I often joke that I was born with a karaoke machine; that I exited my Filipino mother’s womb cradling a Magic Mic and songbook with only Whitney Houston tracks. It was the perfect analogy. Music was a part of my life the second it began - from the rhythmic beat of my Dad’s heart, to the church hymns my siblings crooned over my crib.
Most of my formative years were spent listening to my Mum sing. She sang when she was sad, when she cleaned, when she partied, and when she drove. She had, and continues to have, the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my life. She obviously doesn’t hold a candle to Beyonce and Mariah, but that doesn’t matter. At that stage of my life, music was a means of communication. Mama’s lullabies were in Tagalog, a language I thought only I could understand.
When I was five, my singing voice really came together. I played Nikki Webster’s ‘Under The Southern Sky’ on my Dad’s bulbous CD player on repeat, wearing it out for hours on end. I’m convinced I did a better job than Australia’s Olympic Ceremony sweetheart. I cried when Cosima De Vito left Australian Idol. I started to sing a little louder at church and, like my Mum, began to sing for any occasion. I was unhinged. The early 2000’s were a dream for this little pop gay.
I would twerk through Coles belting ‘Toxic’ by Britney, turn normal sentences into the hottest Rihanna-eqsue acapella tracks, and hog the karaoke machine at birthday parties. Music here was a way to express myself, in special ways only I could.
Author Mark Mariano performs for Good Vibes Parramatta in 2019. Source: Supplied
‘You ate a caterpillar,’ Mum teased one time during dinner. ‘That’s why you sing so well’, she’d continue with resolution. I’m unsure why that was the explanation she gave me for why I could sing. It’s barely any easier than saying ‘You are this family’s new songstress, I relinquish my title.’ It could’ve also just been her way to stop me from eating so much.
At 13, in 2008, I discovered K-pop. I can say with complete cockiness that I was into it before the BTS McDonald meals or the BlackPink Netflix documentary. The year after, I happened upon Glee. For this period of my life, music was an escape from the perils of adolescence. I didn’t want to do my exams, I wanted to be a K-pop star. I was going to debut in a boyband under one of the Big 3 South Korean entertainment companies. I was then going to break free and start my solo career like the Queen herself, Yonce. If not a K-pop star, then I was set to be the next Broadway sensation. I learned both parts of ‘For Good’ from Wicked. But, alas, my ankles were weak, my tone was stripped by puberty, and the pressure to pursue a financially stable career soon trumped my flamboyant fantasies. Singing soon became just a party trick, and I stepped down from being just a Reject Shop Guy Sebastian.
I occasionally performed at school assemblies and sang on social media. Singing wasn’t my identifier, nor did I want it to be - I had enough on that plate with ‘fat’, ‘kind’, and ‘flamingly gay’.
Now, at 25, songs are time capsules. In a world of great uncertainty and concern, I look to music to time travel - to transport me to versions of myself and to times in my life where, even when sad or difficult, things were secure.
Earlier this year I summoned the courage to rock a stage in front of hundreds earlier this year at HeapsGay. Donned in my flashiest kimono and glitter on every crevice of my body, I was spontaneously given the chance to sing Britney’s ‘Toxic’ to a crowd of screaming girls, gays, and theys. Perhaps this was the moment I was preparing my whole life for?
I know. I’m no Jung-kook, nor Sam Smith or John Legend. But, does that really matter? Music and singing has always brought me joy, in and out of whether I was any good.
Mark hogs the bar's piano on a Carnival Legend cruise, somewhere in between Vanuatu and Fiji in 2017. Source: Supplied
I still have a long life ahead sure to be full of music, and I can acknowledge that careers are no longer about ultimatums.
Do I have what it takes to be the winner of The Voice? I don't know. I do know, it's not about the winning and the fame, and more about the connection I make with myself and those who listen to me.
There’s no better feeling than belting ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ (the Glee Cast version, don’t @ me) down the Great Western Highway. While I’m happy with where I am now as a writer, part of me wants to keep the music going; to give others the same warmth and comfort with the sounds in my heart like many artists have done for me.
Australia’s Biggest Singalong! premieres Saturday 5 June, 8.30pm AEST, live on SBS, NITV and on SBS On Demand. For more information, visit: . Video submissions open 28 April to 17 May.
