Talent

I spent the whole day watching the best cuts from 8 out of 10 cats, a comedy show that airs on Channel 4. I was wetting my pants with laughter making my abs hurt. Then I started watching, "The most emotional X factor auditions". I started thinking about something watching all these videos. The ability to make people laugh, being able to sing, draw, play an instrument or calculate insane equations. Talent and intelligence are all around us, taking on many forms. And yet, I fail to see my gifts even if made glaringly obvious.

Talent is something I have always been envy of; feeling like I was robbed of a natural ability to do something really well. An effortless ability to move people to feel something powerful, or to be in awe of something I produced. I look at my mother. She has this gift to make things look amazing. An eye for detail I have only witnessed from her; it's the execution I love the best. It's flawless! Whether it's the way she wears her clothes, the jewellery she chooses, decorates a room, or dresses her hair. It's always brave, goes against the grain, awe-inspiring decoration of her personality. She metaphorically paints herself in what she does. If my mum does your hair, you instantly trust her to express her artistic flare. Compliments about my mum's hair and her clients, flood in from strangers only for it to be re-inforeced by me and the other people around her, that love her. People sometimes stare, or they make ill assumptions about my mum and it kills me. It's hurts so bad, it aches my heart. I'm angered sometimes to tears to hear people so jealous of this expression, that they wish to tear her down. Even if she was selfish with her talent, it's hers to do with as she pleases. But my mum shares it, with whoever she can, gracefully and humbly. There have been times I have been out with my mum and overheard people saying "Isn't she too old to be dying her red?" or "Look at the state of her! Who does she think she is?!".

My mum and I can shop. It's a sport for us and we would frequent Oxford St. regularly. We would start in the middle, walk up to Marble Arch, walk back down all the way to Tottenham Court Road and then back up if we forgot to pick something up in Selfridges. That was our standard trip, we'd be out all day and my nan still doesn't understand what there is possibly to do, for that long, on one street. Sadly, my mum isn't as well as I would like her to be and we cannot do that anymore. Don't get me wrong, we still go out shopping; now I'm older, I can drive her around to different places. I want my mum to be happy. She sacrificed a lot for my brother and me. At times, I knew she was struggling raising two growing men, but without me knowing the finer details, I never really felt the pressure. My mission in life is to make sure she never wants for anything, EVER. When I started working whilst still living with her, I made it my personal goal to buy the household food shop every month without fail plus pay her for my keep. The one woman in my life despite everything, has always supported me. I love her; the universe doesn't have another star that can match her. There isn't enough space in the universe to convey the love and admiration I have for this beautiful being that gave me life. I am, infinitely lucky to be born to her. She is the epitome of kindness, giving up her last £5 just so you can be happy. A trait her and my nan share.

Once, my mum, Rachelle and I were making a trip to Oxford St. It was a summer day, fairly warm for Britain at the time. Rachelle is a stunningly beautiful, light-skinned girl. Slim, fairly tall, confident woman, commanding attention anywhere she went. Mum had just bleached her hair blonde and cut it short, the curls were defined, baby hairs wavy. It's fair to say she was turning heads that day. She was my cousin's girlfriend and I wished one day I could have someone that beautiful, strong and confident to call my girlfriend. It annoyed me because from what I could overhear from adult conversations, my cousin ruined that relationship. Around that time, I was growing my hair and had cornrows. I was looking pretty standard. Mum, she was rocking a teal/electric blue mohawk sweeping back softly. We were all walking towards to Marble Arch, just passing Selfridges which was on the right of us. I spotted this group of people, mixed young men and women. They all appeared to be friends; they were huddled together discussing something, it was inaudible against the bustling Oxford Street crowd and how far away we were from them. I was drawn to them; I was attracted to they way they looked, their body language was interesting. Huddled together but pointing and laughing at people as they passed. I felt like they were about to cause an incident. As I clocked them, they were staring in our direction but not at me. They were focused on my mum and Rachelle. We started walked past them, and one of them called something out. Rachelle turned around and walked back in their direction and started cursing one of the group out. She placed her index finger on his temple and pushed his head, gesturing angrily. My mum noticed because I had stopped walking. She started to head towards Rachelle but at this point, Rachelle was already walking back to join us. "Rachelle, what's happened? What did they say?" mum asked. "Don't worry what they said, I put them in their place, they are idiots. C'mon, let's go". After this event, I will never allow anyone to damage my mum's spirit and passion or self expression.

