Girl on Fire

Did you miss me?

I missed you! Apologies for completely dropping off the face of the earth--graduation brought on a whirlwind of new adventures... Sometimes you have to step away from the keyboard and live life a little in order to have anything to write about.

I've been quite the busy lady. I work 40 hours a week opening at the Café. I am the Production Management Intern at a theatre company in Boston. I've started my own small theatre company.

You could say I stay active. 

And I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm not quite sure how to explain it without sounding too lame...  I feel as if my insides were made of embers. And every now and then, something or someone pours or spills lighter fluid everywhere and I find myself engulfed in an impassioned flame of propulsion. 

I love being aflame. I feel like I'm running at a thousand miles an hour, dragging a stream of light behind me. It's the way I built to be--impassioned. I love working on what I love. And when I'm inspired, nothing could dream of stopping me.

I got a tattoo since we last talked. I've been planning on getting this done for more than a year now; I have the very phrase taped inside the front cover of my moleskine. I knew exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it to look and I was lucky enough to have a tattoo artist who simply scanned my scrap of paper into the computer and made it a part of me.

"Riveder le stelle."

"To see once more the stars." These are the last three words from Dante's (no, not Dan Brown's) Inferno. When the narrator/Dante and Virgil come up from the fire and brimstone of Hell itself, they look up, take a breath, and see again the stars. 

It's meaningful for a plethora of reasons.

1. I love Italian culture. In many ways, I believe that my Rome trip taught me how to live when I most needed it.
2. I love poetry. Especially Inferno. And it only gets better when you realize that T.S. Eliot's Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (my all-time favorite poem) was heavily inspired by Dante. 
3. It's the last three words of Inferno--they provide closure. At the same time, there is still more to come from La Commedia--just like there's more to come from my life. 
4. Furthermore, if Dante has withstood almost 700 years' worth of time's famed test, I believe he can definitely withstand a lifetime on my wrist without growing irrelevant. 
5. It's my own handwriting, which I believe is deeply characteristic of who I am, unfinished "S" and all.
6. It's on my left wrist, over where you'd feel my pulse, and near the most battered section of my skin.
7. It's positioned so that I can read it. It's a reminder: when Hell is burning me from all sides or even when I find myself consumed in the fire of my own fragile body, I need to take time to remember that I will see once more the stars. 

Sometimes I feel like the world is burning me and I'm stuck roasting on the spit. And sometimes I'm propelled by the fire that is constantly sizzling right behind my sternum. Either way, fire is intextricably intertwined with the way in which I interpret my life. 

This fire is driving my CoffeeSpoons Theatre Project (I'll post on that soon). It drives my almost-ceaseless Café cheer. It keeps me smiling at my internship, even when I'm doing heavy, thankless labor for unpaid hours on end.

I'll keep clicking the lighter as long as I can, and I hope that this flame won't burn out. 

Invincible

Sometimes it's just so easy to convince ourselves that we are invincible. 

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mind believing in my own invincibility. It helps me carry on. Believing in myself, my strength, my confidence, and my own abilities--that all keeps me going. I guess the mentality is something along the lines of "fake it 'till you make it": if you believe that nothing can hurt you, then maybe nothing can. 

I'm young. I'm on the cusp of a new beginning. I cannot wait to barrel forth into the metaphorical (and hopefully literal) sunset. 

I've been using big-girl words recently. The main one: "career". I'm ready to start building this future for myself, one that will undoubtedly require hard work and dedication to the things I'm passionate about. I fixate on my goals. I overachieve. I immerse myself in work. After all, my happy place is a big open space in which I can putter around doing something that I love. 

But when I do that, I forget about something that actually might be somewhat important. My heart. I don't know... I guess I convince myself that I don't need any of that mushy shit: it's a waste of time and boys are stupid. My work, my career, my goals--those will always be there for me when I wake up in the morning. Those are the kind of things in which I can place my faith. 

So I convince myself that I'm better off without some dorky dude in my life and I am happy that way. Until one day when I walk down the street and see one too many happy couples or hear about yet another person finding their soul mate in line at Citi Bank. It's then that I realize that maybe I'm not as invincible as I thought. 

