Fail Better, Let Love Continue To Love, And Remember Until The Ends Of Time.
Entry posted by Arch-Angel
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Routine lives are usually what drives insanity. A man that works a 9 to 5 job in a cubical without any social life outside of his prison will damage his mental stability.
Unless his daily life is either one of two things:
1. Removal of routine and do something different which may change up every once in a while.
2. Keep with a routine, BUT... the routine evolves differently every day.
That's Number 2 for me- Rehearsal.
Rehearsal for my show, '¡Bocón!', this week was nothing short of great. This was the final week for rehearsal before we were up on stage performing for our first our school, then our family + friends, and finally for the preliminary round of Festival.
Everything is great from Monday to Thursday. Our performance level grew better each coming day. We felt ready for our performances coming up; so ready that it felt kind of repetitive.
Friday, February 27th 2009
Our first performance was in the morning during D Period for all the Spanish classes and my Acting class. The feeling backstage was one that basically said, "Here we go for the hundredth time, only with 300+ classmates."
That was the only thing routine about this week.
Soon after I walked out of the dressing room, the vice principal pulls me out of my crowd of amigos, grabs a social worker, and a cop.
Son of a...
I knew what this was exactly for too.
Two weeks ago, were had to write journal entries. But these entries had to based off the assignment they gave us: Creative Writing. Write a short story. Simple, right?
Then they gave us the category of fear.
Even simpler. We all fear something.
So I talk to my English teacher and told him that this was not foreshadow, but a legitimate fear. He said okay, and I figured that was that. I wrote my rough draft of the fear. I handed it to him and reminded him it was fear. He said it was a pretty good story, the fear being under siege. He understood. The fear was a school shooting. Nothing scared the ###### out of me more than Columbine or Virgina Tech repeat. What can be worse than facing a gun at a place you consider safe?
So when, at the end of that week, we had to finish the story and type it up, and the only story I could give an ending to was the 'fear' rough draft. It gave a setting, a character I could use, protagonists, antagonists, the works. I'm a writer, I go for this. I've taken a Creative Writing class (any long-time readers will know THAT was "fun" up until the last day), and I love to read, so I believe I can write a suspenseful story if need be.
I wrote it up, full two pages, double spaced in MLA format, and turned the dang thing in.
Now here I am, a cop staring at me, a social worker thinking every sentence I say is a hidden message that I need help, my vice principal, and the principal.
Apparently there is no precaution you can take.
I explain everything in detail, answer every question, and I stayed honest. Honesty is the only way I get out of most of my problems. Even with what I said, even explaining that I told my English teacher before and after and had him proof-read the rough draft, they weren't convinced. I understand their reaction, I just don't understand the over-reaction.
They called a 24-hour Psychology Service to psychologically evaluate me, to see if I was 'safe'. The vice principal goes to see my English teacher to see if what I said was true. The officer waits to spice things up.
Apparently my English teacher has selective memory, because he recalls nothing of the sort WHICH DID HAPPEN. I didn't another word for my fear could be "under siege" if it wasn't him.
The psychologist comes in, a woman, nice lady. By the end of the questions and conversation and she sees me as safe and fine and NO THREAT TO ANYONE. They call my mom at work asking to come over to see how I react around her with this information. She's got bills to pay, she sends my sister who is also my legal guardian. Everything is fine. my sister understands me. The psychologist understands me. They are dubbed the only sane people in my head.
Cue Officer Pain-In-My-
He says that he and another officer should go over to my apartment and search my room for weapons. I let them search my pockets, my backpack, et cetera. Now with no evidence, they want to search my room.
I let them. I didn't want to go through the process of them getting a warrant if I refuse, and I figured the less I fight, the better I prove my innocence.
Hard to do when you have a lying teacher, a social worker that like to put the exclamation point at the end of all my sentences, and a overly cautious hard-headed rude cop wanting to prove you guilty, thinking you're in need of mental help.
He comes back, finds nothing. He even went on my bookface plus mypersonalspace.
LOOK AT ALL THE EVIDENCE THEY HAVE AGAINST ME:
1. A paper about my fear of school shooting, guns, and all that THEY are afraid of.
Fascinating.
So the psychologist is told to set up an appointment for counseling on Monday. My sister comes by (she went with Officer Rudemuch) and picks me up from school. I didn't go to one class, not one. I was aggravated.
