Even without musical training, I could not keep away from singing. It gave me so much joy to just belt melodies.
I came very late to the western music scene… while my sister would play 80s pop hits all the time, it wasn’t until college that I realized that my love for Jazz, Soul, Funk, Gospel and Western Pop at large was not something I needed to hide or be ashamed of – just like I didn’t need to hide my sexual orientation or my higher than usual countertenor voice.
I stopped singing after my sister passed. I’m still dealing with the grief honestly. I’d given up on music… but the only mother I’ve ever known convinced me that life is not over until you’re actually dead. My sister would not want me to give up because she wouldn’t abide it.
Depression is a vast glittering black sea, shiny on the surface but you can’t see past your hands when you’re drowning in it. So I’m finally making one big push. I’m asking for help and pledging my hard work. I sing and write about my sorrow – not to stop feeling it, but to let others who know it well figure out how to be friends with it.