Saturday, April 28, 2012

Here's a thought- how about Fuck You.

Don't say things unless you are absolutely sure of being able to fill out the size of your thought.
More importantly,
Don't touch me. Not unless..
No, just don't.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

On my mind

Reality Check

"Are you being honest?" They asked, they ask again. "Are you really experiencing what's happening, so you can really feel those emotions?"

I fall asleep to wake to you standing in front of me, asking if you can cuddle with us after a nightmare.

When I am laughing, I can hear your laughter in the background, tumbling off the couch as you fill home with weird and wonderful noise and movements that only you can make.
There is a basket of fruit on the kitchen counter.
We have wooden flooring.
I'm seeing dolphins leaping up as sunset paints the sky behind them.
You're holding my hand, and so are you.

Yes, yes I am being honest. Too honest sometimes because I have to catch myself before I lean to far forward, only to realize you're just out of reach.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012


I wonder if this is really what I want.
And how much I'll fight if I want something
And what happens if the person I'm fighting against is myself


I wonder if this is really what I want.
And how much I'll fight if I want something
And what happens if the person I'm fighting against is myself

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Schedules and timetables

8am-9.30am: Taichi- to connect body and mind, bringing an easy focus and relaxation, even to your organs.
9.35am: conflict of the day 01
9.40am: Attempt desperately to schedule appoint with therapist
9.48am: Fail miserably.
9.51am: Have crying fit and some kind of weird breakdown
10.35am: Find therapy in the form of cutting up coconut leaves and sticks.
11.58am: Get coconut oil in eyes while removing makeup.
12.48noon: Repeat, except make it ten times worse.

And we're barely half way through the day

Monday, April 23, 2012

Teeth sinking into heart

I'll be okay soon. Three years is nothing, right?

Then tell me how did you slip by?

I must have somehow slept the whole night
I want to hurt something.
I don't think where I am is a very good place at all.
I am angry.
Not like, oh maybe you're upset bordering on angry. No, I am fucking angry right now. I hate where I am, hate feeling like I'm stuck, hate feeling like this is some kind of dress rehearsal for a life I won't even have.
Why? Because I want to be involved in other aspects of theatre and production. And I just, I'm getting so pissed off with people- like what the serious fuck.

I've always loved the production period even though it's crazy and hectic and you get absolutely no sleep. (Oh hello, did I not just wrap a production last week?)
What I'm trying to say is, it's not the extra work or the lack of sleep that I am adverse to. It's this, this setting.

Fuck I need a drink

Sunday, April 22, 2012

React, or Respond- your pick

It's over now. I can breathe a bit, I think. The final run we had, on top of it being very different from anything we'd done before was also a two-day craze. It wasn't like we'd rehearsed for months and TA-DA, this is it. That was for the first show on Wednesday, and then it's like we had to go through tunnels and secret passages and jump over secret codes, avoid swinging blades to finally get to last night.

It's April. With less than ten days til its end.
In the four months that have gone by, all the things that I have learnt have been experiential. All the things I have learnt have come from dealing with stuff being hurled at me from school, from racing around like a madman two hours before a show asking for empty bottles, from watching lines of pain get etched in the faces of people close to me as I've worked between crumbling and throwing myself into whatever is at hand.

I don't want to be an actor.
I did, very much, as a child. I grew up on film sets, in acting classes, in improvising mime scenes when I'd be caught zoning out while in those acting classes. But I don't want to be an actor. At least, not just an actor.
There's so much more that I feel like I have to do. And sure, sometimes it's really nice to just get on set and work with people who you can trust and just, be directed. But somehow, as I have grown, I've found it increasingly hard to do that. To find people that you can just step into a space with, breath out and go, "You take the wheel, and I'm on board."
No one's perfect and we all make mistakes, yes- I'm not asking for perfection, I'm asking for some sign that you are human. That this isn't just all about you.
And I am afraid of becoming like that. Because it would appear to me, that the only way to survive it is to play the exact same game. To count your hours and your time and your money, to not want to go that extra mile because when people realize you've got an extra mile to give, they want to take your next three. And then- I'm sorry, we're over-running again, the next four maybe, or five.

I am tired now. I woke up tired. I am so, so drained and it's like, I think I can breathe after this, but (and I've always known this) the end of Love Song is only the first domino getting pushed. For the next month or so, I don't know where I'll be very much. It's really quite scary.

