Why I Hate The Sound Of My Voice
A Non Scientific Explanation
Yin and Yang
Loving, hating. The expression in singing comes from the vibration of the flesh. The flesh vibrates, the bone vibrates, it moves. Movement, energy, sound, everything flows and appears as if from nowhere, effortlessly, only because of the need to create sound, to communicate.
The universe's need to look at itself through us, through all of us.
Every insect, plant, animal, we are all expressions.
Every word, every sound is the universe beating through us. Each and every living person forms a great chord. We are vibrating, to show that we are alive, to say that we are here.
György Ligeti’s Kyrie as a representation of humans in my mind
That's why we have a voice, screaming from the moment we are born, it moves with our emotions, interprets them perfectly, and that's why people around us can enjoy every sound that comes from us. We make others vibrate.
The voice changes with our body because it is our body. And we use it as we use our eyes or ears; we simply know it’s there.
But it’s more than just being there, it’s telling our story.
The sound that emanates from us is created by the thickness of the vibrating folds, modified by the grooves and folds inside us, by the shape of the bone and flesh. We move that tone unconsciously, modulating and creating infinite shifts of the waves that in the end are nothing more than moving air.
And yet, that ethereal thing, that fine, invisible air, moves us when it flows through space. It moves us to change the world, for better and for worse: Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Gandhi, Hitler, Jesus, Trump, you, me, everyone.
My story is reflected in my voice; the things I like and don’t like about myself are expressed inevitably, whether I want it or not, whether I notice it or not.
The world notices it, not me. Unless I record myself. If I watch a video, I am horrified by the obvious, by what everyone sees.
Because every time I watch that recording of a moment in time, I realize it is impossible to hide what I am.
But when I see others horrified by what they are, and when I see that their perception of themselves is wrong, because what they want to hide is what makes them beautiful, I am reassured.
Now I understand I was wrong, and what horrified me about what others see in me is actually what makes me beautiful.
Chao.