Looking back on the things I’ve done, I was trying to be someone. I played the part and left you in the dark. Now let me show you the shape of my heart. Clearer words had never been sung to me before. Standing there in the sold out entertainment centre, I had many revelations. This experience allowed me to look back on my past 30 years of living and loving the backstreet boys in reflection of who I have been and what I have done. The moments and phases when I wasn’t my best self and the transformation that has occurred throughout this time. As we grow and learn more about ourselves, we are challenged by temptations, and uncertainty and opportunities to make choices, some of which that make us great and some of which that lead us to stumble, or even collapse. However, in that moment, with the music blasting and the 5 people who have, through song, seen me through the best and worst times of my life, I felt overwhelming gratitude for the experiences and choices that had led me to that very moment. It was as if my life flashed before my eyes. Each song an ode to the Jacqueline of years gone by. It’s not often in life, that you get those great opportunities to really re-travel footsteps of your life and immerse yourself in the emotions and memories of the past. Music has the ability to do this. It allows us to recall hidden memories and unlocks emotions we have tucked away. It connects us to people we have never met and it transforms our experiences from within. 

If I go back, and if I’m honest, Backstreet boys have been that positive constant in my life. From the moment they leapt into my life from the TV screen in 1995, I was 12 years old, they were tattooed on my heart. My first instant loves, which is silly in itself to say. The obsession began. When I was 7 years old, my brother died tragically in a rock climbing accident. Growing up in a small town, it was difficult to find an outlet to deal with this trauma that would follow me throughout all the different stages of my life. Music provided me with that outlet, that way to connect, that way to interpret how I was feeling in different moments. It provided me with comfort in moments I felt so alone. And I felt alone – A LOT. You know how people say, you could be surrounded by a room full of people, and still feel completely and utterly alone? This was so true for me. With Backstreet Boys blaring in my discman, I didn’t feel so alone – I had 5 imaginary best friends. I liked to think I knew them each so well. So proud, even to this day, that I could identify each one by voice alone. Creating dances to their songs provided an outlet for me to be free and imagining one day meeting them, touring with them, becoming friends with them became my escape. Throughout the years they came back just when I needed them the most. Loving them and their music even became integral to my own identity. During those years when you don’t know who you are – I knew I was a backstreet boys fan. Good enough. 

As I got older and escaped my adolescent years of turmoil and confusion, my obsession became less intense. I finally got to see them live in 2008. It wasn’t the dream come true I had envision when I was younger. In reflection, it wasn’t due to the performance itself, but more to the phase of life I was in. One of my closest friends from high school had died in a tragic car accident, re-igniting the trauma of my past with my brother. I was in a very egocentric time where I was trying to figure out who I was, thinking I knew where I should already be in life, I was 25, and feeling like a failure as I floated my way through to darker days. And I was just about to hit one of the darkest times of my life. The shock of losing my friend, forced the trauma of losing my brother to run wild in the form of anxiety. I lost control. I was no longer brave or stable. I was a ghost. Through grief counselling, I was able to re-gain focus and steer myself back into the driving lane. 

After this tumultuous time, I decided I needed to travel. I needed to see the world. I needed to exist beyond my small space. All of my life, I never dreamed of travelling beyond North America. My fear insisted that being on a plane for hours and hours was not something I was mentally capable of. But one day, I felt brave enough, strong enough and tired of where my life was heading if I did nothing. I booked a tourist visa and ticket to Australia and set off on my own, 26 years old. I knew no one there. Had nothing but a hostel booked for 5 days. I got there and immediately regretted my decision. What the heck was I thinking? I couldn’t do this. This is not something that a life-fearing, introvert, with no travel experience does. Eventually, the jet lag left and I settled in. I made friends, I did the travel thing and loved it. One consistent musical companion on my now, iPod mini, backstreet boys eased the tension and brought the beats. I remember one particularly difficult travel experience I had, where I travelled to an outback pub to work for 4 weeks. It was the longest 4 weeks of my life, trapped in a dusty motel bates/pub in a parking lot. The room had never been vacuumed, rat traps were lined under the motel bed. I was 18km away from civilisation without any way of travelling that distance, except by foot which was not an option. Every day I would escape by listening to backstreet boys and dancing by myself in that dusty, rank motel room pass the time dancing to backstreet’s straight through the heart, before I had to pour drinks to the happy hour crew that visited the attached crusty pub. My only friend was a stray dog that I met along my daily walks through the green fields and across the scorching red December-in Australia dirt, a dog I named Charlie. To put it in context, I had been travelling for 6 months by then, my boyfriend (and unknown to me, future husband) was living it up on a ski holiday back in Canada. It was a very tough time. But music once again pulled me through. It was 2009, it was the, This is Us album. Backstreet was once again my saviour. 

I returned to the city and got a job in a café. I became friends with a girl who was 10 years younger than me and one day we were talking about music as we worked. I confessed about my backstreet love affair and explained that Nick had been my first love – and I know how ridiculous that sounds. She said, well I am more into the bad boys. I said oh you mean AJ? I love him too. She said no like Eminem. My husband and I still laugh and enjoy telling the story about my interpretation of the bad boy of music. How embarrassing! Throughout the years, they have been there. In my trauma, in my sadness, in my excitement, through it all. I did return to Canada but only for a year, before I came back to Australia to stay. I married my husband and created the life and family I had always needed so badly. 