As crushing as the realization that I'm not superhuman can be, I also really appreciate these moments. You have to understand, this is a pattern for me... 

1. Work obnoxiously hard.
2. Realize that I feel a little bit lonely.
3. Meet some guy and daydream just a little too much.
4. Get over it.

...And repeat cycle. I don't mind the pattern at all, though! It's a nice reality check, being reminded that I'm only human and all. Feelings, however messy and superfluous they may seem, can be the greatest quarries of inspiration. Of passion.

If you're getting anything from reading these blog posts, let it be this: my life's mission is the pursuit of passion. Without passion, you have nothing. Whether that passion is ignited through doing what you love or just loving someone else, let that passion thrive. And never write passion off. 

And finally: feel deeply, love endlessly, and live fearlessly. 

Sunny days and gentle waves

I'm sitting by the banks of the Charles, soaking in some sunlight, sipping an iced Americano, and taking a moment to breathe. 

Note to self: find more time to stroll down Pleasant St (literal and figurative) and feel the tree trunks swaying in the breeze. 

This is a short post, but don't underestimate its importance. It's easy to forget, but be sure to make some time to sit and think. 

Bittersweet

Today has been (and will continue to be) a fantastic day. We had one of my infamous ticket selling events to promote the Spring Musical, which allowed me to sit in the sun with a few of my favorite people for the good part of the afternoon. We also had Sitz Probe, which is the one time in the rehearsal process where all you're asked to do is rock out with the strength of a full band behind you. I spent some time in the studio with Greggles, and now we're off to dinner and Gatsby. Overall, a pretty wonderful day.

But I've been a bit off today. I don't know why, but I just didnt feel like interacting with people. I didn't really question it much today, but as I'm sitting in Greg's car with the music slightly too loud (in a good way), I find myself with time to think.

Just as I'm watching the world rush by me in this comfy CR-V, all the time that I thought I had left with a school that I love is rushing by me as well. I can't deny it any longer. 10 more pages in my assassin book and I will be a high school graduate. It will all be over.

This is the epitome of bittersweet for me. In many ways, it's time for me to leave, to start fresh, to grow. But my school is all that I know right now. It's my nest (moreso than my home ever was), and once I fly away I can never really return in the same way.

I'm going to lose a lot of people when I leave. How do I even begin to say goodbye when I know that it could be forever? I know who I'm going to try and stay in touch with, but I can only plan so much before life gets in the way.

When will I ever again spend such a nice day doing my favorite things with my favorite people? This big change in my life is robbing me of my most valuable possession: security. I no longer can be sure of where I stand. I probably won't be for a while after this.

But I am sure that I can't stop this train, so I might as well buckle in and enjoy the ride.

I'm Starting with the (wo)Man in the Mirror

I spent this evening working on a self-portrait in the studio and came home only to find that I brought most of the charcoal with me....

Working on a self-portrait is so much more difficult than I thought. The process has been a veritable seesaw of emotions. Before beginning, I was scared. I actually feel like there is some pressure and expectation that comes from a self portrait. What if I can't see myself accurately? Or what if I just don't like what I see? Once I started, it was frustrating when I wasn't seeing my own face emerge as quickly as I might have liked. However, I found a groove with the charcoal, and soon I was surprising myself with how quickly and satisfactorily it was coming along.

I worked uninterrupted for hours. I had music on and was shamelessly belting and dancing along. That's kind of my happy place: puttering along doing something I'm passionate about.

Eventually I hit a wall, though. I began to fixate on certain features, as well as get frustrated with the entire method that I'm using. I started doubting myself, and my deep-seated insecurities about my appearance seemed to be manifesting themselves in the areas of frustration I was seeing in my portrait. I haven't been insecure about my appearance in years. I mean, sure, I have bad hair days and acne, but I found my peace with my body and am proud to say that I feel comfortable in my own skin.

