Lynn Mendoza-Khan

I’m often asked when my journey into singing began. It’s a delightful mystery, as I can’t recall a moment when I wasn’t serenading the world. “Does it feel exhilarating to sing with such fervor?” Indeed, it’s both amazing and empowering! These questions echo after my performances, prompting me to address the belief that I was born with this gift. In truth, I remember when my voice went unnoticed, when such inquiries seemed like whispers in the wind. Hence, I wish to unveil the tale of my opera singer's inception—a narrative seldom shared, yet one that reveals profound truths beyond my usual surface replies.

I believe I was listening long before I started singing. Somewhere in that magical transition from mere listener to sound creator, I fell irrevocably in love with music. It became a mesmerizing escape, far more enchanting than the mundane. Like an eager dreamer, I sought refuge in its embrace while playing with toys in the living room, where my father's sound system filled the air with classical symphonies, romantic melodies, contemporary tunes, opera, mariachi, and musicals. Within this auditory sanctuary, I transcended the room's dullness and entered a realm teeming with vibrant dimensions, colors, and tales—my hands and body conducting the unfolding drama. My imagination flourished, crafting alternative worlds. After countless hours immersed in Mozart’s 21st Piano Concerto, I wondered why a melody starts with a soaring high note only to descend into lower realms. Was it the clumsy drop of some unseen object? Thus, I oscillated between absorbing and creating, analyzing the music with a curious spirit that sought to uncover its mysteries. Listening was the first spell cast on my musical journey.

My voice became my primary instrument, as I was yet to master others. Through it, I sang alongside others, weaving my essence into the fabric of music. Eventually, I began to craft my own descants and improvise lines, imagining myself sharing space with the composer, conductor, and musicians in a delightful, collaborative experience. In my mind, we were playmates, creating magic together.

As I grew older, my mother often recounted stories from my childhood. One of her favorites depicted my youthful rage upon discovering that someone had stolen a song I believed I had written. "Mom! How could they do this? I absolutely wrote it; I DID! And now it’s playing on the radio!" This tale resonates with me, even if I don't recall the event. You see, I possess a profound connection to music, one that often feels like a fantasy land where I am entwined with all melodies, as if music itself is an extension of my soul. I can easily envision my younger self expressing such confusion. At times, I grapple with distinguishing what belongs to me and what I simply absorb. It may sound peculiar, yet I share this because my relationship with music transcends notions of talent or ability. Despite my imperfections as a musician and performer, I feel no guilt, for this cherished connection is untouched by the burdens of perfectionism. I will sing as I breathe, as I eat, as I dress, as I walk, as I live... Though I may not always feel connected to this part of myself, it remains accessible whenever I need it. This is the wellspring from which my passion and talent flow.

It would be a folly to assume I was a musically gifted child or that I always possessed a beautiful singing voice. While I would love to claim the narrative of a child prodigy blossoming into a professional musician, the truth is I bore the weight of knowing exquisite music without yet possessing the skills to create it myself. Thus, I pursued every opportunity to draw closer to music, which meant joining choirs, taking piano lessons, and learning the violin and clarinet.

I vividly recall the day my father took me to the library for summer reading. After choosing books, he led me to the music section brimming with records! I was astonished to discover one could borrow records! Elated, I rummaged through the collection of opera, ultimately selecting "Cosi fan Tutte," captivated by its cover. I had no clear idea what I sought, just a yearning for something different from the records at home. While many awaited the arias, I reveled in the recitative, marveling at its brilliance. Why don’t we converse in such a vibrant manner? Our spoken words seemed so dull compared to this melodic dialogue. I enjoyed mimicking this expressive speech during playtime with my dolls, weaving stories in the operatic tongue I did not yet comprehend.

The first opera I witnessed was Bizet’s Carmen, featuring Placido Domingo as Don Jose and Julia Migenes-Johnson as Carmen, on television when I was about ten years old. I was already enchanted by opera, having immersed myself in records for years. The passionate drama captivated me, awakening new desires within. I knew then that I wanted to be an opera singer, to embody Carmen! I yearned to fight with women in a cigar factory, dance on tavern tables, and share a passionate connection with Don Jose (my first crush, courtesy of Placido!). I even welcomed the idea of dying at the end! Yes! Bring on the costumes, the dancing, the singing, the passion, and even death! The only obstacle was my voice, which lacked beauty but could be LOUD! I embraced that loudness wholeheartedly.

In high school, I was surrounded by vocally mature singers. Without vibrato or the sound of a soloist, I never landed a lead role in musicals or solos in choir (though I did once sing a duet alongside a gifted soprano). My closest experience with solo singing came through Barbershop quartets, where my keen ear and blending voice allowed me to disappear into harmonies.

After a beginning voice class in college, the head of the Opera/Vocal department suggested that with private lessons, I might possess a voice suited for operatic singing! At that point, I still lacked vibrato and felt my voice was unremarkable, so the mere suggestion that opera could be within my reach propelled me to my first private lesson. I was her inaugural student, and the extra attention proved invaluable. I’ll never forget the lesson that unveiled real vibrato in my voice, the kind that resonates with the spinning tones of opera singers! The joy I felt was indescribable; imagine all the love and joy in the universe channeled into a single person. It was the first time I believed being an opera singer was attainable. With the emergence of vibrato, my voice became both loud and expressive—ready for the opera stage, I thought!

What followed was a lengthy and tumultuous journey of discovery as I diligently pursued a singing career. My imperfect beginnings continued throughout this process; "talent" guided me along a path filled with detours, including a phase where I abandoned my dream to work as a lab technician and phlebotomist. Yet, the journey was marked by exhilarating highs and profound lows, and I assure you, I have sung my whole life. Today, my powerful voice feels transcendent, resonating within me and allowing my soul’s expression to flourish. However, it was not always this way. My experiences of being both blessed and cursed with this talent feel more like an addiction, drawing me back even when I yearned for a more conventional life—one that appeared balanced, healthy, and financially secure. The word "talent" can often be misleading, suggesting a smooth, well-paved path to success. For me, talent has been synonymous with obsession, keeping me on this journey toward greatness (with fame and a busy concert calendar signaling the arrival) that I continue to strive for. Though I don’t feel I have “arrived” in the traditional sense, I understand that this path is no longer a choice. I am on the talent road, wherever it may lead.