From cassette tapes to concerts, my 28-year love affair with Mariah Carey has shaped not just my playlists, but my life.
Long before it was trendy for pop stars to brand their fan base, Mariah Carey called us her “Lambs.” Collectively, we were known as Lambily (lamb + family), a term that she coined herself.
And now, she’s coming back to Manila on October 14, 2025 for a concert at the SM Mall of Asia Arena. It will be her fourth Manila show, and my eighth time seeing her. That’s right—eight concerts!
You see, Mariah Carey to me is someone real—she has been in my life since I was 12 (many rainbows ago)—not just as a voice on the radio or a pop star on TV, but a constant companion who’s quietly shaped the person I’ve become.
That night in 2003, under the humid Manila sky, Mariah’s voice soared, and I knew I was ruined forever. Since then, I’ve seen her six more times: Manila in 2010 and 2018, Singapore in 2010, Las Vegas in 2009, Sydney in 2012. And this October, I’ll be adding two more: Singapore and Manila. Eight shows across three continents. Mariah has literally taken me places.
I promise I’m not being overdramatic (okay, maybe a little). But it’s true—Mariah has seeped into my everyday life: the way I talk, the words I write, even the unconscious flick of my hand that lands somewhere between a diva wave and a butterfly flutter. I didn’t exactly choose her. We sort of just matched. We imprinted. From 1997 to now—28 years later—through the peaks and valleys of her career, I am still here for it all, along with millions of her lambs.
Love at first note
They say it takes just one moment to change the course of your life. For me, it was an ordinary school morning in September 1997. I was 12 years old, half-awake, spooning Milo into my mouth while watching MTV.
Then “Honey”—her latest music video—came on. Mariah Carey, jumping off a tall building, changing into three outfits in three meters, her voice ricocheting through the speakers like something not of this world. If there ever was love at first sight, this was it. My 12-year-old self didn’t know it yet, but this was the start of a lifelong love and obsession.
Later that day, I somehow managed to sneak out of school at lunchtime. To this day, I don’t know how I got away with it. I ran to the nearest record store, slapped down ₱120 (a fortune for a sixth grader in the late ’90s), and walked out with her “Butterfly” album on cassette. I’d play it on repeat until the stereo got hot, fall asleep with the lyric booklet under my pillow, and wake up furious at myself for crumpling it. By then, I wasn’t just a casual listener. I was inducted into the Lambily—though we didn’t have that name yet.
A month later, MTV made Mariah “Artist of the Month.” For me, it was like enrolling in Mariah University. I devoured every video, interview, behind-the-scenes snippet, every factoid I could get my hands on.
And that’s when the pieces of the puzzle clicked: I already knew Mariah. I had been singing “Always Be My Baby,” “One Sweet Day,” and even “Forever” in one family event where I was coerced to perform for relatives. My cousins and I would cram into an owner-type jeep, blasting “Fantasy” like it was our personal soundtrack. It wasn’t until I was watching those videos on MTV that it hit me: this voice, this woman, this diva had already been woven into my childhood without my knowing it.
By the time “#1’s” came out in 1998, followed by “Rainbow” in 1999, I was no longer a wide-eyed kid with a cassette tape. I was a full-blown disciple. Buying her records wasn’t even a decision—it was instinct. And yes, I was already online, defending her on primitive message boards, going to battle with rival fandoms before “stan” was even a word. If today’s internet calls them “keyboard warriors,” then fine—I was one of the originals, fighting pixel wars for my queen.
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A non-negotiable
Then came 2003: Mariah’s first Manila concert. Back then, The Fort was still The Fort—open fields, not the glass-and-steel BGC we know now. I was a college freshman in Laguna, carless, but determined.
When my mom found out I was planning on watching the show, she said, “Why bother? Just buy the CD.” I adore my mom, but she didn’t understand. So I looked at her and, with all the respect I could muster, said, “Mom, I’m not asking permission. I’m merely informing you.”