The irritation I was feeling with my appearance in my self portrait made me feel like a middle schooler again. Remember that? My teeth weren't straight enough, my stomach not flat enough, my face not thin enough, my hair not bouncy enough... The list goes on. I forgot how scary it is to feel uncomfortable in your own skin. If you don't feel comfortable there, where can you feel safe?

This all makes me think of some middle schoolers I was talking to today. I sat with them for a good long while, and it felt so good to hear them out and give them any and all advice I could throw at them. It's such a full-circle kind of thing, mentoring middle schoolers. They remind me just how recent all of that was for me, while also reminding me how much I've grown. And that makes me want to help them grow as much as possible too.

These two girls told me about cliquey-ness in their grade. God, I remember that. I remember "the Populars", groups like "the Fab Four", and most of all, feeling like an outcast. That was such a miserable time for me, and yet now I feel quite happy. What happened?

I learned to love myself. I guess that's my advice to anyone struggling with mean people and isolation. Focus on yourself for a while. Focus on you and your real friends. Learn to love yourself. Do the things you like to do, not what you think other people want you to do. Try new things. I promise that you will surprise yourself at least once. And most importantly, talk to someone about it all. Doesn't have to be someone your age, in your grade, or even someone you see regularly. Don't bottle it up. I promise there is someone out there who would love to listen to what you have to say. And if you don't believe me, I can be that someone for you. Gladly.

Much love.

Caffeinated and Covered in Charcoal

I'm doing a senior project in drawing, and my concentration is in portraiture. By being an artist, you're telling the world a lot about yourself.

For example: I chose portraiture because people fascinate me--especially the dichotomy between appearances and reality. I chose drawing because it's an incredibly personal way to interact with my subject and my art; I see a lot of myself in the portraits I make of others.

I end up surprising myself a lot in this endeavor. Meaning bursts forth in places and ways I could never have imagined. For instance, what does it mean that once of my final pieces in a grown man shrouded in darkness and the other is a little girl surrounded by white space? I have an idea, but I'd rather hear what someone else had to say about it.

Today someone said to me, "How come I never knew that you draw?" The thing is, I never knew that I could draw either.

I go through my life in a very specific way; I try new things, find things that I like/am good at and then pursue those and little else. As a result, it appears to the outside world that I'm good at everything I do, when in fact I choose to do the things I'm good at. (I'd also argue, however, that being good at something comes from loving it)

Drawing was something that I used to love when I was young (around the age of 7). One day though, I realized that I wasn't as good at it as I would have liked to be, and I just stopped. I had millions of other things to try, and it didn't pay to focus my energy into someone that simply wasn't yielding results.

I didn't pick up a pencil again in earnest for a decade after that. This past summer, which I spent hanging out with artistic friends, I was overcome with the urge to try again. So I bought a sketchbook and just drew what I saw. And I wasn't half bad!

So naturally I wanted to do my senior project in drawing: I just had to take advantage of the resources this school has to offer. Drawing calms the mind. I don't have to think as deeply as I usually do--I just focus on what I see.

Before today I was worried about not having enough to show for my final project. But I realized that even though I've been lacking inspiration for the past couple of weeks, it's those days of blind inspiration that will always keep me going.

Lights up

We're deep in the midst of tech for our theatre collective's mainstage production of The Drowsy Chaperone. Since I'm in the actor's shoes this time around, I found myself dreading the start of tech; in a way, it's the technicians' time, and we're there to make their lives easier. But when we got started, I realized that this is one of my favorite parts of the rehearsal process.

Technical rehearsals are when we begin to slide the formerly separate working components of the show together, and a lot of the time we close our eyes, cross our fingers, and pray under our breath that things will work out. It's a time of compromise, elation, disappointment, and stress. However, it is primarily the time when the theatre magic begins to happen.

I love sitting in the house and watching the production team work together in the same space for the first time. Every single aspect of production interests me; there's so much to learn from everyone in the room.

What I love the most, though, is working with people who care so deeply about what they do. The theatre is a house of emotion, and that emotion doesn't just come from the actors. People who do theatre don't just do it because they want to. For many of us, it's because we absolutely HAVE to (I'm referencing something a mentor once told me). I feel that burn of HAVING to do theatre, and it's always so comforting to know that there are others who are just as desperate for the theatre as I am.

