I recently flicked through an old notebook I had as a teenager. It’s a beige hardcover with a bright pink tulip. It’s filled with poems I wrote about an array of topics, from unrequited love to a melodramatic yearning to be somewhere else (Europe), and more serious themes like disease, addiction and injustices. I did not have a disease, an addiction or experience any injustices as a 14-year old. The only injustice I’d experienced was not being allowed to go on sleepovers.
I also wrote a disclaimer in pencil on the first page. It says:
Read at your own risk! You might not share the same opinions as I do. But hey, that’s life. It’s just simply REALITY.
Well that’s embarrassing. Who was this disclaimer for? My parents? My little sister? A stranger who would come across my notebook if it ever got lost? My future self? And what opinions did I have, exactly? There was nothing particularly scandalous in the notebook. Maybe I meant “Beware of my drama.”
The other thing I noticed, apart from the eclectic poems and a random sentence about Christina Aguilera, were lyrics. I’m sure I wasn’t the only teenager who wrote down lyrics to favourite songs. I came across the words to “Could I be your girl?” by Jann Arden, “True Colors” by Fredro Starr (from the Save The Last Dance soundtrack), and last but not least, all the songs in Lauryn Hill’s MTV Unplugged No.2 album. I was obsessed with that album back in 2002, and I’m still obsessed with that album today.
I loved Lauryn’s previous album, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. I’d learned “Doo Wop (That Thing)” by heart as a tween and couldn’t stop rapping about second verses dedicated to the men, more concerned with his rims and his Tims than his women. “To Zion” was my go-to for loud singing. But the MTV album was something else. I blasted Unplugged in my bedroom on repeat, especially in the morning while getting ready for school. This lasted months. It drove my family mad. I can still hear their shouts. “MICHELLE TURN IT DOWN!” “TURN IT OFF!” “WE CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! IT’S 7 AM!”
But I couldn’t turn it down. Or turn it off. That album was a revelation. It was a musical experience like no other. It was just Lauryn, her guitar, her voice and an audience. It was raw. It was vulnerable. It was completely unedited. Sometimes she cried at the end of a song, sometimes her voice broke, sometimes she didn’t know how to finish a tune, so she just stopped singing. The album was imperfect. It was a masterpiece.
I especially enjoyed the interludes. Lauryn would address the audience between songs and talk about lessons she’d learned. My 14-year old self was afraid to use her voice and constantly worrying about what other people thought of her. She was always seeking other people’s validation. She was constantly saying “yes” when she really meant “no.” Lauryn Hill’s truth bombs were a breath of fresh air:
“I had created this public persona, this public illusion. And it held me hostage. Like I couldn’t be a real person cause you’re too afraid of what your public will say. And at that point I had to do some dying and accept the fact that look, this is who I am and I have to be who I am and all of us have a right to be who we are.” (Interlude 1)
and
“Whenever we submit our will to someone else’s opinion, a part of us dies.” (Interlude 1)
and
“You already are the standard. Why you trying to fit into a standard for?” (Interlude 5)
or
“The real you is more interesting than the fake somebody else.” (Interlude 5)
I find this last quote particularly relevant in our era of Instaperformances.
The year 2002 was the first time in my life that I truly listened and connected to lyrics that had nothing to do with romance or heartbreak. The lyrics were about discovering and owning the self. About loving oneself. As I figured out how to use my voice back then, words such as “They’ve got so much things to say right now, so don’t you ever forget who you are and where you stand in a struggle,” (originally by Bob Marley & The Wailers, but I didn’t know that yet) and “See what you see is what you get, oh and you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, oh I don’t care if you’re upset, I could care less if you’re upset,” were incredibly empowering.
Unplugged’s confessional style has had a major influence on my art. All I seem to write about are lessons I’ve learned, things that have happened to me, my secrets, my pain, my joy, my evolution (and my obsessions, of course). I can’t shut up about myself. I can’t stop sharing my truth as I learn it, because revealing my truth is healing. While I have more self-awareness now than at fourteen, I still struggle with owning my voice sometimes, and being unapologetically me. That’s why I still blast Unplugged in my home, on repeat, and drive my husband and son crazy.
But hey, that’s life. It’s just simply REALITY.
Merci Michelle ! Merci de partager tes réflexions avec nous. Tu le fais toujours avec beaucoup de finesse, d'humour et d'introspection. D'ailleurs, quand je lis tes articles et tes essais, le mot qui me vient à l'esprit est "introspection" (du latin : "introspectus", regarder à l'intérieur de soi").
Voici ce que j'ai trouvé en ligne au sujet de "réflexions" dans le sens de "reflexio" en latin : "action de tourner en arrière, de retourner".
Eh bien, tes réflexions ne pourraient pas être aussi bien racontées sans tout le travail d'introspection de ta part. Je suis convaincue que cette introspection est une prédisposition et qu'elle se produit dès notre plus tendre enfance. Je parle de mon expérience personnelle bien sûr !
Merci de m'inviter à ton monde d'introspection et........."To thine own self be true" !!!