Stuck Song Syndrome

It all began with an earworm - the theme from Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses.
I had never touched a piano before, but humming it wasn’t enough. Something inside me needed to bring it to life.

So I went downstairs, opened the piano, and began pressing random keys, trying to make sense of the layout. Then… I played the last three keys on the piano - and they matched the first three notes of the song in my head.

Something clicked.

Within minutes, I figured out the entire piece by ear.
I still remember that moment vividly - like a door had opened to a world I never knew existed.
That was the day music quietly became a part of me.

The Disconnect

Eventually, my sister and I were both sent to piano lessons with several teachers.
I expected to feel excited and inspired, but instead, I began to feel disconnected.
I loved playing by ear - chasing a feeling, letting my fingers find the notes naturally.
But in class, the focus was on theory, and I often felt behind.

I never reached the point of being formally given sheet music in class. Instead, I borrowed my sister’s in secret and taught myself the songs she was learning.

Over time, I began to believe I just wasn’t cut out for music.
What I once loved started to feel like a chore.
Eventually, I walked away - not out of lack of love, but out of heartbreak.

A New Spark Under The Spotlight

Even though I had stopped playing the piano, music never truly left me.
I began to sing - quietly, in secret, unsure if my voice was worth being heard.

Some nights, our family would do karaoke together. I noticed how much my parents lit up when it came to singing, in a way they never quite did with sports, and in my child-mind, I thought: maybe if I sing, I’ll be seen the way I long to be.  What began as a way to be seen slowly turned into something real - I truly fell in love with singing.

School talent shows soon became little milestones along that journey.
For the first time, my friends and I formed a group and auditioned for a song together. We were thrilled to be selected.
In the weeks before the show, we would meet at each other’s houses to practise.
During one rehearsal at my house, I was compared to another girl in my group in front of everyone. The comment wasn’t even about my voice - it was about something else entirely. And though it might have seemed small, it touched an old wound, one that had been shaped by years of comparison. Another small chip at my self-worth.

Few years later, we auditioned again as a group, but didn’t get in.
Later, I heard a rumour that we hadn’t been chosen because of me and one of my friends.
At the time, I was already carrying so much self-doubt that those words cut deeper than I wanted them to.

By my final year, the talent show felt like my last chance to prove something - maybe not to others, but to myself..
I told myself, If I don’t get in, that's okay. At least I’ll know I tried.
We auditioned again - the same group, minus the girl who had made that comment - performing the same song that hadn’t been selected before.
This time, we got in.
And for the first time, I also gathered the courage to audition for a solo.
That year, only two solos were chosen… and one of them was mine (basically my “mic drop” moment - except I had to hand the mic back after :p).

At home, practising for my solo wasn’t always easy. My brother would switch off the mic, shout to disrupt me, or minimise and mock me while I sang. It was a painful reminder that the challenges weren’t only at school, but also in my own home.

Then, on the very morning of the final show, I woke up with a horrible sore throat and almost considered pulling out. But I couldn’t bring myself to let my group or myself down, and so I pushed through. Backstage, my partner was there with warm water and endless encouragement, hyping me up before both the school show and the final. And although my brother later told my mum that I had messed up during the school show, I had proof I hadn’t, thanks to a recording my partner had taken of the whole thing.

My mum and sister encouraged me to choose the song for my solo, and my mum even had an outfit stitched just for the night. When I saw my family in the audience, I felt deeply happy and grateful, but I also knew that this journey - the comparisons, the rumours, the quiet battles I endured at home without any intervention - was something I had carried and overcome within myself, and that made stepping onto the stage feel all the more powerful.

As I walked onto the stage for my solo that night, a few voices from the audience suddenly called out my partner’s name - an obvious attempt to heckle, and then came a laugh I knew straight away, from someone in my own batch – loud, deliberate, the kind that carried more hurt than joy. For a split second, my heart sank. But then I took a deep breath and began to sing, steady and present, letting the music guide me. The noise faded, the laughter dissolved, and all I could see were the smiles of my friends, their cheers reminding me of why I was there in the first place. When the final note ended and the room erupted in applause, I felt a quiet, indescribable sense of peace – a knowing that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

That night, and all the lessons that led to it, shaped me more than I realised.
I learnt that comparisons, rumours, and even sabotage can’t define you.
Support may appear or fade, but the strength you cultivate within yourself is what lasts. Confidence doesn’t have to shout; it can show up quietly, in the moments you choose to rise anyway.
I also came to understand that sometimes, when people are caught in their own pain or insecurities, they try to dim someone else’s light in the very moments they wish they had for themselves. But your light was never theirs to take.

Remember, not everyone will recognise your worth - sometimes because it doesn’t fit the picture they expect. Maybe you’re not the loudest voice in the room or the most outwardly expressive, but that doesn’t make your gifts any less real. In the end, your worth isn’t determined by who sees it - it’s determined by how deeply you believe in it yourself.

Reigniting The Lost Spark

After graduating school, I moved to Australia in 2019 for my higher studies.

In early 2022, life shifted unexpectedly - I fractured my femur and became bedridden.
Everything slowed down… except music.

For our 5th anniversary, my partner gifted me a digital piano. At first, I played just to pass time, but soon, something shifted. I returned to the way I played as a child - by ear, by feeling, by freedom.
An unconventional technique, perhaps, but that’s when I realised: maybe the conventional way isn’t always the only way. Sometimes the most honest method is the one that feels authentic to you.

Just a Game - Until it Wasn't

I started challenging myself to figure out songs by ear - quickly. At first, it was just a game. Then I began experimenting with sounds, layering feelings into melodies.
Slowly, original music began to flow.

Featherfall, my debut single, was actually the tenth melody I wrote during recovery.
I produced and mixed it entirely on free software. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest - and it felt like me.
I wasn’t planning on releasing it - but with encouragement from the people who believed in me most, I took the leap.