Because we all fall down.

I promise to be a person, before anything else.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

In your head, in your head, they're crying

I don't know how I'd begin trying to understand, how or what happens now. All the buts, maybes fill the vacuum that the lack of conversation has left..

I want to believe kisses do something for grazed knees, and maybe I should. But there are also places that I can't quite reach because...
Well I suppose because it's your wound to look after and change the dressing for as you go on.
And I don't know if you'd like someone to sit with you as you do that, but if you do,
I could be there.

Friday, April 20, 2012

All the world, oh you're all the world

It's raining when I get the text. And I go back to the last one you sent me. Read it, read it over, re-read it. Read my reply, read it over and go back to the text that just came in.

It starts storming while I'm with you. Its thunder breaking and darts of lightning right outside your window and I love, God I love how it doesn't disturb your sleep. How you look a little bit more peaceful.
As peaceful as one could look I suppose, like this.

You peek out at me through sleepy eyes, make it all sound light. And I could believe you, the way I always do. Except it breaks me, seeing you like this- even the slightest bit uncomfortable.
Crying won't do very much good, I know that full well, but I never fancied myself a fantastic actor anyways.
I don't even know if the enormity of it has even... It's always easier to crack a joke, make light of it, isn't it?

And all I wanted to do tonight was stay right by you- to be the first thing your fingers touched if you happen to reach out. To keep swapping towels and wiping your face down, to stay with you until your fever breaks. To be the first one to jump up if you so much as twitched a finger in discomfort.

But I'm here.
I'm home, with my hair smelling like yours, surrounded by bits and pieces of ourselves that we'd left here just yesterday afternoon.

It's not raining tonight. The roads are slick and empty.
The morning, it always promises to come.

And I'll be with you soon.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

On the greyscale- in Black and white

The last time I was in these grey, converse-styled shoes was late last year. The laces on the left side have a bit of brown on them from where Nano nosed my shoe after rolling about in the freshly dampened sand. It would've been right about this time in the morning, probably later. Half past seven maybe.

There are a lot of things I miss about my life and this is one of them. Getting to hang out with horses a bit more often is one, but also, having time to be involved in programmes that help kids the way Equal does.
I loved my job because I was able to share what drama did for me as a person. But at the same time, there were also other parts of me that slipped in (which is not necessarily bad, just different). The perfectionist bit, for instance. The fact that, it being work, there were deadlines and end-products. So yes, there was the process that was important, but that process needed to birth some kind of result that an outsider could look at and say, "Why yes, an improvement indeed."

EQUAL was different because (and I guess this is significant) I wasn't the one who had to produce results, in something that was also less product-driven as much as it was process.
And I miss that, being around for that transitional period that these kids got to go through.

And the ones we left behind

I miss work. I miss its seasons, I miss the person that I was, I miss being excited and having enough of me. I miss, funnily enough, being human. Not feeling like I am masked, like things are masked, like everything is some kind of facade.

Goodbye to the roses on your street

Being with you makes me realize what it feels like to not be in the in-between. In that grey area between lovers and friends and how nice it feels to not have to hide.

Goodbye to my Santa Monica Dream

Tell me I won't disappear. That I will still be here. That I won't get lost.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Food for the soul

Erika just came over with chicken and century egg porridge and tau fu fah for the family. Not everyone gets sick food brought to them when they're ill.
I am theee luckiest girl in the world(:

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Santa Monica Dreaming

We'll hop into something with an open top, pick turns at random and go down dirt roads we don't know.
I'll stop being such an idiot with my words and ill-timing, and we'll spend hours driving through towns people have forgotten.

Let's walk through cemeteries and let them tell us stories, sneak under broken fences to chase a butterfly. Lie in grassy fields still wet with last night's promises, take on the world one pizza slice at a time.

There's a difference when you're travelling because you're looking, and seeing things because you're travelling.
I don't think I'd be looking anymore, so maybe it'd be nice to go see things. And maybe it'd be nicer if I got to see them with you.
And maybe, you wouldn't mind the idea of seeing things with me too.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Just like a drawer that's been stuck

And you've yanked it open to find an immense collection of polaroids- snapshots of all the things that make you happy.

For me, that's you.

Sunday, April 8, 2012

But His joy comes in the morning

What a sad Easter service I've just had. Well technically, I don't think it was a service but let's not split hairs.

