I've run out

There are things I will learn to get used to.
That I will have to get used to.

Like on nights like these, for instance-
That when duty calls then,
Well, duty calls.

But there are parts of you I hope for, wish for...
That I hate myself for waiting for.
Because i have learnt that hoping will always leave you just that little bit sadder than you can brace yourself.


And i chide myself, bring myself back to how it's not your fault, not your doing.
And it isn't.

So all I'm left with is the job of packing our blanks into boxes.


And missing you.

Spent

Because I'm all yours anyway. 

_____________________________

You don't have to say you love me

Just be close at hand

You don't have to stay forever

I will understand

Believe me,

Believe me

I love you but I'll never tie you down

_______________________________

There should be fewer Fridays that leave you in tearful messes by noon. 

_______________________________

Here's a possibility:

What if...

I've just been needing someone too?

I was fading and chipped like rust

There are questions I have. 

Some for specific people and others, for no one in particular. 

There are a lot of whys, a lot of then-what-ifs.

 I've been reading a lot. And I've been getting caught in the torrent of memories. I haven't been writing. I don't know how. Or I'm a little bit afraid. I don't know. 

Then I pull a book off the shelf- one I've written in years before and I understand myself a little better. I understand why certain things make me so sad sometimes now, but render me incapable of responding. And so I press down on a familiar ache and excuse myself to the toilet instead. 

As it's been happening, I haven't understood. I haven't been able to say why I back away, or back down or shirk when your voice hardens or there's a sharpness to your tone. 

I freeze up. And against my will (much to my frustration), my eyes fill and all I need is to get out of there for a second or two. 

But then i tell you nothing's wrong.

Why do I do that? Maybe because when I remember having a voice, I was always wrong. I was always, always wrong. 

I've been a little bit sad of late. In ways that just makes me want to sit by myself in little corners, or parks. Sip on wine. 

I'd say write. I always do, and a part of me wants to but, like I said, I've been a little bit afraid. 

But oh, maybe hearts always break themselves again along the lines of an old scar. 

___________________________________________

And that star-flung sky hanging heavy above

Was the only witness as I whispered words you would not trust

What I said was,

Say to me, all the things that you think I could never handle

I could be the anthem you sing to yourself, 

When you're slipping away into sleep when the lights are so low
it goes
oh

The trouble with love is

Why does it feel like this?


It's pretty tough, y'know, getting at the dirt that lines the inside of your body.



Surely, there must be something I can take to pretend I don't feel this way.

Surely not all students feel like this?

It's 3:09 in the afternoon. I am sitting in a studio with two other people who are, I suppose, working on their end of semester acting pieces.
I should do, but clearly I am not.

The afternoon is ours to work with- whether to work on the movement piece or the voice piece or the acting piece, it is entirely up to us. My afternoon started almost an hour ago. To say I've been faffing about would make it sound like I have done nothing. And in regards to work that I actually am supposed to be doing, I haven't, to be quite honest. Instead I started searching.
Maxinne on my lap, and the lights completely off, I have sat, mug of green tea by my side, and searched and looked for things that I want, things that I think I might need, places I think I'm supposed to be in because...
Because some part of me doesn't think I'm supposed to be here.
I wonder if I've been selling myself short, if, like my mother said I might, I am failing to give myself the chance to flourish here, and under these circumstances.

There are things that work for me here.
And, a lot of the time, when I think about what is to come I am excited. Beijing Opera next term, for one. Not that it's been a lifelong dream to learn Beijing Opera but simply that it will be interesting. As will be the harsh hand of Madam Lee. Already my body is remembering what it felt like to be in Chinese classes, but let's not go there just yet. I am afraid, you know. I am. But I am also excited about it because language might make it just a touch easier for me. Not that Kutiyattam wasn't, fortunately for us, our guru spoke English while Madam Lee will speak none.
Maybe it is that childish part of me that figures I might understand just a little bit more. But mostly I am excited because I've never been particularly culturally rooted in the least, and here is something I get to explore.

There will also be psycho-physical training towards the end of the year, and classes on dramaturgy which is what I am most keen on.

Don't you see? There are things that I am looking forward to. So much in the school that I am keen on, that I think I will only benefit from.
But Charis, the Charis who is the lego block that cannot transform quick enough from car to helicopter to dragon, is feeling the ache where bits of myself have been haphazardly lopped off in an effort to make me fit. And I won't say they've been sawed off, no- that implies an amount of time and effort dedicated to pulling an instrument back and forth, applying different amounts of pressure and force, which is most certainly not the case here.

I don't know if I can do it, but I want to stay the year, I do.

