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I sing

Singing is like taking a very deep breath. It fills me with life and joie de vivre.

I sing, not in the shower, or the privacy of my home, but as part of the normal course of the day.
I sing at my best with Ipod on, earphones in and volume turned to uberloud.
I sing in the car with the radio set to blow- me- away, leaving the windows rattling.
I sing at the gym, sometimes silently (most times, not) mouthing the words, bobbing my head to the beat.

I sing...constantly have a tune playing in my head.

Knowing the lyrics to a song is optional, I will do a bit of a remix if necessary, to get through to the end.
Knowing the language of the song, also optional.. I will make appropriate sounds, add mumbles, hums, ooohhh'sla,la,la's, da,da,da,da,da's.
Whatever it takes to keep the rhythm going...

Once upon a train journey from London to Edinburgh, I got so swept up in the music, I sang at the top of my lungs to Nelly Furtado. An elbow bump from my fellow traveler caught me mid-song. I stood up and the whole carriage was enjoying my impromptu performance. All I could do was grin sheepishly and take a bow.

So, yes, I sing, most time it's uncalled for, but it is entirely necessary to keep my spirits up.

It is in my genes. My he was a singer! People celebrated  his voice, it moved them to spontaneous applause, to ready tears, to numerous encores. He was known as the "singing bediener" and he was legendary in the local community. Growing up he was offered a scholarship to attend a school in Switzerland to learn opera, but his father refused (it was the 50's in SA and he was from a conservative family). The 3 Tenors would surely have been 4 and I would've been Swiss-made like chocolate and army knives.

 "Make me your radio, turn me up when you feel low..." Like Adam Levine, Gym Class Heroes and my dad, I am a firm believer that music and love is a great antidote to the blues!

There is no song in my heart today.
I feel tainted, just a touch.
I feel disappointed in myself, stacks.

And for the first time, I cannot sing.
And it leaves me numb.

My father would've known something was amiss and in his booming voice, he would've sang Mario Lanza's aria de il Pagliacci , and he would've brought me to tears. And with feelings reignited, the music would flow through me like blood, awakening my fighting spirit.

But he is gone!

Listening to Mario Lanza just now I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear my father's voice in the high notes!

I am moved.

And once again, through music, he saved his little girl.

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