I found myself in tears this morning. I've never been struck with such utter sadness in church before. Of course I've listened to the occasional homily or sermons or speeches and found myself in disagreement. I have also left, in some cases, because when that need to rise and leave hits me (and it only does rarely), I pay attention to it.
Today was. I don't know, I don't know what it was exactly- it wasn't anything specific as much it was the general feel of it. And yes, the energy of the congregation wasn't the highest, but that, to be honest, was one of the last reasons.

Mostly it was what I was hearing from the man at the pulpit. (I don't know if they call it pulpits too, forgive me.) But yes, despite actually quite liking the Priest who spoke today, I was rather taken aback by some of the things he said and now I'm just...
Well I am left feeling very sad, to be quite honest. Not just, "oh this is kinda sad don't you think?" Kind of sad. Rather a, sit and cry sort of sad. A, i-need-to-run-into-a-church-with-a-massive-black-choir-singing-for-all-they're-worth-type of sad.
And I might hit anyone who tries any kind of charismatic-type preaching with me today.

Easter's not supposed to be like that. It's supposed to be happy and joyous. Children are supposed to be in the front row, their legs dangling off the pews, colourings of their easter egg cut-outs in hand.

oh but then (and only just as I finished my last paragraph),
Leann Rhimes' I Need You comes on the radio and realize, I didn't need to be in church to be reminded of what You are in my life. Didn't need to be in church to worship. Because everything I needed to say today spills from that song.

And You're the hope that moves me to courage again

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Or maybe tomorrow my absolute insanity, combined with the absolute obstacle course of your communication skills will leave us like a love letter in a landfill. But whatever, however, whenever this ends, I want you to know that right now, I love you forever.
-- Andrea Gibson

Monday, April 2, 2012

No snow this winter either

But what if I told you, that all I really want, is just to be happy?

I'm done trying to figure out why I feel the way I do. Really.
I just want to bloody get on with it already. Learn the stuff, feel the pain, have all these breakdowns I seem to be having and just get through it and come out the other end alive. I want this bit of my life to just get on by.
I'm done trying to suss out why I'm not better at being in school, why I'm so adverse, why this and that. I'm done.
Just be okay already.

Somebody fix me.

On a random note-

Thank you Victor, for Saturday night. I think I needed that(:

Rainy days and mondays (or rainy days that are mondays)

Always get me down

I stopped singing that song years ago- mainly when I started working. Because the two worst things that would happen to me on a rainy day was soaking my flats and not being able to get a cab to work.
But also because I've always loved rain, and I never minded Mondays- whether I had work or not.

Days like this make me wonder why I couldn't be the sort of person who was able to function in school.
That's a thought that's going to last me the whole day, clearly.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Perhaps I'm missing the violin-playing goat.

Here's the thing you see, it doesn't take a lot to make me happy. Not at all.

I don't need to have a lot of money, or a huge car or a big house with a Steinway Grand sitting in the foyer. I don't need my company to be huge and famous, I don't need to have my songs on the radio or be signed by a big label.

I'm a girl who like sitting by windows with a book on a rainy afternoon. Who likes waking up early just to cook breakfast for the people I love. Who sighs in contentment over a good cup of coffee. I'm the girl who works really hard, but can find rest in the fifteen minutes between classes. Who tears up watching her kids perform, who opens up her arms and says "Come here sweetie," when they're breaking down because they thought they didn't do well on stage.
I'm the girl on the bus who smiles as she passes big open fields, who can spend afternoons watching people ride horses in an open order class. Who writes, and dreams and breathes in her life, every day.

That's the thing I'm struggling with now-
That I know it doesn't take a lot to make me happy. It's not like I'm never satisfied. And I know exactly what to do to fix this. I know what I can do that will make it all fall into place even if I do become the epitome of a poor, struggling actor.
And where I'm in now was never supposed to be about helping me earn more money anyway. All the actors from this side of town are known to shy away from the commercial side.
If it's not about the money, then surely I'm supposed to find amazing joy in the learning process, no? Surely I'm meant to love each bit of it, not caring about how long or how short the course is and only wondering about what might come next.

And I wish it was like that.
I wish I did.

My dose of family this weekend

The most beautiful thing in the world happened this evening.

