Unchained Melody – A Birthday Song for the Woman Who Tried
Today, I sang a song I almost never touch—Unchained Melody. It’s one of those vocally demanding pieces that pushes me to the edge of my range and breath. But I did it today, for a very specific reason:
It’s my mother’s birthday.
Image: Three people sit at a white table in a bright room. The wall behind them reads “Do what you love, Love what you do.” They appear relaxed, smiling, and casually dressed.
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Now, let’s get real. My mom was not a good mother. Not by a long shot. She isn’t today, either. Most of it wasn’t intentional—she just didn’t know how to be one. Her life was jet-setting, handling my father’s financial affairs, being his mistress, his secretary, his business partner, his eye candy. There was no time—or maybe no desire—for motherhood.
Image: at the nightclub opening, soon after I was born. Three people sitting at a restaurant table with blue velvet chairs, enjoying tea and snacks, with large windows and city view. mom on the left, father in the middle, driver on the right.
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Growing up, I saw my dad maybe once a month, my mom once a week. I was raised by a nanny they hired, a woman who ended up being more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was.
Image: kindergarten day-A group of young children, mostly in green and white uniforms, stand outdoors. In the center, a child in a blue outfit and sunglasses stands in front of an adult. Playful atmosphere.
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But then came my teenage years. And something changed.
She started trying.
She encouraged my music. She listened to my songs. She made suggestions. She stood by the pool while I swam. She waited for me while I lifted weights at the gym. She really tried.
But… it was too little, too late.
She became a really good friend, and she still is. But that’s where it stops. That maternal bond—the sacred, foundational one—never really had the chance to form. And even now, as much as I know she longs to be seen as my “mom,” I can’t offer her that title.
And that hurts me.
More than she—or anyone—really knows.
I’m her only son. I should treat her accordingly. But the child in me who was left alone for so long… he can’t call her “mom.”
That little boy still remembers hearing her tell my aunt:
“Your daughter is so talented. She goes to university, she works, she sings, plays piano… she’s amazing.”
And I said:
“What the fuck, Mom? I do all those things too.”
She didn’t even blink.
“Yeah,” she said, “but your cousin actually does them really well.”
Ouch.
What the fuck, Mom.
And through the years, she’s cut me with words like that again and again. I know I’ve left my share of scars too. I’ve come to believe that, for us to survive each other, to care and be kind, we have to stop at friendship.
Because when she expects me to be a son, I fall short.
And when I expect her to be a mom, my heart breaks.
Forgiveness is easy.
But forgetting… is a bitch.
Everything in life has a time and place.
Miss that moment, and it’s gone.
No matter how hard you try, the same boat doesn’t come back around.
So today, I sang Unchained Melody for her.
Not because I see her as my mother.
But because, in her own way, she tried.
And sometimes, a beautiful, broken history still deserves a song.
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Listen to the track here:
🎨 Explore my tactile artwork:
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