When people ask why I’ve stuck with Mariah all these years, I can’t reduce it to a neat answer. It’s the voice, yes, but also the humor, the camp, the unshakable diva energy. It’s how her music has been the soundtrack to my life’s milestones.
That was the moment my parents realized Mariah wasn’t just an artist I liked—she was non-negotiable. If they had locked me in my room to prevent me from going, I’d have found a way to climb out the window and make it to The Fort. Nothing was going to keep me from seeing her.
That night, under the humid Manila sky, Mariah’s voice soared, and I knew I was ruined forever. Since then, I’ve seen her six more times: the Manila shows of 2010 and 2018, Singapore for F1 in 2010, Las Vegas in 2009, Sydney in 2012. And this October, I’ll be adding two more: Singapore on the 8th, Manila again on the 14th. Eight shows across three continents. Mariah has literally taken me places.
A community of Lambs
But being a fan wasn’t just about showing up at concerts. Fresh out of college, I led the official fan club, Mariah Carey Philippines, serving as its president for more than a decade. What started as a fan club turned into a full-blown community. We threw album launch parties, hosted Mariah-themed Christmas celebrations (because who better to toast to in December), even organized a fan convention in Cebu.
We didn’t just celebrate Mariah—we celebrated each other. Over the years, friendships were forged, godparents were chosen, weddings were attended, losses were mourned. We weren’t just fans anymore. We were family—a Lambily.
And the thing about this Lambily is it’s multigenerational. Some of us are teenagers just discovering her rich catalog, others are in their 50s and have been with her since “Vision of Love.” But when we’re together, we’re all “eternally 12,” just as Mariah would want.
Looking back now, I realize my fandom was never calculated. I didn’t wake up one morning and said, “I’m going to be a hardcore lamb for life.” It just happened.
Last week, Mariah released her latest studio album—her 16th—called “Here For It All.” Listening to the fantastic album is like seeing an old friend, a warm hug, especially since her last one was seven years ago. It’s the perfect project to tide us over before her return to Manila two weeks from now.
Mariah the comedian
Here’s the thing about Mariah—she’s low-key one of the funniest people alive. Yes, the ballads are timeless, the runs are eternal, the Christmas royalties unbothered. But her humor is top-notch and effortless. It’s one of the things that has kept me hooked all these years. She’s cheeky, self-aware, gloriously campy, and occasionally self-deprecating. Watch any of her interviews—she’ll drop one-liners worthy of any stand-up comic.
Even her songs are sprinkled with wit if you know where to listen (sample “Obsessed” or “Touch my body”). That sense of humor seeped into me. The voice drew me in, but the personality kept me here.
To this day, I would throw Mariah’s famous “I don’t know her!” line if I feel a little annoyed at someone or a situation.
Another reason I’ve stayed hooked all these years is Mariah’s relationship with us, her fans. She never treats us like a faceless crowd. When she says we’re her family—her Lambily—you can feel that it’s not just fan service. It’s real. Every time she thanks us, there’s sincerity in her voice.
Whenever an interviewer brings up her fans, her eyes light up. She has never been photographed with a fan without that dazzling smile, because she genuinely enjoys meeting us. And when she tells us we’re her extended family, that she wouldn’t have made it this far without us—you believe her. More importantly, you feel it. That genuine connection is rare, and it’s one of the reasons I’ll keep supporting her.
So when people ask why I’ve stuck with Mariah all these years, I can’t reduce it to a neat answer. It’s the voice, yes, but also the humor, the camp, the unshakable diva energy. It’s how her music has been the soundtrack to my life’s milestones—the jeep rides of my childhood, the cassette tapes of my teenage years, the first concerts of my adulthood. She’s been there for all of it.
October 14 at the SM Mall of Asia Arena will be her fourth Manila show. And let me just say this: if my mom once again tells me that I don’t need to go because I can just “buy the CD,” I’ll say exactly what I said back in 2003: “Mom, I’m not asking. I’m merely informing you.”
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