Half of Me

LOYALTY CARD

LOYALTY CARD

The lights on set were blinding, but I reveled in the attention as I struck pose after pose for the camera. This photoshoot was for my twenty-first album, a milestone I'd been teasing for weeks. Social media posts, interviews, cryptic hints-all part of my strategy to build anticipation. But the truth? I was ready to drop the album soon, and nobody had a clue about my secret.

My album cover was a burst of color and texture, adorned with vibrant gems and fresh flowers. Each element represented my growth as an artist and a person. I wanted this album to reflect the evolution I felt inside me, the journey I'd taken through both triumph and heartbreak. I felt the weight of every decision as I posed, knowing how important this moment was.

The team was buzzing around me, adjusting lights and checking cameras. I trusted my crew implicitly, but still, the thought gnawed at me-everyone had signed an NDA to keep my pregnancy under wraps. It wasn't just about my music; it was about my life, my family. I couldn't shake the feeling that anyone could flip if the price was right or if a moment of clout presented itself. It was a reality in this industry I'd learned all too well.

Once the photoshoot wrapped, I reviewed the shots on the digital monitor, searching for the perfect image. I spotted it: a candid moment where I was laughing, genuine and vibrant. That would be the one.

After selecting the best shot, I made my way to the dressing room. As I slipped into something more comfortable, the door swung open, and in walked my mother, Sola. She was not just my mom; she was also the CEO of RRE, our family's record label. It was a great dynamic most of the time, but there were moments when the lines blurred, and this felt like one of those moments.

"You looked amazing, Taika," she said, her eyes gleaming with pride.

"Thank you, mama." I couldn't help but smile at her. No matter how complicated our relationship could get, her support meant the world to me.

But then she dropped the bomb. "So, I was thinking you should announce your pregnancy on the same day the album drops."

I frowned, disbelief etched across my face. "Why would I do that?"

"Think about it," she urged. "If you want a top ten on the Billboard 200 charts, then you will announce your pregnancy. It's the perfect marketing strategy. Everyone loves a good story."

Rolling my eyes, I could feel irritation bubbling up. "This isn't just a story, Mom. It's my life. My pregnancy is personal; it's not some gimmick to boost album sales."

"Taika," she said, crossing her arms, "you know the industry. It's all about the narrative. If you want to make an impact, this could be it. You could inspire so many people."

"Or I could just be a musician sharing my art," I countered, my voice rising slightly. "I don't want my music overshadowed by my personal life. They should stand on their own."

She stepped closer, softening her tone. "I understand that. But think about the potential here. You could reach a wider audience. Your album could resonate with fans in a way you can't imagine."

Sighing, I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of her words. "But why does everything have to be a marketing strategy? Why can't I just release music and let it speak for itself?"

"Because this is the reality we live in," she said, her voice firm but maternal. "You're a brand now, Taika. Your life and your music are intertwined. I want you to succeed, and I think this is a smart move."

A knot formed in my stomach. "I feel like you're treating this like a business deal instead of what it really is. My pregnancy is a beautiful thing, not just another item on a checklist for a marketing campaign."