On my seventh birthday, I wished to be Nick Carter from the Backstreet Boys. I’m not necessarily sure why I wanted to be him other than the fact that every single pre-teen girl (including my sister) worshipped the ground he walked on. I guess I thought he was cool. And that he had a nice voice. And I’m sure that I thought he was kinda cute back then, too.
I just remember thinking that when I blew out the candles of my cake (it was an ice cream cake from Carvel) that the sacred exhale would float in a bubble up to the heavens where the angels would catch it and send it to God himself to grant it. Trust me. When I saw the home video of it (which I bet my dad was thinking that it was the coolest thing ever that he was filming this stellar moment), I could relive myself thinking this exact thing seconds after blowing the candles out. I’m convinced that the reason why I love the scent of blown-out candles is this exact moment. It was possibly one of the happiest moments of my young life.
That entire year, I probably went through the biggest identity crisis that a seven year old could have. Once my eighth birthday rolled around, I was a wreck. Why hadn’t my dream of becoming the heartthrob of the most popular boy-band of the late 90s come true?
I remember doing all I could to catalyze my transformation. My favorite color used to be blue. Then my old brother told me that his favorite color was blue and demanded that I change mine. I switched to green because I knew it was Nick Carter’s favorite color. I wanted his blonde hair, blue-green eyes, and boyish smile. Whenever a Backstreet Boys song would come on, I would sing along his part the loudest. You could say I was obsessed. I thought that all of this would help the transition from nerdy, chubby Asian boy to global singing sensation.
Eventually, it didn’t happen. I began to be skeptical of birthday wishes, and on May 27, 1999, a part of my childhood died. I lost all my naive hope and started to turn into the raging, cynical bastard I am today. I just kept thinking that the angels must have misplaced my wish. Maybe, there was just a long waiting list. Or God just had bigger problems to solve. Maybe, God would just get to it eventually. I didn’t want to lose hope.
But I eventually did.
It’s quite sad, isn’t it?
I’ve probably told this story a million times in a half-a-million different ways. Each time I write about it, my perspective on it changes. It’s probably the most memorable moment of my childhood.
Looking at this now, I really don’t know how to feel about it. It is a major turning point in my life, and I know that it has shaped the person I’ve become. I can’t really describe how that is, but I just know that it has.
I’ve always been a dreamer, and I’ve always had big dreams. But it taught me to be realistic about those dreams. And it also taught me that dreams can change. And that becoming Nick Carter probably would not have been the greatest thing in the world and that becoming myself was more important.
I think I’m better than him now, anyway.
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