We are made up of a collection of choices, and every choice will have a consequence. Yes, sure, there is a whole lot waiting for me right outside. It's sitting on the edges of this construct and waiting, begging me almost, to come back to it. And I want to, oh believe me, I want to. And yet I am shackled to the thought of, but what happens when all of that runs out? What happens when my children are heading to University and half the century that is my life has gone by, and I don't know how much I can afford for them?
At the same time, you've either got it, or you don't right? If this isn't for me, no matter how hard I work, I won't be able to get as far as those who work just as hard but simply "have it".
Or maybe I'll get better as I go along. And getting better doesn't mean sitting here for the next three years.

You know, I keep trying to tell myself that three years is nothing, and will be nothing in the grander scheme of things, in comparison to the rest of my life and the years I will spend working.

But this is the thought I woke up with today:
If a car came hurtling toward me and left me for dead, would I be okay with leaving?

They always say that you reap the seeds you sow. And so, sow healthy lovely seeds, tend to them everyday, piling on just the right amount of fertilizer, of water, or sun. And then, when the time is right, you will harvest much.
But what if I never got to my time of harvest?
If I didn't get to my end point, I'd like to know that I was well on my way.
And technically speaking, yes I am now, just in this more formal setting.

I used to think, not too long ago, that if it was time for me to go, it'd be a huge shame but, even if I hadn't gotten to the full set up of my school and company, and didn't have my amazing children, and hadn't yet gotten an off-broadway project that I was working on, I was well on my way there.
And yes, this is supposed to be part of it, it is, but sometimes it doesn't feel like it. Well most times. And most times I just feel sad and find myself thinking about the next step, the next step, the next step.

And now I'm thinking,
if a car came hurtling toward me and left me for dead, I want to know that I tried my damnedest to get to a place I had in mind, even if I was taking a longer route, instead of knowing full well, that I'd woken up that morning wishing for that car to come at me.

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.

Only

When you're beautiful.

Old best friends

They haven't been for a while now,
So Charis, don't you dare start again.

----------------------

Tonight I am numb.
I am numb and cold and empty.

----------------------

I know I made you mad
And in all these things that I might feel,
I just mostly wish I didn't go about things all wrong.
Because it seems I do that a lot when I feel like this.

-----------------------

Run.
On promises to yourself that you know you'll break
On the shards of your wrongs that line the soles of your shoes.
Run. Keep running

Fear tastes like the iron in blood you're not drawing from yourself

"Oh yes, yes I know. And you know, you just gotta let go."
No, I want to say, no you don't know. I'm trying with all that I am and I'm not using this as any kind of excuse, but you don't know.
And to continually come at me, even after, with the full force that your ignorance is weighed with-
No, it's not your fault. You don't know, and that's okay. But it just got more difficult when you wanted to insist on your advice that clearly wasn't pushing me into a place I was comfortable in.

"Okay guys, no matter what, you have to go in now-"
"Okay, okay we're just-"
"No." She says, and her voice is quiet but so, so firm. "No, sometimes we just can't. We are not machines. And I have heard something that just, that just goes beyond all of any of this. So."
And in that instance, I am so grateful, so grateful for her.

"Hey, so how're you? Y'know with-"
"Yeh well, c'est la vie right?"
"It'll pass man, it'll pass."
Yeah, I think. What doesn't, after all? And that's what I did too-
I lay there, and just waited for it to pass.

I always do, don't I?

Figure it out

She'll love you when you're beautiful

If I could have one wish, if I could have some say

Because you find half of yourself that is carved by expectations, society's ideas of beauty and the world and their reasons.
And then the other half of you is left floating.
Floating in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Floating in a way that makes you scared of the way you fall against a girl's skin and realize that her breath gives you rest.
Floating in a way that only roots you in the way it's unfamiliar- nice, but unfamiliar.

Maybe, could you just, hold me.

atelophobia

Socially constructed ideas of beauty

I'd say the same thing to everyone else, you know.

No, I don't.

I'm going to go run now.

I like running.

there aren't fairytales about fat princesses

run.

run, run, keep running.

until your chest burns and your feet are blistered and your nose is sore and your fingers are numb.

and then run some more.

run.

run and run and run and keep on running.

the ground,

it feels a lot more solid, a lot more heavenly, a lot more steady,

when the rest of the world is spinning.

Carrots, sticks and the grey bits in between.

You can't lie to a horse. In that same respect, a horse doesn't lie to you.
Children don't lie either. They don't start off lying. Babies don't cry for the sake of crying, they cry because they need something. Somewhere along the way though, they do start. They find words that can or might mean other things, they pick up from whatever is around them, and they learn. They learn to lie.
And they learn to lie, from adults.

