I sing. I sing locked in a small box with a glass window, my hands clamped over my covered ears and my mouth inches away from a noise-cancelling microphone. I sing with my feet planted on a wooden floor, the microphone stand casting a winding shadow by my side, my eyes shut but my ears free to hear the appreciation of the crowd. When I am not singing, I sit off to the side and endure enthusiastic comments from the scores of people who listened. All of them share the awe and adoration glowing in their eyes.


Your voice is amazing, they say.

Where did you learn to do that?, they ask.

I wish I could sing like you, they tell me. I smile and say Thank you.

What these people do not know is that they do not wish that they could sing like me. They don’t know how much trouble I go through to keep my Voice in shape. They do not understand that there are two voices I use- my common, everyday voice, and my Voice. The one they love is the Voice, and that one is shy and makes rare appearances.

It’s not easy to coax the Voice out of hiding. Most of the time it doesn’t want to be found. I start a song too high and crack when I reach the top of the staff. I can’t seem to breathe deep enough to fill my stomach with air, and when I am able to, my neck tenses up. Some days I cannot control my dynamics, and sing too softly for any kind of passion to infuse the words, or I attack the notes too harshly and lose my pure tone. Other times I find myself gasping for a breath after each crescendo.

However, when the Voice decides to show up, I can burn the house down. I transition from low notes to high without the slightest bit of effort. I leave my audiences spellbound, hanging on the whisper of a word, or I make them dizzy with excitement as the music beneath me builds. Using my Voice, I feel that I could sing all night. A wild passion overtakes me, and I want to leap into the air with my arms spread out and soar to the farthest heavens, running ceaselessly to the tune of the wind and breathing in rhythm with the pulse of the glowing Moon. I catch stars to scatter in my hair, and I am a god onstage, lit up from the inside like a lantern with the endless energy that my Voice imbues me with.

These fantastic flights happen often at shows, but when I am practicing alone, my Voice deserts me, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot call it back. I beat my fists against the walls in frustration and blink back furious tears. I cry out in my head- Where are you, Voice? But the temperamental creature chooses not to return.

Alone, I find myself angered at the lack of perfection, knowing that I’m doing something wrong and racking my brains for the mistake.

But when I bring joy to an audience, I spin on moonbeams and give them my all, and my Voice is the Voice of an angel.