True story…

When I was 7, my school hosted a poem-reciting competition in which a representative from each class would recite a poem in front of a lot of parents, the principal and vice-principal, and more. Being an introvert, I chose to keep quiet during the selection for the class representative even though I knew deep down that I could do well.

Unfortunately, all my classmates voted for a CERTAIN SOMEONE who was VERY RELUCTANT to participate.

That person was yours truly.

Initially, I rejected the offer because I knew I could not overcome my stage fright and shyness. However, upon seeing the hopeful faces my classmates and class teacher wore, I gave in and agreed.

Weeks flew by as my spare time was converted to choosing a poem, memorising it and learning simple actions to make it ‘more lively and entertaining ’ as my class teacher said. A costume was chosen, my parents were delighted and my elder brother pestered me when I was trying to memorise the poem.

All these chaotic preparations did not equip me with the right steps to take to overcome my fear of BEING STARED AT BY A BUNCH OF STRANGERS and sometimes I regretted accepting to take part in it. My nerves grew as my classmates swarmed me with questions. Questions, questions, questions. 

Before I knew it, the night before the competition had arrived.

I stared at the ceiling and cuddled my favourite soft toy, too nervous and scared to sleep. All my thoughts were about the competition.

About the people looking at me. Expecting an excellent performance.

About the microphone that I would hold. That would amplify every sound I made.

About EVERYTHING.

I felt shivers running up and down my spine. I could not think, could not breathe. Yet I didn’t want to tell anyone, fearing I would disappoint them. 

I stared at my soft toy, trying to make it speak and help me through those dark times.

Then I pictured my soft toy standing up in my mind and speaking to me.

“Come on, you can’t be scared of a bunch of people! Just imagine they’re all dabbing or doing something funny. That’ll look so hilarious! Remember, book characters always have it worse, so just go out there and get it over and done with. I’ll be waiting,” its imaginary voice squeaked.

I thought about those words for a minute. My seven-year-old self realised that my doll was right! I could just follow her advice and it would be awesome! I lulled myself to sleep comforted by those words.

The next day, there was a flurry of activities taking place. Last minute adjustments were made to my costume, my classmates were wishing me good luck and telling me they would cheer for me, my class teacher ran through the script and actions. My nerves had disappeared, however, for I was as cool as a cucumber. Up until the competition began and I was called to the stage.

Heaving a big big big big big breath, I strutted towards the microphone as confidently as I could but my heart thumped wildly. Blood pounded in my ears and I could hear my ragged breath. As I faced the large crowds packed into the hall, my fear grew. I cleared my mind and tried to focus on the first lines of the rhyme:

Little drops of water,

Little grains of sand,

Make the mighty ocean,

And the pleasant land.

No, no, you’re supposed to greet everyone and introduce yourself! I thought. 

I quickly greeted everyone in the hall and introduced myself.

“ Today, I will be reciting a poem entitled ‘Little things’ by Julia Fletcher Carney,” I continued.

Now, you do what I told you to do and recite the poem, Lily’s voice echoed in my head.

I imagined the crowd dabbing and a smile played across my lips.

Little drops of water

Little grains of sand,

Make the mighty ocean,

And the pleasant land.

So the little moments, 

Humble though they be,

Make the mighty ages

Of eternity.

So our little errors

Lead the soul away

From the path of virtue,

Far in sin to stray.

Little deeds of kindness,

Little words of love,

Make our earth happy,

Like the Heaven above.

I finished with a bow and a thank you. A thunderous applause shook the hall that drowned my last words. I smiled as I saw my classmates whooping and cheering and my mother proudly filming my every word. As I walked off the stage, I thanked my soft toy silently for those useful words of advice.

Ever since then, my confidence has grown and I have overcome my fear of stage fright.

Moral of the story? To be honest, I have no idea. Write in the comments what you think the moral was!