Sitting in this multimillion-dollar theatre makes me scared. This is my last show in this space, and I have no way of knowing when my next show will be, and if I will ever work in a comparable space and environment again.

Knowing I want to pursue theatre is deeply frightening to me. There's no question of "if" in my mind, but rather of "how" I'm going to go about it. I can plan all I like, but in the end none of that matters. A lot of this world is being in the right place at the right time.

The fervor with which my enthusiasm burns is worrisome to me. Why? Because regardless of how much I love the theatre, that doesn't affect my talent.

In a way, that's not really important. I love theatre. I'm going to do it. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

She's only 18: Red Hot Chili Peppers

I am eighteen. I know that doesn't seem like much, but to me it means the world.

My maturity is something I really love about myself. It didn't come easy, but I've learned to see it as a great asset to whom I believe myself to be. To phrase it as a friend once did, "for better or for worse, you grew up really fast." As a result, I've acted like a twenty-something for the past couple of years.

In a way, it's fun being older than my years. Some of my closest friends are 4-6 years older than me, and I already feel comfortable with the young adult lifestyle that many of my peers are going to have to adjust to slowly. You always hear people say that they'd give anything to have more time to spend in their twenties--so in a way I guess I'm lucky to have begun to live this life before I was even seventeen.

But in many ways my maturity has felt like a curse. A lot of the time I feel like a twenty-something trapped in a high schooler's body. I have to adhere to the strict schedule that comes with adolescence, without having unfettered freedom to make my own choices. Until today, I didn't even technically own my own body! I couldn't sign for things myself, couldn't buy medicine (seriously: I was once carded for cold medicine when I had a fever of 102º), couldn't fully take care of myself in the eyes of the law. To some of the adults in my life, I was just a little girl who could play the part of an adult.

Usually twenty-one is the big one, but hell, I'm moving to Montréal. Eighteen is the big one. I have no problem with being eighteen for a while. Children always talk about how they just want to be grown up (see my "when I grow up" post). I feel like I've kind of made it in a way. Now, I'm not saying that I'm fully grown up--I like to think that I'll never be--instead I'm saying that I'm ready for time to go a little bit slower now. That's ridiculous of me, though, because from here on out I know that time is only going to slip away faster with every passing second.

I feel like my life is beginning. I know that life-as-I-know-it is ending (the graduation countdown is frighteningly real), but I like to think that life-to-come will be full of amazing and wonderful surprises. Plus, I'd rather look forward than linger on the past. There will be time in my nursing home to brood and reminisce and ponder. For now, I'm going to enjoy what's going to be a hell of a ride if I have anything to say about it.

Harmony

I'm feeling pretty zen right now, and I haven't even gone to yoga yet today! I'm currently sitting in my favorite cafe with a very-berry smoothie waiting on what I'm sure will be a wonderful power/yin yoga class. Yeah, I have quite a bit of work to do and things aren't necessarily perfect in my life, but little by little I'm learning that they don't have to be. 

I'm a huge House of Cards addict, and this one quote from Kevin Spacey's character just popped into my head: 

"Harmony--it is about individual voices coming together for a moment, and that moment lasts the length of a breath."

I find that quote to be so apt. Life isn't about constant harmony; in fact, if I learned anything from my decade of piano lessons, it's that dissonance can be more soul-wrenching than harmony. Life is instead about enjoying the little moments of perfect harmony, those moments when the metaphorical choir hits every note just right, moments that make my breath catch in my throat and the space behind my sternum burst with sunlight. Yeah, that's super corny, but that's how I feel. And I won't apologize for it.

Maybe it's the 30 days left mentality setting in; maybe it's the fact that I will finally (and I mean, finally) be eighteen in less than 48 hours; or maybe it's something as small as the warmer weather contributing to my personal photosynthesis. Whatever the reason, I'm finding myself noticing the beauty in my life just a little bit more today, and this feeling is something I want to preserve, like a firefly in a jar on a warm summer night (you're welcome to insert your own lame, girly analogy).