My sister and I talk in the car as she took me out to lunch at the local Brazilian Steakhouse. The one good thing from all of this was that I got closer to my family. We were all aggravated from this.
I get home around 3:30PM and have 2 and a half hours to get back to the school to prepare for the night showing of '¡Bocón!'. Relax a bit, take an Advil in case the knees start acting up later on and to take care of the headache I got from the whole... thing, and took a shower.
Went to the show, got make-up on, costume, played my role, took care of the set, had dinner that night with the rest of the cast, carried on.
Perfect way to end a horrid day, and it was still a bad day.
But the best memory I had that night was at the end of my show, my dad walked up to the stage and got Steve (our set designer, practically my American dad) to call me. The moment I walked onto the stage and saw him, I ran and jumped off the stage and hugged him as tight as I could.
'¡Bocón!' is a story about the journey a 12-year-old boy from El Salvador trying to cross the border into Los Angeles after his parents are taken by the soldiers controlling the country with an iron fist.
My family immigrated here, my distance families immigrated here, and more of my family with immigrate here. I know this story. I know the people who've experienced it. They are mi familia. To see something telling the struggle... what more could I ask for?
Saturday, February 28th 2009
Festival.
It was a lot like Theater Exchange, except most of the schools kept to themselves because... it's a competition (not like it's a sport 
Oh freshman drama children...).
When we went up to our play, the feeling of the play suddenly changed. It was serious atmosphere. This was what we prepared for since December. Time to pull out our best and aim for the prize.
We received a heck of an applause after our performance, which, even though we got a good crowd reaction, still left us a bit nervous as to if we would move on to the semi-final round. We striked the set, went back to our dressing room, got changed and back into the theater to watch the last show.
I get a call later on.
My mom and my sister came in five minutes late. They couldn't see the show because the ushers outside wouldn't let them in. My mom cried, angry with herself. Sister told me she kept saying how this was the one moment I've been living for in months and when I wanted to show her, she messed up by being late.
I wasn't surprised. Really, my mom's late for nearly everything. So at first hearing this news, I was fine.
It didn't take long before getting under my skin.
This was something I wanted to show them so badly. It was my pride and glory. No other show I could do could carry more inner meaning to me than this one. And the possibility of not going to the semi-finals to give another opportunity to see me was enough to shoot down my happiness.
Rachael saw the look on my face and knew something was up.
Leave it to a girl to crack me open. How do they do that? Nevermind, I already know.
I confess the stress to her and she attempts to encourage me. She told me that '¡Bocón!' was awesome and their is no way we couldn't get into semis. Doubt still lingered in me and of course, she knew. She distracted me with her humor and by switching topics, and eventually they worked. I was distracted by it. Even more so when we went downstairs to the Festival Dance in the cafeteria.
Flashing lights, deafening sound of songs, single chicas?
All I needed was a Pepsi and I was halfway to being home.
I danced mostly with Rachael. She has a boyfriend, and she knows I want her to only be my friend even if sometimes the Crush Rush lands on her. So with this in our minds, we didn't have any trouble dancing away; fast dancing or slow dancing.
By the end of the dance, I think I danced with five girls, picked up two, did one group dance, and lost five pounds.
The time came for the Award Ceremony, and everyone at the dance walked back to the theater. This was the moment of truth for all of us. The judges that saw our plays would now hand out awards for each person(s) that they felt deserved it, and at the end announce which three plays out of the seven that competed tonight would move on.
The Award Ceremony was exciting, and each time you heard one of the judges describe the winner you felt either you were it or someone in your play was. There was a time where a judge described my character and some of my friends up front guessed me quietly, though I thought it wasn't me. I chuckled at myself when I was right and didn't get the award. It didn't matter to me. They can keep their awards. I just wanted '¡Bocón!' to move on to the semi-finals.
When the time came for the plays that'll move onto semis, everyone grabbed hands. The first play was announced; Weston's For All The Wrong Reasons moved on! They wrote the play themselves, and included a perfect sense of emotion and comedy. You could give empathy to each character and laugh at the silly jokes they gave. But at the end of the play, your eyes swelled up with tears as you saw a man's life broken by his ignorance of responsibility.
