Song Sparrow

Reclaiming your voice in a time of loud egos

Elke vogel zingt zijn lied.

“Every bird sings its song.” That is the text my grootmoe (grandmother) chose for her funeral card. I was sixteen years old when she passed away. As I sat by the side of her bed, we both knew the time had come for us to say goodbye. It will forever be carved in my memory how she took my hand, looked me straight in the eye, and said with a tired yet dedicated voice: “Never stop singing, love. Never let anything stop you from singing.”

About six months after that conversation, which turned out to be our last, I received the news that I passed my audition for the ArtEZ Conservatory for voice. I was to finish my last year of high school whilst simultaneously being enrolled in their ‘preparatory program’, which filled my schedule with weekly classes in vocal training, technique, music theory, and ensemble practice. I was over the moon and smiled at the thought that my grandmother would have been proud of me.

But that joy wore off. I quickly learned that the practicalities of being a musician were more challenging than just singing a sweet song. If you want to make a living with your voice, you have to sell it. And in selling it, singers often lose their power and autonomy. Instead of simply enjoying the experience of singing, you start wondering ‘Who am I singing for?’ and ‘What would they pay to hear?'. It was at this point that I realized I’m a terrible businesswoman. And even worse, I realized I had absolutely no interest in becoming a good businesswoman. That’s why I eventually decided to quit the conservatory and pursue a university education instead.

The Song Sparrow was introduced to me on a birdwatching walk in Los Angeles. “It’s an endearing little bird,” an experienced birder told me. “It doesn’t have the prettiest song: It is not very melodious and doesn’t sing any long lines, but it sings with great dedication. It tilts its head back in complete surrender to its song, as though singing is its life’s purpose.” His words made me smile and reminded me of my grandmother. She used to sing a lullaby for me and my brother when we went to bed. She sang about the moon, and how it was watching over us. She sang with such love and dedication. She didn’t sing to show off the beauty of her voice, or to make money. She sang a song of love.

But today it seems we only allow those with ‘beautiful’ and ‘profitable’ voices to sing. I have lost count of the amount of times someone told me they “can’t sing”. What they mean is that they deem their voice to be unworthy - not good enough to be heard. Singing competitions like The Voice and interactions on social media have led us to believe that singing is something that is done individually and only by exceptionally talented people. Just like our beauty standards have become unattainable through Photoshop and photo editing, our vocal standards have become unattainable through Autotune and studio editing. And just like billions of people forget that their bodies were intentionally created and are beautiful regardless of whether or not they fall within the narrow margins of Western capitalist beauty standards, so too we forget that all voices are worthy to be heard. All voices can sing a song of love.

Perhaps the Song Sparrow sings with such dedication because it truly is its life’s purpose to sing. In Surah An-Nur, ‘The Light’, the twenty-fourth chapter of the Qur’an, we are asked: “Do you not see that all those who are in the heavens and the earth, and the birds with outspread wings, glorify God? Each one knows its mode of prayer and glorification, and God has full knowledge of all they do.” How dare we say the song of the Song Sparrow is any less beautiful when it is a perfect praise song for the One. How sad would it be if the Song Sparrow went silent because it thought that its voice was not worthy to be heard? Because it heard the Nightingale’s or Blackbird’s skillful song and thought: “I can’t sing…”

Thank God it knows much better than that. It’s just us silly humans who silence ourselves. Even though we too are told our purpose in this life is to worship God (Qur’an 51:56). Worship (‘ibadah) is a broad term and can mean many things, depending on your intentions. Prayer can be worship, cooking a healthy meal for yourself or others can be worship, charity can be worship, fighting against oppression can be worship, studying can be worship, making someone smile can be worship, developing your skills to their full potential can be worship, and even writing a silly little blog about birds can be worship. But not allowing your voice to sing a song of love is not worship.

The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, instructed Muslims to beautify the Qur’an with their voices. But for some of us, our ego speaks more loudly than the Prophet. “You will look like a fool,” it tells us. “Your voice can’t do that,” it whispers. And so we stay silent, boosting both our own egos and the egos of skillful vocalists, who become the chosen people of worship.

Have you ever walked through a park and heard the songs of different birds mix together? It is the most beautiful thing. Every song has a distinct role to play in the symphony of birdsongs, just like human voices in a choir. “Every bird sings its song,” what a beautiful text my grandmother chose for her funeral card. She and my grandfather met in a choir. They didn’t sing to make money or to post it on social media. They sang a song of love, not ego.

I quit my formal musical education, but I always took my grandmother’s words to heart. I never stopped singing. In fact, by quitting the conservatory I found my voice. I now only sing my own song - a song of love. And when my first album, Witness, was released with the loving support of The Usuli Institute, I dedicated it to my grandmother. I sang some of the songs for her as I visited her grave this summer, in the company of the little metal bird that sits on the corner of her gravestone, boldly singing its song with its head tilted back, in complete surrender.