That Time I Was a Fairy

cotton candy coloured fairies and setting the stage for my inner child

I was 3 years old when my mom and my godmother found out that I could memorize lines. My first role was a child beggar going home to her dying mother with a bit of bread. It was all very sad and dramatic. It was also how I learned to cry on cue. Somehow I can still feel the faint traces of that memory in my head. Those lines engraved inside my brain in ways I could never nor wish to overwrite.

I remember every single role I’ve ever gotten, from Angel number 3 in Hark the Herald Angel, a musical when I was nine to the motherly Mrs Gardiner in Pride & Prejudice when I was 27. I think stepping into their eyes has left me marked in ways that feel beautifully permanent.

Most recently, I was entrusted with the role of the Good/Old Fairy for Manama Theatre Club’s Pantomime. In many ways I’ve fallen madly in love with this character. She was playful, and petulant, and very brave. She was fun in ways I haven’t been able to access before and all the while looking like a cotton candy explosion.

I think one of the reasons I love her so much is because I am partly those things. I am occasionally the fairy. She is my silly, sweet, and unfiltered self. She is my childish joy, my drunk voice and my attention loving self. Stepping inside her pink cowboy boots was something like stepping into a dream.

I don’t know what it was really. Was it the purple tutu and pink corset that made me feel like I stepped out of a fairy tale book? Was it the pastel blue hair? Was it the prettiest wings I’ve ever seen? Maybe it was being a fairy tale character like I’d been dreaming of since I was six.

Confession: when I auditioned, I knew I wanted to be the fairy. I saw the script and saw that the fairy had a couple of singing parts and all I could think about was the fact that I wanted an excuse to sing on stage.

And sing I truly did. A nice little belt-y song where I got to sing as loudly as I wanted (it was I Am What I Am by Gloria Gaynor if you’re curious). I’ve always wanted to have my voice reverberate around a room, feel the sound come from my chest then scatter like little notes tickling the air around me. This feels almost too precious to confess.

I don’t know why I feels taboo to say I like the way I sound. Almost like I’m being too gloat-y about my talent, even when it’s a point of pride for me.

It’s funny how we were taught to make people feel bad about feeling good about themselves. We should be proud of our talents. It should be normal to say things like, ”I like the sound of my voice,” or “I like seeing myself on screen,” or heck “I like my writing.” It should be more normal to like yourself.

Another wonderful thing about being casted as a fairy was being able to include a character trait wherein I was able to use my fairy voice. My fairy voice is an octave higher than my usual speaking voice. It’s very childlike and high pitched. I have this not so secret talent: I’ve been manipulating the pitch of my voice for years.

When I learned to modulate in college I realized that speaking in a lower pitch made people around me listen better. I then decided that it was better for me to speak in a lower pitch than my actual voice in order to be taken more seriously. It’s a little funny that the fairy voice comes out anyways, usually when I’m too tired or too drunk to care.

This role did so much for me. I was able to tap into so many aspects of myself by just being her. For the four shows that we did, I was able to become something so vulnerably like the child living inside my chest. She was so happy that by the end of it I was small parts happy and small parts devastated.

I’m writing this newsletter because I am still reeling from the experience. There’s so much joy and hard work tied into doing this. I’m so glad I got to experience something like it.

To giving your inner child their time to shine,

Dhan xx