Constructing new myths for our inner child
Responding to Legendary at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2026
Legendary by Cheeyang Ng | Photography and Design by Jayden Tan Illustrations by Asher Yeo Xinyi
Having been in therapy for several years now, I am no stranger to the question, “What would you say to your inner child?”
I am never prepared to answer it, though.
— — —
In the small room that hosts Legendary, we are greeted by this question, beamed onto a backdrop from an old school projector. Yellow balloons hover along the edges of the stage and an ethereal character – loose hair, clad in a long white lace dress – stands amongst the audience, gently welcoming those that walk in.
Three altars to their father, mother and aunt form a triangle on stage, and soon performer Cheeyang Ng will stand in the middle, ready for what they describe as a solo ritual musical.
Maybe it is because I grew up with Bollywood movies (where corny songs are staple but often – to me – unnecessary to the progression of ‘plot’), or because I lack the courage to sing my emotions that I am, let’s just say, apprehensive of musicals. I was convinced by my sappy partner to go with them to the show, and the fates handed us last-minute tickets to a sold-out performance.
The poster for Legendary depicts Ng glancing over their shoulder in a classically glamorous popstar pose. I’m not sure what to expect from this set that seems to foreground and cherish the simple pleasures of childhood instead. Ng introduces themselves with warmth and intimacy before assigning each section of the room notes to sing: accompaniments to original songs they have written. Under Ng’s gentle shepherding, we start to collectively hum and croon and, within the first five minutes, I feel something stir in me. A spark of warmth raises its coiled head from within the depths of my scepticism. There is nothing solo about this show.
Instead, we are led through a patchwork of Ng’s life: the expectations of a traditional family, a difficult yet exciting decision to move to America, the dehumanisation experienced whilst dating white men, the queer burden of continuing the legacy of their bloodline. Ng recontextualises these stories through the Chinese myths and legends they grew up with, offering them generously in turn to their audience to perform through joyous collective singing.
Legendary at the Edinburgh Fringe | Photography by Kevin O’Sullivan
The truth is, it isn’t especially radical for racialised or queer performers at the Fringe to explore their identity or culture in their art, or the pain inflicted on their bodies within a racist and queerphobic world. But the tenderness that Ng embeds in this show feels radical, allowing us to collectively soothe our nervous systems by confronting these systems together. Their music and humour reminds me of the deeply comforting Disney-Pixar sing-a-long films that I grew up with. It isn't only the adult version of you that is welcomed at the door but also the child that lives within, the one that really needs soothing.
I am asked to dive into this child alongside Ng.
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What soothing do our inner children need? What stories did they need to hear, what care did they need extended to them? In one song, Ng takes us through the legend of Guanying, a deity who transitioned from a male body into a female one as their myth travelled through Asia. Ng is ecstatic at this flicker of transness in their culture that until then, had seemed so binary. While this discovery reaches them as an adult, it also clearly speaks to the child they have lovingly offered to us through the show.
Reminded of my own repressed childhood, I think of the myths I grew up with: heroes led by heteropatriarchal ideas of virtue and honour, who would sacrifice themselves for the sake of their family legacy. The unspoken duty to uphold these cultural values was so oppressive to the queer child that I was. In Legendary, Ng shows me that alternate readings do exist of our histories, readings that were once squashed but are still here for the taking. When Ng reworks the legend of Jingwei, a young woman who drowned in an ocean crossing only to rise up again as a bird, an ancient myth suddenly echoes the everyday courage and determination of present day migrants, including – I suppose – myself. It becomes a balm that soothes the child in me, alienated from her culture, desperately seeking a story that affirms the decisions that led her here.
I find myself pulled to question the myths that serve only an outdated ideology, a status quo that does not serve me or others like me. What myths can we rewrite to hold all of our myriad shapes and colours? What myths will keep us buoyant when the world turns on us? What myths shall pacify the hurting child in me?
In the final act, Ng asks for a volunteer. Emboldened by the vulnerability that they have laid bare before us in the past hour, and perhaps seeking some more answers, I raise my hand. Ng urges me to take centre stage. They rouse the crowd in a song that constructs a new myth: a retelling of my life and self framed through a queer lens, that acknowledges the delicate yet triumphant balance that queer People of Colour have to strike as we live out our legacies under the shadow of tradition and globalisation. Queerness becomes more than something that is neatly packaged and delivered by the West; it becomes transformative, and completely ours.
The room harmonises and I am carried by the spirit in the room: the spirit of my ancestors, of my peers and my lineage yet to come. With my past, present and future connected, I become one in that moment.
Legendary was performed at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe from the 5 — 31 August 2026.
This Response was narrated and sound edited by Sarya Wu.