We gave an applause and held hands again.
I prayed. I prayed hard. I begged and begged and pleaded and I don't think I stopped until I heard the next name.
"¡Bocón!"
We jumped in the air at the news. Everyone started hugging the other. I started thanking the Lord.
We sat down and waited for the next name.
Algonquin's The Underpants! My favorite comedy play I've seen so far is moving on! I don't care if they're competition, they're acting is great, their script is great, their execution of saying things that would make me start rofling on stage was great!
The judges said good night and we got up and started doing what we been urging to do: hug each other.
In the mist of hugging Rachael, I suddenly realized something.
My mom and my sister will get to see my play. Everything this play has to say, I get the chance to say it to them again.
I started tearing up again.
Then I just started crying I was so freakin' happy.
After clearing up the water works, I went around, joining the hug fest celebration with the rest of the cast. We go out to eat at Friendly's, have a grand time, and I finally go home with the good news.
Monday, March 2nd 2009
Snow day.
Tuesday, March 3rd 2009
Fifteen minutes before first period ended, I get a call to go to the main office.
Sean warns me. The main office is the Principal's territory. No good news will come from it.
I knew that. After what happened Friday...
I get down there, and roll my eyes the moment I see our Friendly Law Enforcer, Officer Pain-In-My- through the office windows. I hoped this wasn't about Friday... again.
Walk in, am introduced to the Principal's office, where four people at a round table sat waiting, and one empty chair waiting for me.
I take a seat and the discussion begins.
After realizing my existence on Friday, the Principal was informed by my grade office principal that my grades weren't good enough to be in this play. They let me perform on Friday and Saturday because they heard the news that day and there wasn't enough time to replace my role. I received four F's last semester, but my midterm grades were great. Even then, though I am showing improvement, I cannot be allowed to be in it.
There went everything.
I lost my motivation in school that moment. Whatever got my progress up, that was gone. I don't like school. Who does? I stayed in school because I met these people. I lost the people I love since coming to this town, and I finally find people I can love. I find something that allows me to send a message to the community, to the world, and it has closer meaning to me than anything else I've found on stage. Being in that play made me drive for better grades. Made me drive to maybe make a career out of it. Be an actor on stage? Perform in theaters in Boston? Perform on Broadway? Perform on the road? Perform in a movie? Perform in a award-winning movie? Perform in an Oscar-winning movie? I always wanted a little golden man on a mantel in my living room.
But most of what shot me in the heart was the fact I'll never be able to perform that play for my mother. Ever. Because they can't see the reason I went from failing four classes to one class is because they're looking at the person I was before I changed with this drive.
The thought of it lights a fire in me. An angry fire. NOW I want to shoot somebody!
I lost everything that drove me in the school, so did you think I cared what came out of my mouth? I kept my logic up as I insulted each one that played a role in this since Friday.
"I got a cop outside the door that thinks the slightest twitch I make means I'll shoot up the school, a principal that thinks I'm obsessed with Columbine and Virgina Tech, a English teacher upstairs with selective memory as to what material he reads, a vice principal that didn't know a thing about me and tries to be my friend, a social worker that likes to put the exclamation point at the end of every sentence I speak, and this all rounds up together with me getting kicked off the one thing that's been driving me to do better in school, friends that'll believe I've betrayed them, still going to an English class being taught by someone with amnesia, and random psychiatric counseling sessions because you all think because I have a 'troubled past' which means I could possibly eventually pose a threat to this school! I don't have any problems in my life right now until you guys saw me and tried to fix a problem that wasn't there. Congratuations, you've made a problem. You got rid of my motivation, got rid of my social life, and gave me unnecessary counseling."
They asked if I wanted to see the social worker. I told them the last person I wanted to see was him. They believed I wasn't in the right frame of mind to go to class and see the English teacher that started it all, and they were right. I would've started throwing words at him that would've left the man bruises. I would've lashed out harder and faster than I ever have had before. For all I knew, I would've punched the man in the jaw and simply walk out of the room as if nothing happened.
They asked again if I wanted to see the social worker.
"I don't want Mr. (social worker), I want my God!"
Figured the only thing at the time that could give me any comfort was a Bible.
They said they had to leave me with a trusted adult until they felt I was calm enough to go back to class. Fair enough. No one popped up in my head that was available, so I got...
