Oh So Quiet.

Winter in England, UK. 1995.

She had no clue; the first rule to ‘fit in’ is to be happy within.

In a British state-funded secondary school that smelt of disinfectant, food and sweat, full of testing teenagers, stood a 15-year-old girl. 90% moody, yet defiantly desperate to fit in with her peers.

Short scruffy hair that her non hairdresser dad had cut triumphantly using blunt sewing scissors in the style of a ‘bob’, sat like a triangle on her head. Complimented by an ill-fitting school uniform of her dad’s old off white, crumpled shirt, tights bumped by fixed re-sewn holes and her only school skirt with its pleats depleted. “Scruffy”, they said.

She longed for clothes that smelt like clean washing, bright white ironed shirts and white socks. For well-fitted flowery cropped bras and matching knickers. She dreamt of ‘The Body Shop’ soaps and scents. She craved the happiness and friendship of her classmates.

She liked the unkind boys at school, whom she would persistently pester for their bullying attention. Her teenage emotions ran so wild; believing she was unlovable she fought every female feature of her body.

She lived in a swamp of the wrong type of role models. Her mother was either caring for her younger sibling twins or drowning in her own turmoil. Her elder brother and father were dominant selfish males swimming cold and distant. Often dictating their beliefs and ideas without blinking through the murk.

In class, she drifted often into her creative dream world where she mattered and she belonged. Her world of love, romance and beauty. She conjured the warm summer sun, being loved by this week’s chosen crush. His hand brushing against hers, time alone together, looking into each other’s eyes. In the green grass after school, behind the bike shed, at the school disco, the first kiss, the valentine’s card, The One.

Then a fierce clap of hands. “Yes Miss”. She cared so deeply for this love, yet was unable to speak or attract it. Nor even notice if there were glimmers of love in front of her eyes.

Her sense of style was her own. Bright cherry reds and canary yellows. Her favourite cap-sleeved “Barbie is a Slut” t-shirt, short red cord skirt, striped tights and the fluffiest red, thick zip up, cropped, collared cardigan. That if you put a light to, would blaze up like a burning Christmas tree.

Besotted with a controversial Icelandic artist. Music played on repeat day and night, filling her heart with all the love she desired.

When it happened, the teachers were agasp. “Who’s next?”

‘I am’. A deep breath taken with nervous butterflies rising from her insides.

The girl that had never sung before, not even behind closed doors, auditioned to sing in the Christmas School Show. And so there she stood, in giddy disbelief, chosen by her teachers to be the final act for all four shows! Her confidence beamed wide and golden.

Tiny 4ft small she was, in her favourite clothes. In front of 300 friends, enemies and teachers. She was ready to bring it on and she knew it. This was her moment to shine, to show them all. This is her and this is it!

So proud and so loud, with gusto, full grin and good sound. She sang from the bottom of her lungs about all her dreams coming to life. Each word so expressive with love, like a roller coaster the fast run up to the top and full speed downward drop! ‘Zing and Boom’, ‘wham bam’. Fireworks of words rejoicing from her soul.

Her heart sang that day, her soul shone brightly, touching everyone in the room. Finally, she had risen, a shining star beaming with confidence.

The crowd stood up cheered and whooped for joy.

For the three minutes, there she stood, in glowing, glorious LOVE!