I didn't really realise how much my dad meant to me until I got older. I was always slightly afraid of my dad, he is a formidable character and the one mostly to hand out the punishments. I was quiet as a child and fairly well behaved. Until my brother came along I knew no different. Once my brother arrived, I felt my family favoured him more than me. He lived in Jamaica for longer than I did and had more of a prominent accent. He was into sports and was rambunctious. I played computer games, read and hated football. I assumed that my brother was his archetype child because they shared similar interests. People would say I favoured my maternal side of the family, whilst my brother favoured my paternal side. I withdrew in response to this, often as child feeling like if I stayed in my room and just read and did my homework I'd be out of the way and my dad could have all the time he wanted with his perfect son. I remember vaguely him living with my mum when I was little. Then all of a sudden, he wasn't sleeping in the house anymore. I understood they broke up, but I didn't really feel the impact because I still saw him just as much as when he lived there. There was a brief period where they got back together and my brother was born. They spilt up soon after. Mum would say things like: "She's a single parent". In my mind, even though I saw dad, it meant he wasn't paying for anything. Everything was on mum. I didn't resent or disrespect my dad based on her comments, I was just confused about how the dynamics work. Who was paying what? How did I get fed? If I was living with mum, did that mean dad didn't pay as much?

When my dad lived with me, he used to sit in this massive armchair and play records. I'd happily sat in his arms and listen to music with him. Dad could sing, and he has a voice on him. As a youngster, he was in the choir and sang regularly. Growing older he would often be encouraged to take the mic and sing at various family gatherings and everyone would be in their element. I would learn as I got into my teenage years, how he was brought up. I remember my granddad being around but not seeing my grandmother very often. I don't know if that had an impact on my dad's work ethic. But he worked really hard to give his children more than they needed. Twice, he paid for my brother and me to go to Disneyland Florida. Renting this big villa with swimming pool in the back, renting a car, paying for the entry to all the parks. Whatever we needed, cinema trips, those new trainers, a new console game, he gave it, without question, often having to sacrifice things for himself just to make sure his children had. My dad worked two to three jobs to bring money home. Doing his day job, then doing a fitness class in the evening, even picking up milk rounds. He always worked. Even at times when I realised the universe wasn't giving my dad a break, he still managed to achieve a lot! Dad will be the first to tell you he isn't very academic, but he studied hard, passed his exams not only to gain his fitness qualification but to also become a fireman. Dad likes to look good too, but he won't be caught up in labels. His clothes will be middle of the road, good quality but not breaking the bank. I used to stay with my dad over weekends, and the one thing we would do is bang music all day and watch movies rented from Blockbuster. I learnt hard work, perseverance, independence and strength from him. My GCSEs, A Levels and Degree accomplishments are because of him. I just kept my head down and kept going. We have real conversations about life; I go to him for everything. He hasn't been well these last two years and I wish I could give him everything he deserves so he can enjoy life to the absolute fullest. He deserves that and so much more. 30-years-old and I still call him daddy and think nothing of it because he is my solidifying force, my reliability that never fails. If I am ever lucky to have kids, I would want to be a father to them, exactly like my dad is to me. My dad is just like my mum in that he is an element yet undiscovered to everyone else, but I've discovered him, and he's mine.

