"Of Late, I Think of Paradise" by Jairus P

The days of our birth are usual signs of something more than a society-given reason to praise ourselves and boost our ego, in hopes of denying the fact that we are one step closer towards death. The days of our birth are also signs that ultimately give us a reason to look back on who we’ve become and how we’ve gotten there, with a few old adages to help accentuate those reasons. One that I’ve become familiar with, you might ask?

Death is a promise made at birth.

Our primal proclivity is to usually avoid anything that has to do with death, reminding ourselves that anything can alleviate the major baggage that comes with the idea of losing our carbon-filled suits. One way is to usually immerse ourselves in our memories. Ah, memories. They say that our lives are comprised of the memories that we make along the way – I beg to differ. I’ve come to grips with understanding that our lives are a collective unit made up of experiences, and while the terms memories and experiences can be used interchangeably and might even be considered quite synonymous, I’ve convalesced from one experience – a defining one, an enlightening one.

Our perspective shifts from this morbid, blasé introduction to my junior year – the crux, more specifically. Sleepless nights, makeshift worn-out outfits, a broken heart, the usual high school starter pack that kind of makes you think you’re on some descent into madness. To give you a better idea of what it was like, think of it as me jumping out of the frying pan and into the inferno. I mean, on top of all the limits and equations I had to keep up with, understanding points of perspective, trying to get all of the history of the United States in my head (down to the last American-induced eradication of a culture) and the functions of all the body parts while thriving on my Muse of theatre, I openly decided to direct a play.

Now, up until that point, I always thought my life was going to be sustained by the notion that I had everything at my fingertips. I was ambitious. I was fruitful. I knew I was always destined for greatness. For lack of a better term, I was complacent and I mistook disenchantment for truth. But one thing Death can always count on to help burn those dreams and that mentality are the fires of adversity.

Fast forward to the rehearsal process, April of 2015: the venue of my play moved from the multi-useless room to E-12, a 35 page play with a myriad of single-spaced lines and monologues needed to be off-book in a span of 4 weeks, and rehearsals lasted until three hours after school. I think you’ve come to the understanding that I had to undertake these issues, which I did, but being a director of a play, that has a great deal of sentimental value and sweat, makes it that much lonelier. The misconception that many people acquiesce into believing is that a perfect play is always made up of a perfect rehearsal process, a perfect ensemble, a perfect director – all in which are truly false. While the actors have each other, a director is always alone and must withstand the fires of adversity aforementioned.

Now, what the hell are these “fires”? Every rehearsal, I dreaded because I knew I would somehow cry and breakdown. Every issue or backstage problem, I hated because I was always alone in the decision making, not knowing if the choice I made was right for me or for the entirety of the play. Every actor… That was one aspect I did not expect I would undertake. That facet of directing is one that I always have in the back of my mind: Never, under any circumstance, cast your friends, especially the ones closest to your heart. It’s all rooted in this ideal that they might not be able to amount to the expectation you have for them to match the character complexities in your play.

There was one rehearsal where I started shouting at them, at my own friends, who did not get off-book, even though I gave them a direct date in which they had to memorize a certain scene by. I gave them that Jessica Lange monologue, wiped away a few tears, and tried to get back on my feet by shouting at them a little more. I learned at that point that I was unapproachable to my actors, that they were afraid of me to ask of anything, that they were afraid that I would either melt down or end up shouting some more. I always tried to justify all of this behavior with the idea that I casted my pearls before swine, that I continually was doing the best for me, but, when in reality, I don’t know if I did.

There was another rehearsal where the lead was quite ill and said she “couldn’t go on with the show tonight.” The humane side of my brain wanted to say, “Oh, go ahead and take a sick day,” but the director side of my brain had to say, “You say you want to be an actress. You say you want to be a freaking actress and you’re going to tell me that you’re ill and can’t do the show? What happens when you have an audition, a show, anything that can define your life and your career, but you end up sick? You’re going to just not show up for that audition?” I pulled her aside during sixth period and told her the latter, ending it with, “We’re going through with the show.” I don’t think anyone realizes how heartbreaking it is to have to tell your own friend to compromise their health for a mere play, comparing it to a real world situation that could happen to any actor. I don’t think anyone realizes how excruciatingly painful it is to tell your friend that their health is ancillary to a high school play. When the bell rang, too, she said, with a raspy voice and a tint of resentment, “It’s your play.” But I did it and at that point, I felt like I had no humanity left in me anymore.

I was depressed. I mean, I’ve always suffered bouts of depression, trying to deny it somehow; some points of my life understood that my depression was sometimes dormant, but this time, the sadness and regret rose out and dominated my life, my mind. A routine I became fond of was coming home after every rehearsal, closing the door, and sliding down to the floor, crying and letting out my frustration, entering existential crises and questioning who I was, pondering if my dreams were even worth anything.

But, like all the cliché motivational high school movies, like [Insert inspirational football movie here], I sought refuge within two people. The first is Christian Kiley. I feel like I need to give recognition to a man that contends the dreams of his own students as well as champion the concept of survival. Through every burning decision, I was able to go to him and ask for wisdom, ask for comfort. It wasn’t long before I had the opportunity to fortify a bond that I will always treasure in my heart, a bond that I always hope will stand the impediments of Time, Man, and Life.

The second is one I will always and forever hold close to my heart. I choose not to disclose who the person is, but I hope to give Her as much credit as She deserves. I faced so much distress, unmitigated trepidation. Every day was like going out into the world, having been undressed and stripped bare by the seismic suffering I experienced, having your emotions for the entire world to see. It wasn’t long before She helped me out of the cesspool of self-abasement I was in, the same cesspool I tried to claw my way out of with trying to remind myself of who I was, even though I didn’t really know. She taught me that we’re constantly ever-changing, that while things seem futile, everything is temporary. High school is temporary. All the trials and tribulation we face are all temporary. From that point on, I’ve learned that I never felt more understood than in that moment, I wanna be like Her and be a positive light in people’s eyes.

From this experience, I say to you, reader who chose to continue a personal narrative that shouldn’t exceed a chapter in your local Honors Economics textbook, that you are continually deserving of all your efforts and dreams. You are worth it, worth every ounce of life and love and hope you breathe into yourself and your dreams. Whatever you’re facing, whatever it is that makes you regret living that moment in your life, remember that, when juxtaposed to the grand scheme of things, everything is irrefutably temporary and will change for the better – if you choose to. Never, ever, under any circumstances, regret anything you choose to do because the biggest enemy we can fashion is ourselves – believing any fallacies like this will ultimately lead a life of resentment. If this, if this is caused by friends that make you think wrongly about yourself, they certainly aren’t your friends; surround yourself with people that make you happy, that make your life better and remind you that your dreams are deserving. Go back to this story if you need to until that sinks in. And if you find yourself reverting back to wherever it is that you consider a dark place, remember that, again, everything is and always will be temporary.

Maybe, our lives aren’t comprised of just experiences. Maybe, they encompass a great deal of experiences and memories that make us who we are, that push us to live our lives. Remember, dear reader, that while Death takes from us, it also gives. It hands to us idioms and adages that help us realize our full potential, our meaning of life, which is an inadvertent gift. We all take that gift for granted and before you know it, that gift might be gone. Whatever dream you have, don’t believe that Death has fashioned fires of adversity to burn them, because in reality, those dreams might be burned, but in no way will they ever be murdered.

xx