After I ended my call, I lean across the table,
"Erika says Happy Birthday, daddy."
"Erika's birthday?" My four year old baby sister asks.
"No, Jiejie Erika was saying Happy Birthday to daddy. Do you remember Jiejie Erika? The one with short hair?"
She takes a moment to consider this, and then looks up at me.

"Oh, your friend?"
"Mmmhmm, you remember her?"
She beams at me.
"Why do you love her?" She asks. I notice how her mom glances up to see how I'm reacting to this. I smile widely and let out a short laugh.
"Hmmm, becauseeee, she's a really nice person. Really nice."
She doesn't look at me like I'm wrong, or that it's different that we're not talking about a boy. In fact, she looks most interested and shifts between clutching the white tablecloth shyly and excitedly asking me questions.

"Are you going to marry her?"
And I laugh and say,
"Hmm, that's a really good question baby, but I don't really know yet. That depends."

I've never seen eyes like my baby sister's in relation to my relationship. Not because I've been getting frowned at, but because, whether or not people are accepting, we're all just fully aware of being in a world where we're a minority.
I've never had someone ask me if I'll marry my girlfriend, as if the entire world was alright with it.

wish you were here

In one of those ideal worlds-

which this isn't, obviously,
people would be able to say, "I want to act, even if it makes me poor!" and jump into it.
People would miraculously be able to do exactly what they want, while juggling family and financial commitments. People wouldn't have nervous breakdowns or go home to abuse of any sort.
We wouldn't constantly have to rush around, in a desperate attempt to find rest.

It's been a surprisingly, no, shockingly empty sort of week. Or weekend, whatever you want to call it. To a large extent, I'm, I don't know what it is- numb, empty, tired, sad. It's sort of all mixed up. I missed a lot of school this week, so I had a heightened awareness of the emptiness I was left with at home.
And then Friday came about, with a renewed sort of energy and that was nice. Cooking at home and having friends over is always nice.
I didn't mind my Saturday either, and it was funny how, as the timings changed, and things moved up, I found myself trying to cram in more things. I'm so used to hustling about that I've forgotten how to breathe. It wasn't until I'd gotten on the bus and the train home that I realized just how tired I was, that I noticed how my legs ached and how much I just really wanted to sit down.

I'm taken aback at this weekend because, most often, it's just this messy rush of choosing people to spend time with, choosing the right time to go out, struggling to find a fraction of a second where I can just stop and slump against a wall. I don't have that this weekend. And you'd think that'd make it easier except-
Well, in one of those ideal worlds, which this obviously isn't,
schedules aren't a problem, and things always fall into place.

But as I've cosied up in my empty apartment, with the telly on (because it makes it sound like the family's around) and surrounded by fresh laundry that I'm working my way through, I've lent thought to the week ahead. Which to be honest, isn't just going to be a week.

Love Song, the musical, goes up in exactly twenty days.
We have just over a fortnight until Tech week.
After the 21st, I have a Kuttiyatam-intensive week that will follow, ending off with three performances in a single day.
Post Modular Lab comes right after that.
And then a week of all the other classes and their assessments that we'll work on.

My stomach has gone back to that oh-so-familiar clench that lurches me into wanting to grab handfuls of free time whenever I can. But I breathe and notice how I woke up with my head heavy and my body aching. Then I breathe again and think, well, this is my last weekend isn't it? It's the last weekend where I will not be rushing around anywhere. Where I will feel like my head's awfully heavy but that it's okay to go into my room for a nap. Where I will get to sit on my couch, typing away at Maxine and realize, I don't have the lights on but it's bright as day.
Because it is, y'know, bright as day.
And there's a load in the dryer, filling the laundry room with the smell of clean, fresh clothes, and I've got a few hours left to myself.
Even though it's not, y'know, one of those ideal worlds.

This'll do, I believe, this'll do.

I know what this feels like

I wanted to tell you about an uncomfortable spot I found myself in while acting.

But more than that I've been wanting to just..

Can cold nights make you fall in love
Promises be wrote in the sand
Fingerprints left on your skin
By an imaginary hand

And toilet paper love letters weren't meant to be sent

The one you find yourself waiting for

It's funny, all the things that could've happened this Saturday night.

They're called rabbit holes, each one being an alternate universe that plays out a different scenario.
And in so many of the infinite scenarios, she didn't fall asleep alone. Much less feeling like this.


When you're beautiful.