Growing up, I really wanted to be a pop star. The ’90’s was indeed the time of the Spice Girls, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears and such and I remember watching only MTV and learning all the dance steps to their hit songs. Yes, I can even dare you to a “Wannabe” showdown and I’m confident I’d pwn your ass.
So I imagined myself performing in front of thousands of people and touring the world and winning awards and having fanboys asking for my autograph or downloading photos of my… concerts.
Yup, at a young age I already knew that I wanted to be a star. Not just as a pop star but a celebrity in general. Hell, I also wanted to be an actress. Like very badly. In fact, I’ve made that oh-so-ghei-only-drag-queens-sing-it song-“FAME” my life’s theme. My fascination with it got so bad that I used to have my younger cousins line up in front of a desk and pretend to be fans asking for my signature and smile. After one’s done, s/he goes to back to the end of the line to repeat the cycle. Also, at a mall when I was 12, a random man passed me by (‘coz really, why would he talk to me?) and I whispered under my breath, “Fucker… Someday you will spazz and flail when you see me. Itaga mo ‘yan sa bato.”
Well, I’m 23 now. Neither an actress nor a pop star. And it seriously made me wonder recently… “Am I a failure?” *insert dramatic scoring here* *close-up on my teary eyes and quivering lips* *fade to black*