The accursed social worker!
My vice principal was walked in with a Bible after spending fifteen minutes in SW's office. Spent the next hour trying to read various parts of it and commenting back on his questions. I couldn't get a peaceful moment out of it unless he walked out of the room to handle other business.
Eventually I was able to calm down enough to prove to him I could go to class without having an incident.
Walking down the hallway where most of the Drama Company gang hangs out isn't fun when they all know you're out of the show that means the world to you.
Rachael grabbed me yet again and I vented to her what happened.
After school, I went home and by force of the school because of Friday's incident and the Social Worker dude, I was brought to the freakin' psychiatric counseling. More venting. I rambled on and on about the day and how much Drama meant to me, and how it was gone. After a half hour, I got a slip again proving I'm sane and I I was to give this paper to SW.
I left the building, headed over to the Dunkin' Donuts next to it, ate a Turkey-Bacon-Cheddar flat bread and a Diet Pepsi, and waited for my sister to drive me home.
I got two or three hours of sleep that night.
Wednesday, March 4th 2009
I woke up feeling stranger. I felt lost, yet on a set path. My eyes burned with each glance at light. I knew today was to be a busy day. Had paperwork to hand out.
I grabbed my shades and didn't bother shaving, and headed out the door.
Once I got to school, I made a bee line through the drama kids and only stopped for one hug from Vanessa.
I went on a hunt for the social worker. It took 15 minutes and I couldn't grab breakfast because of it, and I handed to paper of proof I went to the unnecessary counseling.
After school I went to the rehearsal to watch the show for the first time offstage.
I felt uneasily when my replacement went up on stage as my character. He doesn't have the happy loud-mouth father figure I wanted my character Luis to have. He's a great actor, one of the best we have, but I've worked on this character for three months... he had until March 14th.
By the end of the play, I was in tears. Not because of the fact I wasn't onstage, but the message was sent to me rather than me helping to send the message.
It felt so strange being on the other side of the theater...
March 5th skipped to March 14th 2009, Drama Festival Semi-Final Round
After a near-hour bus ride to Andover, Massachusetts, we get off and head into our assigned classroom, which is basically given to us to put in whatever personal crud we feel necessary to leave in there.
I didn't have anything so I took the gallon of water they gave us and the tiny paper cups and had a shot row. I felt kind of dry.
After watching six plays in a row including our play (Beyond Tolerance, ¡Bocón!, forgot the name of this one whoops, Tom Jones, History & Poetry, and Sakuntala), go to a 'dance' (it was horrible, the cafeteria had a glass wall thing, lighting the place with sunlight and we wanted something along the lines of a Under 18 Club? Me and about fifteen other actors/crew went outside and played extreme catch), we went back into the theater to attend the Award Ceremony.
The Award Ceremony was full of tension in the air. It seemed all friendliness is gone. It's Finals or bust. Happily we got quite a few awards for our cast and crew, all of whom deserved it. The look on their faces when they were completely bewildered they got anything built up the happiness you had for them, mostly because it was entertaining to see.
Though through each chosen actor and technical crew member that received an award, you got the build up of nervousness. Did our play pass? That school's play was amazing, and I wasn't watching me on stage. Oh boy...
Finally.
The time came.
We held hands once again. I had a corner seat and had to cross my arms yet still reach my friend Harry behind me. Dang near start choking myself trying to hold it.
"And in no particular order, the first play that will go on the Final Round of Festival is...
¡Bocón!"
We leaped into the air. It was Hug Fest '09 from there.
"And the second school to go with ¡Bocón! to the Final Round is...
Sakuntala!"
We got up and applauded Cambridge Rindge & Latin School onto passing Finals. The judges said good night and everyone went right back into the hug fest. The excitement and happiness we felt overwhelmed some to tears, but the ear-to-ear grin on my face was good enough.
March 21st, 2009
The last week, I was feeling cold.
Not an emotional cold.
Not a "I have a runny nose" cold.
A "The very blood the run through my veins has been laced with icicles" cold.
I was shivering. I wore multiple layers in weather that should only require a sweatshirt.
The touch of anything remotely cold sent me shivers so strong you could hear the chatter of my teeth across a room. My sister and mom have noticed I ran light and high fevers throughout the week, and something wasn't right.
