We often sing together at home. We dance. We act. We make up stories. We imagine stuff together. But mostly we sing together.

Last Saturday, when I received our choir director’s email for the Sunday mass’ songs and saw “Once in Royal David’s City” was on the list, I asked you if you’d like to sing solo the first part. Surprisingly, you said yes. On the condition that I sing with you, and that you’ll be standing as far away from the crowd as possible so they wouldn’t see you. I promised you I’ll sing with you, but that I couldn’t on the latter part.

As if teasing you, when we arrived at Church the following morning, the choir chairs were rearranged such that everyone in the choir is facing the congregation. Tough luck. (For the record, this is that time when our masses are held at the basement because the church is under renovation) Thankfully, you forgot this “hidden away from the crowd” condition. While we were practicing another song, you went ahead and sang the first lines of Once in Royal David’s City, reminding me that you were determined to sing. Hence I informed our director. Hats off to him though. He still pushed with our idea even when the two times we practiced, you can barely be heard. He just told me to sing louder in case you still get shy.

But I needn’t sing louder though. Because as always, you are so much better during actual performance compared to practices. I’ve noticed this even when you were still in kindergarten. It’s quite tricky though, because the one who gives you the job needs to have faith in you first for you to have the job. But what a performer you are. You stood erect, looked really confident, and you even had the presence of mind to turn the page. You were marvellous. I couldn’t turn the page myself because half of me was performing and the other half was the “stage mom” looking at how you are doing; quite a feat I tell you.

Now you see, you’ve been quite notorious as the one who always sleeps at church during mass. So everyone was quite surprised to see you sing. People came to you to try and talk to you and compliment you. Unfortunately, we didn’t practice yet on how you should deal with “fame”. You clung unto me like jellyfish and hid your face from everyone else. Well, that would be another day’s lesson, dealing with “fame”.

For now, thank you for taking the leap, and for taking the leap with me. It made my heart full.