At age 35, when I had not succeeded in becoming an award-winning pop musician and TV celebrity with a string of classic hits, I felt I had failed in life.
I know I’d set the bar a little high. But when you are born to a famous father who has achieved precisely these things by said age, it’s hard not to feel disappointed when you turn out to be a regular person.
It’s not true that you struggle to get out from under a famous parent’s shadow. More accurately, you are completely exposed by the glare of their fame, a spotlight that follows you relentlessly everywhere you go.
Growing up in Manila, I was known as “the daughter of”. Before I even knew my dad was a big deal in Philippine music, I could feel my teachers looking at me with expectation.
Certain that musical brilliance was in my blood, they pushed me into singing and music competitions. I’d bumble through a song with my eyes downcast, confused as to why I was being made to sing, and knowing they were underwhelmed.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like making music. But I felt timid as a mouse, not liking the feeling that people were waiting for me to do something amazing.
Ala Paredes and her father. Source: Supplied
At university, my dad’s reputation continued to precede me. “Dude, your dad is a legend!”, said the cool muso kids on campus. “So when are you gonna do your own thing, huh?” they’d press, as though I was already part of their club.
“Come on, let’s form a band,” said my boyfriend, another accomplished musician. “Just say the word and I’ll have a killer line-up ready for you!”
I balked. I’d done nothing to deserve the support of a killer line-up other than a few good karaoke performances and having my father’s last name.
In early adulthood, I still felt like a fledgling finding her voice. The fact that I followed my dad into the showbiz spotlight, as a TV presenter, did not make me more confident about singing. I suddenly found myself under the gaze of a scrutinising audience who wondered if I was made of the same magic as my father.
They soon got an answer. With great trepidation, I joined a band as a vocalist. The comments on the internet were unkind.
“She can’t really sing,” the ‘kindest’ ones said.
Though I eventually became a decent player and singer, my primary goal was always joy
It’s true I’d had a few mediocre performances. But would they have been so harsh if I hadn’t been the daughter of a legend?
As for my father, my band didn’t live up to his impeccable musical taste. This was a man, after all, who had written, recorded and performed dozens of hits. He watched one gig, said nothing, and never watched again.
That was my last and only stab at making music before I decided I was unworthy. I conceded that I’d always be just a tourist in that world, loving music but unlicensed to participate.
Soon, I moved to Australia where I buried the dream.
And that would’ve been the end of the story had I not randomly reached for my husband’s dusty ukulele. I was 35 years old then, a new mum with postpartum depression who was grappling with certain missed opportunities in life.
Ala Paredes and her father. Source: Supplied
I didn’t know how to play, but it only took an hour and three chords for me to get hooked. Each day, my fingers itched for the feel of those four strings, those frets. I’d offload the baby to my husband and strum till my cuticles scabbed over.
Something stirred inside as I began to play old songs I loved. But also, I felt an ache. I hadn’t realised how deeply it had hurt all those years to not make music.
I saw then that I was denied the joy of being an amateur, to be just a kid who liked to make music for the fun of it. I’d been like a newly germinating seed, exposed to the elements too early. How was I supposed to flourish under all that glare and pressure? Under the high standards of my father?
But also, I realised I’d been carrying a big ego. It was flattering to think of myself as the daughter of a legend with magic in my blood, but had I let it sabotage me? It was time to let that go.
At last, in my mid-30s, I had the privacy and freedom to happily make music without worrying if it was any good at all. And though I eventually became a decent player and singer, my primary goal was always joy.
I know that as a musician, I will never be of any importance. I don’t care. We don’t always have to be extraordinary at the things we love doing. I’m not placing any conditions on making music this time. By embracing my music, I heal myself.
Listen to Ala Paredes on Let Me Tell You, a podcast from SBS Voices. Listen in the , , , or wherever you listen to podcasts.