With my mother's artistic and creative eye, coupled with my dad's musical ability and strong work ethic, you'd think something would have been passed down, right? I struggle to identify any of them. I tried singing, even wrote and recorded an EP. I cannot live without music. The productions of Timbaland and The Neptunes mean influence my love of music, they are my favourite producers, they produce these mind-blowing tracks that are timeless. My EP, doesn't even come close to that level of genius. No one has heard my album apart from the producer that worked on it. She doesn't even have a copy. In fact, only one copy exists. If something should happen to my computer and I lose all my data, the EP will be forever lost. The world cannot hear of my heart break, or my struggles with mental health through music. I do not believe it's good enough and I'd be embarrassed if the criticism was something I couldn't handle. For instance, hearing someone say I can't sing. I had a mic tattooed on my arm initially because music is so important for me. The second reason is: I lost a singing competition because of stage fright. I had been going to these singing classes with music school not far from my childhood home. After about 6 weeks of a 12 week course, my singing teacher said I should compete in the competition for lead vocalist in a manufactured boy band. I was massively reluctant at first. I spoke with various people and they all encouraged me to do it. But I was so anxious about my voice, I thought I lacked the ability to win anything. I'd never won anything in my life, why would this be any different? Over the next coming weeks we prepared songs. I practised with cousin Olivia, I was gaining more confidence. My music teacher at school Ms. Barker, coached me when she heard about my competition. I was in the school choir and kept telling me to take lead. I practised hard. Week by week, I got through to the next stage until the final. Donnell Jones "Have You Seen Her" starts playing, I go to sing, and my voice croaks. I had been doing this for weeks! The stage lights were bright, the crowd was too loud and I had pins and needles in my hands and feet. I sat backstage, took a breather and came back out. This time, the backing track kept skipping. The production manager took the mic and told the audience I was going to sing it acapella. I hadn't rehearsed this acapella. The mic was behind my back but I could barely stop the microphone from shaking. I was so frightened. If I hit a bum note, sang the wrong lyric, did the wrong phrase, the audience would hear it. Somehow, by the grace of the universe, I sang it without music. But it wasn't enough. I lost. I haven't sung publicly since.

I can't draw like my mother, I can't sing like my father. Yes, I have incredible work ethic and rolling my sleeves up to hard work I'm not a stranger to. But I have no edge, no flare. My cousin Olivia is a singer and hairdresser. Again, an incredible voice, she used to cornrow my hair in these crazy geometric patterns. There are home videos of her singing at schools and weddings. I'd go to school with fresh braids every week. My classmates would try to work out how she braided it. I'm not missing the practise element of their talents. None of it just appeared for any of them, their crafts involved trail and error. I get that. My degrees didn't just happen, I had to work hard to achieve the grade. I've been envious of their gifts though. Why? From what you've read so far, you may believe I'm overlooking my own gifts? Maybe even failing to mention them? Possibly. I do know this, I can spot the talent in others, whether it be their intellect, humour, attention to detail, ability to start sewing quilts out of nowhere, sing, write, dance, whatever else comes to mind. I see it. Other people seem to be able to execute their skills effortlessly, whether they have internal struggles or not. Their work, their final product, I appreciate, I'm in awe of sometimes. I want someone to look at my work and be inspired and ignited with passion. Take my day job, I wouldn't say it requires talent; there are times I struggle to think of the right answer, the right process or even know when to ask for help. I get zero feedback like the way I see other's get feedback about their jobs or efforts. The pressure for me to be great comes from me and only me; I know this. Is it possible I'm doing something wrong why I am not getting feedback? It's possible my persona may intimidate those to give feedback good or bad. I can't be doing bad because I got promoted. But it's this lack of hearing I'm doing well that makes me think I'm either just lucky or scraping by. This is why the envy of talents is felt so strongly. More so, that I don't seem to have a tangible outcome or expression of any talent. Even if I take a dear friend of mine who when I met him was struggling to find his way. Managed to get out of a emotionally oppressing relationship, job hopped a few times to his current role where he sits comfortably and is at peace finding himself. With no rush to get to a destination but now secure enough to enjoy the journey good or bad. While my journey isn't bad, doubt shrouds me; my view has double vision and it's dizzying. I feel so stuck; my heard hurts from hitting the glass ceiling. I fear failing to pull myself back together after self-destructing from trying to breakthrough, or I retire still hitting my head against the glass ceiling.

As always, it starts with feeling invincible, incredible and overly capable of world dominance. Then, after seeing the world through very flawed eyes, I feel hopeless, helpless, pathetic and angry at myself that I could even think I possessed substance to ignite change in the world.