I wore my thinsulate gloves, my heavy jacket and my sweatshirts just to feel comfortable as if in room temperature. At night, I bundled up on thick blankets whenever I went to bed, still shivering, and woke up in cold sweat.
After serving my Saturday School detention, my sister picked me up.
When my sister picks me up, there is always consequence. If she has to pick me up, there will be no such thing as going straight home, but instead a trip across the county of Middlesex, Massachusetts.
I'm still bundled up in my sweatshirt and jacket, and holding even a can of soda that was in the freezer can make me feel like I'm naked in a blizzard. So when I go into the Liquor Store and buy a water bottle and Diet Pepsi, wait in car as my sister is getting fitted in a Bride's Maid's gown, I turn on the heater.
When I was finally relaxed, she came back and turned off the heater, telling me it was too hot. The moment she rolled down the windows and we were up and running, I started the shivering. After a while, she sympathized with my chills, turned on the heater to guard me from the cold wind of the window she kept down on her side.
Suddenly, my vision changed. It was as if the sun was behind a cloud the entire time that bright day. The road lit up. It started growing shades of brightness and things became white. My nausea grew and I started taking deep breaths, thinking it would help (it didn't). I was demanding with what I could for her to pull over. She parked the car, I got out, and my stomach made it's final turn before I spilled.
It was mostly water. I know you were curious.
My sight was back, and some people stared in the Walgreen's parking lot.
I honestly thought we were on a highway, not in-town. My vision at the time didn't help.
After calming down and my sister calling my mom as she went inside Walgreens to buy me Ginger Ale and Chicken Noodle Soup as directed, we decided to wait for my dad. After all, he lived in the town and he was the closest responible one who knew what do to (mom went on a Church retreat). After some discussion with him, we figured we let me off at home and see how the day went out.
Three or four hours later and a few Advils, I felt good enough to go out with my dad for dinner.
I felt as if I just woke up from bed, and dragged my feet as we walked in the mall. The dinner was simply half a glass of water, an untouched glass of Diet Pepsi, and Calm Chowder (my favorite).
When we walked back to the car, I felt nausea again, but it ended up with nothing.
I go home, go to sleep, and hope Sunday will tell me the sickness is gone.
March 22nd, 2009
It was 3AM when my sister woke me up. She said I was going to the emergency room because as she came in to check up on me, my fever each time was a different temp, all hot.
Now, I hate hospitals. I hate the ER. Not because of personal reasons, but financial reasons. We have no health insurance, and keeping my health is a priority for me sometimes, simply so I don't have to give my parents this bill to worry about.
But what can I do when I have orders from both mom and dad?
In the ER, they draw a vile of blood and test that for... something. I get the usual round of questions sent at me, and with Advil PM in my system, caring is hard enough.
An X-Ray showed I had a beginning stage of pneumonia and was told the most likely reason of my misery was probably Mononucleosis. The doctor said she felt 99% sure, but I needed a Mono Spot Test to confirm. I'm prescribed a 5-day antibiotic medication for the pneumonia and we were off by the crack of dawn.
March 24th, 2009
I see my actual doctor, the pediatrician who been taking care of me since I tiny enough to punt. At that point, I felt much better. Headaches and fevers don't come and go, and I feel at 100%. He checks all the symptoms one should have for Mono and cleared that I had another infection and the antibiotics I took for the pneumonia took care of both.
What a relief.
March 26th, 2009
The first day of Finals. Not much to say other than the John Hancock Theater needs Pepsi.
The excitement of Finals is brought up to a point where making friends with other schools seems easier. It was without tension, but no one can be sure there won't be any once the Final Award Ceremony begins.
Unfortunately, I'm not in the play.
But look, I'm still with the people I love. I have them, I have my grades up, and I have my self-respect. I have who I am, and it is who I want to be. Life isn't easy, I still have my pressures, sure, but who doesn't? Not like tomorrow I won't face another batch, and then another. It's my life, and though I write it down in this blog, I'm not complaining. I want these memories. I hate when I come to this chair and type things I have vague memory of, so what I have now is what I am. These are my memoirs, my journal, my biography, and my portal into deep thought of my own reality.
And I wouldn't trade my memories for the world.
Try again. Fail again.
Fail better.
~AA
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