That's why people like good theatre. Because it's easier to watch someone else be honest in a "controlled environment" than be honest yourself, back in the real world. And we all know good actors don't lie. They aren't lying, they're being. They're letting things affect them as it happens, moment to moment. Also, you can't lie to your audience. You don't have to be in the industry to be able to see whether or not the person on stage/on film is really doing or thinking something.

I'm annoyed today. I am annoyed and drained out and empty. That's what I am, empty. Or bordering on.
Because I feel like I am suffocating, choking on everybody's empty words. Watching sticks being dangled in front of children like carrots. Except they're not. They're sticks. They are fucking sticks, okay?

And it feels like everywhere I turn, full grown adults are lying and blatantly teaching children to do the same. They're coaxing, baiting- instead of embedding seeds of thought, what they're doing is planting key words pulled straight from a textbook. Hoping, hoping, hoping, that these key words will come up, will resurface, will be used so that they can say, "Ah ha! Look at the work I've done."
I wish these people would see, that there are so many who are ready to learn. Who are sitting there, open to you, trusting you to bring them to a different place. And no, it might not be all of them; it might be the bare minimum out of the group. But those who do, want to so badly. They want to so much that they look into themselves, and they're searching and they're trying to find their words when all you want to do is give them multiple choice and cloze passages.

I turn around, and the ones who are fronting are the adults. The ones who don't trust themselves are the adults. The ones who don't trust each other are the adults. And you, you are allowed to guide these children?!
And I'm not even talking about any one person in particular here, I'm talking about an entire team. I'm talking about us.
You, we, can keep lying, but the only one buying it is ourselves.

Christ, everywhere I fucking turn, it's wave after wave of half-lies, economical truths, empty promises, meaningless words. Shut up for two seconds. Just shut the fuck up, and stop saying things if you feel like you need to say something other than what you mean.
I'm not saying I don't lie, deliberately or otherwise. I'm not saying I don't front sometimes. We all do because we're conditioned like that. And really, honestly, we're scared.
So then, we find an environment where we can break ourselves open. And in this same space, because we can, we can bring people to that same sanctuary.
So that for just a little while, there is escape from the masquerade of everyday life.
So that for just a while, you can be honest and not be wrong.
So that, for just a while, you are allowed to be no one else, other than yourself.
Here's the catch-
You can't bring someone somewhere you've never been. You can discover it together, but you can't lead and guide someone to truth that you have never known.
In other words, you need to be honest with yourself and where you've been and therefore, where you can take people.

There's a difference between a carrot and a stick. And oh, believe me, I have been fifteen and had sticks dangled in front of me. And at fifteen I was fully capable of telling the difference between a carrot and a stick.
But I'm not about to play fetch with you because honey,
I am not your bitch.

I was upset

But just for a little while,
And not at you.

It used to happen a lot see.

And I never did get any better with holding on to tears despite that. It's always been a source of immense frustration, believe me.

I am

Slipping.
And afraid

Tonight

It was.

I will go to bed now

Slip up

Here's what I couldn't say-
That in that moment, all I wanted to do, was get it right. Something. and I could get this right, I could. Find a sense of normal.

Except my only problem of course, is that it turns out to be wrong.
I'm still grappling with that, to be honest.

We're in different boats in terms of handling what's happened. Anyone can see that.

And for once,
I wish I wasn't alone in this.

--------------------

I've gotten it wrong, I've still gotten it wrong. And now I can't find my right, let alone left and I'm, I'm all wrong now. All wrong.
And no, we're not okay. There is fear that fills the spaces between all the words we're not saying, the words we can't find, the words we won't try to.
We're not okay. Not right now.
Actually, we seem a long way off from it.

how's this for shocking?

So I was in line at the box office the other day, and a bunch of rowdy white kids scrambled to a counter and did their picking and choosing. The girlfriend pointed out one of the boys who she knew, and, as we stepped up to the front of the line, they even said hello to each other.

Then,

as we stepped up to the counter and were trying to pick seats, someone in that group of boys yelled, "Lesbians!" at us. Pretty fucking loudly too.

It's not every day that shit like that happens to me. Especially not, well, on this side of town I guess. I've always been the protective sort, and so, if that happened a few years back if I was say, out with Bird or Vicky or just, well anyone, I'd probably have turned to look at those kids. Said something maybe. Yelled back. Or grabbed the girl beside me and kissed her and flipped them off. Except now that it pretty much feels like it's thrown directly at me, and the person I'm out with, I instead, flinch. And turn back to the screen and let her pick the seats.

And then, we walk away.