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
