Last night I got home rather late. I walked on the dark street, thinking I was alone. And I sang along with my favourite songs. Apparently, I wasn’t alone, because a thirty-something man told me I had a beautiful voice. Obviously, he was drunk. And high. And deaf.
When we were small, my friends and I wanted to have superpowers. They all wanted to be invisible or to read people’s minds. I never wanted that. I don’t want to be invisible, I’ve felt that way and it sucks. As to reading people’s minds – truth is overrated, and there are things I don’t want to know.
My wish was to sing. To have a beautiful voice and even to perfectly imitate great singers like Freddie Mercury, Axel Rose, Robert Plant.
Music was always my passion, though I never turned it into a hobby. It was more than that.
My childhood friends are all grown up now and probably have forgotten their dreams. I haven’t. I still wish for a beautiful voice. How childish of me!
M. Stefanova, 16 January 2013