I wasn’t allowed to play outside with my neighbors after school, I would often sing to myself while I did my math homework and smile if they responded back to me through the kitchen window. Naturally, I began placing all of my self-worth in the one thing that I did well. Singing. Even though I didn’t have a sense of unconditional love, at least my caregiver allowed me to develop an exceptional gift that could acquire approval. God knows how my self-worth would’ve splintered if I ever stopped singing. Acting came naturally to me too, since I had to constantly perform to the outer world how I was a competent, ambitious individual in the making for great things in life. One slip-up, and the whole operation would be exposed.

There was, of course, Shiloh, my voice teacher. They were such a juxtaposition to Drew, as they were a warm, encouraging presence throughout my childhood. In many ways, Shiloh was like a second-parent to me. I often had a hard time connecting with my teachers at school, and was often dubbed as a “good, but quiet child,” parent-conference feedback sessions. My shy disposition, and the fact that I had much to hide at school contributed to this presentation of me. But around Shiloh, I somehow felt more at ease in their presence. They would often say that I reminded themselves of when they were a child, a sensitive, thoughtful child with big emotions. They would tell me that my emotions were a gift, since I needed to get in touch with them in order to sing authentically. I was grateful to have those reminders since I often felt that my inconvenient emotions were a curse on myself and my family.

One song I sang when I was nine years old left a deep impression on Shiloh. It was about an adult-child coping with the grief of losing their guardian. The song was set in a graveyard, with the character singing at the gravestone of the departed. When I started singing the words on the page, and slowly comprehended what each lyric meant, my eyes started welling up. At that moment, I was transported to a place where Emerson, my one source of joy and comfort, was dead and buried beneath the earth. No more funny jokes, comforting hugs, or a sense of security in my household. They would be erased from the world, and I would be left all alone with Drew. In spite of my sobbing, I managed to croak my way through the remainder of the song, to Shiloh’s astonishment. Shiloh remarked that after what they witnessed, it would be a waste if I didn’t pursue singing as a career. This song would become a part of my standard repertoire in my childhood, where my sadness could be put on display for others to applaud.

“Hey sweetie, I know you must be tired, but it’s your lesson time now! You can nap more after you finish,” Shiloh whispered in my ear as they gently shook my arm.

Half-awake, I stumbled into her living room to go through our weekly routine. Of course, Drew was also there for my entire lesson, fast asleep on the couch after pulling an all-nighter with me. They spent the night creating study sheets I recited to them on the morning drive to school in preparation for a history exam. I read each line in between bites of the TV dinner sitting on my lap that kept my legs warm that chilly morning.

When it was time to go, I shoved my feet in my sneakers, and waited expectantly for Drew to tie my shoe-laces.

“Goodness, isn’t she ten years old at this point? Why can’t she tie her own shoes?”

“Well, what can you do? She’s too dumb to take care of herself. I take care of all her needs.”

“She’s certainly lucky to have you as her caregiver. I’m sure she’ll repay you someday for all of the work you’ve put into raising her.”

Shame rose through my head, as I felt deeply scrutinized and misjudged. I had reached down to tie my shoes many times at home, but Drew would swat away my hands since I was too slow at making knots with my pathetic chubby fingers. Plus, we were always on a tight schedule, my caregiver and I, though that didn’t prevent us from being late to every commitment I had. I had already gotten kicked out of children’s productions when we were late for the umpteenth time. Drew was furious that I didn’t get the chance to shine in my role as an ear of corn in a Children’s Musical Theater’s production. Of course, they insisted that the director was blind for not seeing a lead-role in me, and that he was clearly a racist. Perhaps if I had lighter skin, and was dainty and fair, instead of savage and tan, I would’ve been deemed as more attractive.

Drew and Shiloh were close friends, naturally, since Drew instantly became my personal manager for singing gigs. Shiloh, though well-meaning, would often cite Drew as an exemplary caregiver to my peers’ parents if their children ever wanted to reach my level of singing abilities. Tales recounting the numerous times Drew would push me to go to my weekly singing lesson even if I was burning with a fever, and how Drew would never hold back in requesting them to give me more singing opportunities were painted into a narrative of how the credit for all of my singing went to Drew. The only reason my voice is one in a million is because I’ve got a one in a million caregivers looking after me, they’d say.

I… didn’t know how to grapple with feeling so close to an authority figure outside of my family, and yet still feeling so misunderstood. From this experience, I felt the pressure to put on a performance for any authority figure I encountered to ensure their satisfaction with me as their student. It was easy to withdraw into myself, since people could then project whatever they wanted to see onto a blank canvas. Even if it meant losing myself a little more each time, I could at least display what people wanted to see about me in order to gain their approval. Soon enough, I would often feel as if I were melting into every individual person I met, never being able to discern which thoughts and feelings were mine, and which ones were theirs. I was everybody, and at the same time, I was nobody.

4. Royal Crypt

6. Teen Idle