Anya

It’s dark.

My surroundings are so dim that I can’t even see my feet. Besides my heart racing, I can hear voices from every corner, chanting my name in syllables.

*An-ni-ya

An-ni-ya

An-ni-ya

An-ni-ya*

The darkness is replaced by a thousand spotlights and I can finally see my feet wearing those pink glittery heels my mom bought me before the show and the pleated skirt of my pink and black split-colored dress. A familiar tune started playing and the chants grew louder.

It’s time Anya, you can do this.

I managed to look up due to my heavy big blonde wig. I saw thousands of people filling the stadium, screaming my name and how much they love me. I want to shout it back at them but my line is about to start so instead I just put on a little smirk and started singing.

The crowd went wild when I sang the first part. I swayed my body with the music and moved to different corners of the stage for each of them to see me. As soon as the chorus hit, the crowds sang along with me.

*This is who I am

This is who I am

You cannot change me

This is who I wanna be*

*What an irony*, I thought.* This is not what I want—this is not me. But I have to keep going.*

*This is who I am

This is who I am

I will always stay true to myself

And be me*

After that, backup dancers entered from each side of the stage wearing high-waisted panties and half cup bras, both with different pink and black patterns so they would match my short-sleeved and collared latex dress. As the beat hit, we started dancing, my fans then started screaming, some my name and some just aah~ while waving their merch and flags and signs. 

Seeing my fans enjoying my performance made me feel happy but I can’t get over how I felt like I’m lying to them. I’m singing a song about being myself while pretending to be someone else. As much as I hate it, I have to keep going. Aniya,—I thought to myself, again—you will get through this.

Someday.

>< <> <> ><

The show has come to an end—at last. The back-up dancers, make-up artists, and the rest of the staff decided that we should celebrate the success of the world tour and congratulate ourselves for the hard work we put in to make this show awesome. This is something I did not expect—reaching new heights, performing on stage, and becoming a worldwide hit artist with a sold-out concert?! This is my huge dream!

Except this is not me, nor what I wanted.

I thanked the staff for being such sweethearts before I headed out of the back door. Just opening the door slightly, I can already hear roars and screams from outside. Though I couldn’t see what’s happening because of the backs of two big and buff bodyguards blocking the view. I did not mind it because I've been doing this for years. I stepped outside and closed the door. Although I’m still facing the door, I can see the lights flash so bright and quick that I’m afraid if I turn around, I may have a seizure. But still, I turn around. The two bodyguards that once blocked my way have stood beside me and now I saw crowds of paparazzi and fans waiting for me to show up, most have their phones ready to take pictures. Although exhausted, I flash my brightest smile because I want them to be happy as well.

I carefully took a step forward as my head moved from left to my right. The whole sidewalk is almost filled. It feels like I’m Moses in the sea of people, where the red carpet in between them is the only thing parting it. I can hear their screams growing louder and louder every step. I am looking straightforward, trying to ignore the non-VIPs who are struggling to reach their merch out to me due to the barricade and other bodyguards blocking their way. I can hear the clicks of the cameras and my fans saying things like  “Anya, I love you~!” or with curses “Gosh Anya I fucking love you!” everywhere. I thought of turning my head and saying them back but before the words left my mouth, the bodyguard to my right stopped me.

“It’s the queen’s orders, princess.” Uck! The way he called me a princess. My emotions must’ve been painted on my face because then the same bodyguard stated: “It’s for your safety, ma’am. She just doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

The end of the carpet led me to a pearly white limousine, which is not like the very fancy and expensive one like the Ferrari we had in America. It is more like the one they use at weddings, which I’m not complaining--a simple Toyota car could work really. The bodyguard to my left opened the door to the car. I turned around and stared at my loyal fans one more time, seeing their faces lit up and screaming endless I love yous made my smile shine brighter. I opened my mouth to say something but again, the bodyguard that was on my right pushed me inside the vehicle a little too hard that I stumbled a bit. I glared at him and he let out a soft sorry. That’s when I finally stepped in and sat down at the black long chair near the door. The two guards then rode after, their heavy weight caused the vehicle to sink and shake a bit. 

I was looking through the window the whole time since I’ve sat down, watching tons of my fans waving and screaming at the limo. Although they are struggling from the hands of enormous beasts, they still have the biggest grin on their faces. I smiled, sadly. I guess they are just like me too.

“You don’t have to look dramatic,” I look up at the familiar voice sitting on another long chair opposite me. “There are no cameras.” She said this like she’s a British woman with a sweet angelic voice.

“That’s not what I was doing-”

“Well, you’re pretending like you’re in a music video!” She said as she pulled out a pressed powder and dabs the powder puff on the foundation then to her face. I can feel the car drive off, the fans squeals slowly fading. 

I can kind of feel my face turn sour but try to hold myself back. “Not all I do is for my career mom-”

“Hush, my child. I’m trying to focus.” She’s now putting eyeshadow on her eyelid, still holding up the pressed powder to use its mirror then put it down on a long dark oak table. She then pick the lipstick up from the table and press it on her lips. She then noticed that I was staring at her. “Oh honey it’s alright--I know I’m beautiful”

I rolled my eyes in annoyance and turned my focus back to the sidewalks and buildings. I shouldn’t have given attention to an attention-seeker. Now I’m not sure if I should be proud of hiding my sneer expression.

Honestly, I never wanna be a pop sensation. Although I performed with so many other pop artists, I won’t say it’s the best experience for me. I want to be in a band--as in a rock band. I want to write songs about being gloomy, angry and how to fight against the evils in the world. Just be a badass but for a good cause, you know? Because rock is not always sad and ‘emo.’ Rock is empowerment. It’s all about standing up although you’re already beaten down, fight although they gave you a million scars. It’s about not giving up and not giving a shit while doing so. I’ve written songs about my deepest and sincere thoughts that I soon want to let out in this world but there is just one problem: my mom.

My fans always tell me I have a cool mom, and I convinced them and the media that she is. But this was all part of her plan.

After she found my songbook, she told me she’ll make my dreams ‘come true’. I was excited as a 12-year-old but as I grew up, I started to realize that these dreams are not meant for me.

My mom is rich and has a lot of friends from different fields so she called the ones connected to the music industry and signed me a contract. When I saw the studio, I was thinking this is it. My dreams are finally coming true. But then she told me to write something different. I should write a song about happiness and love because “No one will ever listen to a song so gloomy and dark--it will just make them hate the world we live in” and so I did. She keeps ordering me what to do and being so young at the time I obeyed, trying to be a good daughter.

I’m living in a dream, but not mine.