When you’ve had a bad hair day for the past 2 weeks, and you give up pruning your messy mane because you have to make it to class on time, and you make that quick stop to the gas station, really to get an Ensure because you’ve missed dinner, but your car really is the one that needs that fuel and after you’ve filled your car’s thirst, it decides to play a silly joke on you by not starting for 5 of the longest minutes you’ve ever had. Then after all of the commotion you finally make it, ‘on-time’ and your gorgeous classmate leans over and whispers, “Uhmm, you know you’re sweating right?” And you look down and see 2 gigantic sweat pools formed on your lucky shirt that you made sure to iron this time, right underneath your armpits, and you still try to keep positive, you know it’s because a casting director is visiting your class. And not just any casting director, but your “first”; bad hair, comedic cars and pools of sweat can’t stop you from having an archaic smile on your face; because you need to make a good first impression.
So much for a good first impression.
I got my favourite character to perform for the cold-reading! NOT L I had to play a hysterical sobbing girl, a heightened scene, escalating when the actor I played alongside danced around and said silly things. I tried. I honestly did. I felt I did alright. I even did one of my signature ‘happy-jumps’ afterwards. But hysterical sobbing…well…let’s just say that didn’t happen. I could feel that the Casting director was not impressed. I felt so small. I let myself down; and my brilliant acting coach also. What was all his good coaching for? Certainly not for me to crumble because I couldn’t manufacture the water-works. The impressive casting director asked me two questions, “Where are you from? And how long have you been here?” That was it…The bright side? I had stopped sweating… L
Good reviews were heard from my classmates after the Casting director had gone, and my professor also gave great feedback. They felt proud and they should be! I was excited for them, but I couldn’t help but feel disappointment well-up inside me. Humph! Now would be a good time to cry. Bother those tears! Always coming when the action was over! If only I had that special person to talk it over with; the one that’d comfort me and tell me, “Don’t worry, it’ll be alright, you’re special to me!” But no, I couldn’t call my parents, because their time-zone was definitely ‘deep-sleep’ and besides all they’d offer me was, “Why don’t you come back home…in the Caribbean you don’t need film, just the beach and a hearty lobster meal…” Sometimes I’d think they were right…I mean I journeyed all the way here without family, struggling and learning a completely different culture, chasing a dream. And I didn’t even have that special someone to comfort me… on those off-days; who was I kidding? I’d spent enough wishes on falling stars and positive attitude to keep spending it alone. Why couldn’t he just pick up the phone and call me…I’d always do it for him.
So making my way out of the parking structure, there it came. Not the phone call, but water-works, the hot kind. Good thing it was night-time. Good thing there were hardly any cars on the road. Good thing all I had to do was go home. Go home to my dark apartment, thanks to my hellish roommate who liked it more dark than bright; because she was part vampire; part bi-polar. It was the perfect environment to really get hysterical in. But I looked away from the red-traffic light and saw a sign saying, “Be proud of yourself for who you are, not for what you do!” My eyes extend into anime-mode and I’m in shock at what it reads. I read it again. It was true. I knew I was a good person…I knew I had the talent and the love, I just wish others could see it too…how could I make them see it?
The journey continues… J