The Roles That We Play

THE ROLES THAT WE PLAY

When I was a teenager, a professional Filipino singer came to visit one of our youth group activities and performed a couple of jazz numbers for us. She apparently worked in a HongKong nightclub as a singer/entertainer. My father, who used to work as a studio musician/pianist, accompanied her on the piano. They were magnificent and I was so inspired by her talent. As we drove home, I declared quite confidently that I wanted to sing like her and I was determined that if I just practiced, I would have powerful pipes like hers and I can sound beautiful. That was the last time I ever dreamed that dream.

"You'll never sound like that. You have to be born with that kind of voice and talent. She has a lot of power and volume. Your voice is weak and you don't have powerful lungs. Don't even think you can ever sound like that."

That's what my father told me on the way home.

There was a time when I could reach high notes and sang with confidence. I remember those times. But this night, my confidence disappeared. I still struggle to get it back but instead, I find that I am self-conscious and feel woefuly inadequate.

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I learned to play the guitar when I was eleven years old. I learned fast. I got very good. I wanted to be able to play the chords to any song at any given time just using a good ear. And in any key. I became so good at it that I got to the point where I could just anticipate the next chord even if I didn't know the song. It was like magic.

One day, when I was about 14 or 15, we had some guests in our house. One of them asked me to play a song that was unfamiliar and so I asked him to sing the first couple of bars of the song so I can get my bearings. It was not an easy song so I fiddled around for a moment to find the right key. After I found the right chord progression, my father scolded me in front of everybody mostly insinuating that I was a braggart and arrogant and most of all, totally incapable of accomplishing what I was trying to do. I felt all my confidence melting away until I only felt the warmth of pure embarrassment. I had lost face. I also lost my magic. To this day, I haven't quite recaptured my magic. Every time I attempt to play songs on my guitar, no matter how much I try to forget this incident, the feeling of incompetence lurks inside my head waiting to pounce.

Through the years, my guitar playing has opened countless opportunities for me but I often feel that I am merely trying to transcend that nagging "film projector" in my head that wants to play that sad incident over and over. In due time, I would permanently hang my guitar in a dark place and never play it again with the same magic that I used to have.

I often wonder why I don't have the gumption to prove everybody wrong and triumph. But these are only two incidents. The fact is, they are not isolated. It was constant and consistent. And I have two other family members who, throughout my life, remind me that I have a role to play. And though I have changed in so many different ways and for the better, they still play their roles and I in turn play mine. And this happens over and over when we are all together. I sometimes dread being with them because no matter how much I try, the script keeps playing out. At times I force myself to play a different role and rewrite the script but I often get outplayed while the zeal that I have to keep on trying to transcend "the script" wanes. Exhaustion and hopelessness take over. And a strange disconnect.

The role that I used to play in my family is one that I wish to crush. But it is so ingrained in me---the constant and loud voice that tells me that I am incapable of finishing a task or doing anything well enough to excel. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy brought about by the role that I haplessly fell into playing complete with a script that I am supposed to recite. It's baggage.

I wish to leave it somewhere.

Being Numbah One

After my fifth harp lesson, I began to seriously consider quitting altogether. It was getting frustrating because I expected so much more of myself. Even more jarring was the prospect of having to purchase the $5,000 harp that I was using. I couldn't bring myself to spend that money on something that I know I wouldn't excel at. So I found my desire to learn to play the harp just for the sheer fun of doing so, clashing with the reality that my time and money might better be served doing something else where I can for sure be "numbah 1". Guilt started to roll down my forehead coupled with the anticipation and self-fulfilling prophecy that my parents often laid on me: that I can never finish what I set out to do.

That's when it hit me.

That's the reason why I get paralyzed when I attempt to do ANYTHING.

Filipino culture can sometimes be comical. One will often hear parents brag about their kindergarteners who "graduated" from their class as "first honor". Or graduating from elementary school as valedictorians.

Often, my relatives or family acquaintances would ask me,

"What number are you in class?"

Number? No, it's not a student number that they're interested in. What they mean to ask is:

"What is your class ranking?"

If you are a true well-bred Filipino child who did everything right, you should be able to say:

"Ma'am, I am number 1 in class!"

If you don't and can't, you are a loser. It's this all or nothing game that, unbeknownst to me, is a slow killer and promotes existing rather than living. We can't always be numbah 1 and it's ok if we're not numbah 1 and we don't have to make up for not being numbah 1 either.

Now that I've figured this out, I have to decide how high to set the bar for myself. Most of all, I have to give myself permission to "fail"----it's ok if it takes longer to learn something. It's ok if it's unlikely that I'll be able to play complicated fugues on the harp. And it's ok if I don't lose 2 pounds this week.

So I relinquish the numbah 1 spot and someone else can worry about taking and maintaining that lofty place. It's all in my head anyway. There is no such spot. Say it again...there is NO such spot.

I may even fail at attempting something I'm not good at.... but I'll fail with great gusto.