Swan Song?

Since it was the final rehearsal for a programme the next day, the prospect of me singing along was as appealing as inviting a blind bee into the choir. For one, I didn8217;t understand what the conductor was doing with her hands. By the end of two pieces I realised, that if she brought her right fist in a quick sweep to her chest, the rendition should stop and gave myself 10 points for observation. Minor details such as not being able to read music or sing a Western classical piece came later.

Completely crushed when I was asked to back off till the choir did some serious rehearsing, I decided to spend time mentally analysing the music. After a few seconds, I instead chose to analyse the clothes. I realised that the only girl close to my age was someone in a Simpsons Tee. I tried to make friends, while she breezed through Panis Angelicus, hoping she8217;d also teach me a bar or two, but my blinding stare killed all hopes.

With nothing better to do I took a liking to the word soprano. It8217;s nothing to do with what it means, but just the way my tongue rolls around it. So when I was asked to be a part of the over-30 section of sopranos, I was mighty thrilled. Besides the only under-18 singer in the choir was singing tenor.

Having sung exactly 30 seconds of Hallelujah, a popular hymn that I learnt way back in school, I8217;ve realised that it sounds better behind the shower curtain. No one8217;s shooting daggers if I lose my breath and I8217;m my own conductor. Now if only I had mastered those moves too.