Back in the 80s, when Tiffany, Debbie Gibson, and Menudo songs dominated the radio – I was obsessed with music. I learned to play the piano, and then eventually begged my uncle and older cousin to teach me to play the guitar.

I sang while I played those instruments. I sang to the lyrics from my uncle’s songhits (magazines or books of the latest hits’ chords). I sang to my minus one tapes. I sang in front of friends and strangers. I was THAT confident. Felt I was God’s gift to the world, gracing everything and everyone around me with my melody. Oh, the innocence (and ignorance) of youth.

Years passed and I’d say, much to the relief of the people around me, I’ve shied away from holding the microphone. I won’t be one to sing in karaoke bars too (except when there’s alcohol involved, and in that case, it does not count). I don’t even remember why I stopped in the first place.

Until lately. After having reacquainted myself with art, I came to appreciate how it is good for the mind, the heart, and the body. I get to focus on the present when I am painting, or drawing. And since music is art, I’ve rediscovered the joy I feel, or the “whole new world” I get to imagine myself in when I sing. But most of my singing now is just within the confines of my room – alone. And I sing to an app called StarMaker. Still won’t have the nerve signing out loud, even in front of D. Maybe in front of Rex, Theon and Pedro I would. I haven’t tried it yet. I’m sure they won’t mind, and they’d still look at me with oh-so-loving eyes. No judgment.

I’m amazed this idea came to me as I was writing this earlier. With my headset in place and the dogs sitting as my audience, I’ve crooned to a song I’ve been humming along since the last season of Game of Thrones: Jenny of Oldstones.

Update: The boys were supportive – one turned his back on me, and the other fell fast asleep.