Ten years ago, I met my BSB soul mate. I thought I was a fan until I met Lucy. There is no comparison and I happily hand her the true fan crown. But to find someone who also had this almost spiritual connection to the boys and their music, and still at 35 years old, was a true find. We bonded and connected over their music and our love for them. In a way, they made us friends. As a faithful fan, Lucy went to the 2012 backstreet concert in Australia. I didn’t go, didn’t buy a ticket. I thought I’m too old for this dream and obsession now. I’m a mum, I need to grow up. Backstreet is my past. I always admired Lucy’s unapologetic approach to her love for them. I regretted my decision after they left. I thought I was over that phase but I never was. As was evident when my eyes lit up and my vocal chords rang during rendition after rendition of their songs on road trips where my future husband would kindly tolerate my horrible singing voice. Each time a different song came on I would say, oh this one is so good. He said, you say that about all of them. Now I knew I couldn’t leave my past loves behind. I vowed to Lucy, if they come back, we will go. We even had conversations over wine, about how we would splurge and get meet and greet tickets so we could see them up close and personally thank them for all the ways and times they saved us over the years. The time finally came. In 2019, we excitedly bought our tickets. We paid the most we could as two working mums who felt the guilt of spending money on anything to do with ourselves. Then covid hit. The 2020 tour date had to be rescheduled and the cancellations continued each year, 2021, 2022. But finally, the world recollected itself and their 2023 tour date was scheduled. After waiting so long, my hopes were low. To be honest, if it had to be cancelled again, I wouldn’t have minded. The anticipation was gone. But as the days got closer, and it actually appeared like this was going to happen, I started to feel a glimmer of hope. I started playing their music. My girls who are now, 7 and 9 years old, eventually accepted that they had no choice but to listen and they did. Every time a new song would come on, I would say this is a good one. And mirroring my husband 10 years before, they would say mum you say that about every song. Picking their favourites, The Call and Everybody. Be careful what you wish for I told myself, as I endured the songs played on repeat every drive to school the week leading up to the concert. The day of the concert, I was still feeling flat. Life was too busy, I couldn’t do the drive after a long work day to make the concert, then the late drive home. It all was too hard and for what? But I knew I had to go, if only for Lucy. 

We arrived at the concert. I told myself to keep expectations low. We had waited so long that I thought there was no point holding hope for a concert that was three long years in the making. As I looked around at the crowds of people, I observed how diverse the fans were. From old to young, newbies to die-hard, beautiful to freaks and geeks. I was somewhere in the middle. Lucy and I feeling very 40. But also very empowered to enjoy this for our younger selves, for our older selves and for all stages of us in between. We found our seats and we thanked Lucy and Jacqueline of 2019 for their foresight in getting the good seats. Not too close, but not too far and looking straight ahead. Maybe it would be OK? We waited patiently. Lucy excitedly apologised to the pregnant lady behind us that she would need to stand for the whole show. Then told me she couldn’t give a rat’s shit what anyone else thought – she was going to enjoy herself. Once again, I admired her unapologetic stance on being the biggest backstreet fan. I thought I was there to support her biggest dream, then the lights went out, and out they came. I was transported back in time. From the moment it started, I felt it was something special. This was going to be a core memory. This was going to be a transformative moment in my life. They played hit after hit after hit and I enjoyed every single second of it. Enjoyed is much too mild a word. I thrived, I healed, I soared. I stood the entire 2.5 hours they shared with us. Our seats were amazing, and to us they were the best seats in the whole place. We could see wrinkles and tattoos and smiles. We even made eye contact – or we felt like we did. It was what my teenage dreams were made of, and not in a kinky puberty way, but in a way that transports you through time healing trauma and reigniting excitement you have long pushed aside. At one time in my life, I thought I would tour with backstreet. I don’t know why – I am not a good singer. Anyways, I always pictured us singing the song, The One, together. When that song came on, it was like only I existed in the entertainment centre. I closed my eyes and as the lights flashed, I sang at the top of my lungs. I imagined me up there, with them, as we always had been. I thought to myself, this is it Jacqueline, this is as close as it gets. As the concert continued, it was clear, this was a show for the fans. It was everything we wanted and didn’t even know we needed. I felt 12, 13, 15, 19, and 25 again. I relived every life event, amazing and tragic, all in the space of 2 hours. At one point, Lucy swore AJ waved to her and I didn’t dare look back to see if he was actually waving to the people behind us. I kept thinking, this is the beginning of a new chapter. This is the exciting beginning of the next chapter in my life. And who else would be better to be there than these boys, who know me better than anyone. In this year when I turn 40, it only makes sense that the music that has supported the first 28 years, re-vitalise me and prepare me for the next part of the journey. 

As we walked to the car, we couldn’t believe how amazing it was. How perfect it was. It was the night we needed. For me, it was the night that surprised me. The night that taught me to be free to be an unapologetic fan to the band that has given me so much. In a life of uncertainty, and trauma, they taught me to believe and have hope. It was the best near death experience of my life, because I didn’t need to face death to have it. My life flashed before my eyes and I re-visited parts of myself and memories that I had buried and forgotten about long ago. It was healing and cathartic and I walked away feeling lighter and more sure about who I am as a person. I was confronted by all the things I have done and all the different roles I have played in my life. And I felt this overwhelming sense of gratitude to be right where I am now and to have gone through all those experiences and events, even the traumatic ones. It was one of those moments, where I realised how these experiences come together to make us who we are and that this is a journey that we continue to walk every day. Life. And backstreet has been a massive part of that journey for me. I’m not going to be embarrassed or hesitant to admit that now. I own it. It might not be backstreet, but we all have this opportunity to experience a flashback, an emergence, a transformation. Music can do this. We all have our own special musical timeline. I invite you to find yours. Witness the growth and the journey. Embrace it and own it. Allow it to heal and never be ashamed to say I want it that way!