When I grow up

This video is a song from Matilda: The Musical. The good stuff starts at 0:45. I'm feeling a little dreamy-eyed and musical theatre-y, so bear with me. (Disclaimer: I'm always dreamy-eyed and musical theatre-y.) 

I just saw my beautiful friend's production of 13: The Musical. I'm so proud of her; she had a lead role and took every risk she could. She's grown in so many ways since that awkward September day in 2008, and I feel lucky that I got to see it all happen. Aside from the ineffable pride I'm feeling as a result of her performance, I found myself more affected by this show than I expected to be. Let me explain.

13 is about a (shocker) 13-year-old Jewish boy who has it tough at home and finds himself at a new school in suburban Indiana--a completely different world from the buzzing paradise of Manhattan where he grew up. He struggles to fit in, and the show is basically his middle school adventures and misadventures. Other wonderfully stereotypical yet shockingly relatable characters punctuate his monologues. They include: a moronic jock and a moronic cheerleader (who really just means well), a hot girl who is as conniving as she is slutty, a terminally ill kid on crutches who steals the show, and a nerdy girl-next-door who for some unnamed reason is shunned by the majority of the middle school.

While I'm neither Jewish nor a boy, I don't live in Indiana (thank goodness), and I'm not thirteen anymore, I found myself relating with this show on a few too many levels for my comfort.

It's been five years since I earnestly walked the halls of a middle school, and yet I still feel the abuse of those who are what I like to call, "middle-school-mean." I always say that, but only now after reliving middle school do I truly know what that means. "Middle-school-mean" is the girl who strokes someone's leg just to get to you, who lowers her voice and turns away when you ask a question, who plays stupid because she thinks it's cute (or maybe just plays up her own stupidity) and then mocks you for being sharp and smart, who pours poison into the ear of anyone who'll listen, who leaves you alone on an empty stage with a spotlight on you and no script.

A few hours I posted about how sad I am to be leaving this life behind me. That's still true. However, I am not sad to be leaving many people behind me. My aunt asked me today if I plan on keeping in touch with my high school friends. I answered more honestly than I realized; I'll keep in touch with no more than three or four. There is no more than a handfull of people that I will miss as I move forward.

I fervently hope that someday I'll find real friends. The kind that value your wit and sarcasm, who stand by you, who don't let their lives be governed by infatuation but instead by real pasion. Maybe someone in the real world will actually be able to love someone like me. I sure as hell haven't met anyone who'd be willing to do that--love me--yet. Someday I won't have to deal with not-so-silent judgement and chastising. Someday, maybe, I'll be able to just walk away from "middle-school-mean." Until then, though, I'll just sit here with my eyes stinging (half from a torn contact lens, half from loneliness).

Post-post-prom Ponderings

So I'm not the most adept at this whole "Prom" thing. It's kind of sad... There's not much to "doing prom": standing still for pictures, smiling like a normal human being, and dancing somewhat gracefully. Oops. As much as I love dressing up and looking fancy, sometimes I'd just rather be hanging out in jeans, studded boots, and big shades. Nevertheless, prom ended up being a blast. My friends are the people who are last to leave the dance floor, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Last night got me thinking though--this is the beginning of the end. I will become a legal adult in five days. Childhood is officially behind me. I'm going to graduate in four weeks. I have to say goodbye to a school that has been my home for the last six years (that's a third of my life to date, for those of you who are keeping score at home). I'm leaving the country for university. Life as I know it is ending, and a new life is about to begin.

Here's the thing: I'm ready to go, but I'm not ready to leave. Does that make sense? Saying goodbye to all that is familiar, safe, and trusted is harder than I could ever have imagined. That first picture up above this post is of my circa-2008 friend group five years later. We all changed; we grew; we lost those braces and that baby fat; we found out who we were, but not without some bumps and bruises along the way.

I was going to say, "April just flew by." But that's not true; the past six years have just flown by.

I guess that just means I'll have to savor every moment to come that much more.

Om.