WRIT 340 Writing Project #1: Thank the Mess

6 September 2023

After my first year of kindergarten, I noticed that I didn’t make too many friends. My parents chalked it up to my introversion, a trait I carried with me all my life. Through countless attempts to get me to socialize, I only ever had one or two good friends at a time. I was never popular; in fact, I had been subjected to bullying for as long as I can remember. Insecurity crept in, and I felt ashamed to be the person who I was. However I walked, spoke, or played sports in physical education, I was taunted for something that I didn’t even quite understand myself. I was just different, for all I knew. And being different wasn’t bad. I was just… different. So as time went on, I found my group of friends, all also different in their own ways. We would tell stories, play video games, and come up with ideas for projects together. We swore to work together on these things and used our imagination to envision a world we created, where the possibilities truly were galaxies beyond our comprehension. With my technological expertise partnered with a passion for video games, I was sure that I knew exactly what I wanted to do. This was, of course, until I found out that being a professional video game player was not really a high paying, high-demand job. It was, still, a great way to pass the time.

In middle school, my friends and I began to part ways as some went to different schools, and some of us grew apart. Naturally, I was growing too, and I discovered a strong love for science. Inspired by the television show The Flash, I became fascinated with the fantastical elements of quantum theory: teleportation, the multiverse, time travel. After years of uncertainty of my future, I figured–yes, this was it! I found my calling! I just have to figure out how to discover the impossible from photons and electrons. This was, undoubtedly, the most unrealistic of my dreams. Still, my inspirational science teacher gifted me a book on quantum mechanics, a gesture so kind and motivational that I took the book with gratitude and care. Kindness was not uncommon to me, but this gesture informed me that he believed in me–something I hadn’t even heard much of from my own family. I was determined to make him proud, to go to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and create a quantum computer capable of better understanding the universe and our place in it. I was sure that this was my purpose, and I was as excited as the atoms I would be studying and with a future brighter than every star in the sky.

Less than a year later, my passion for quantum mechanics died, along with any joy I had of learning. As a freshman in high school, I was required to take physics with a teacher who was as boisterous as he was impertinent. A rigorous workload, twelve projects, an unforgiving absence policy, and a generally callous and unforgiving manner from the teacher made me kiss goodbye to any passion I had for physics. If I could barely make it through that one class, would I even make it to MIT? I turned my attention to theatre, after a friend from my eighth grade physical education class suggested that I join. While acting had crossed my mind here and there (I took a video production class in eighth grade where we wrote, performed, and edited skits before premiering it to the entire school), I wasn’t entirely sure that I was ready to give up on science. After all, it would be a high-paying, possibly more-stable job than the precariousness of being an actor. Nevertheless, it was worth a shot.

I took my first step into a theater as an actor on my first day of high school. I remember every moment vividly, as sweet as chocolate and as terrifying as my father’s own unfulfilled dreams. A class packed with nearly thirty other students, and I was afraid of standing out. Ironically, I always chose the seats in the theater farther from everyone else–which, of course, drew more attention to me. I was insecure. I was an introvert. I had no idea how to engage with a group of people who I had no experience with, and I felt like an impostor. The first exercise we did was a name-learning exercise, where we said our names out loud first, before playing the game. After the teacher encouraged me to participate first, I misunderstood the instructions, saying the name of a girl I knew from across the circle: Allison. I told everyone that my name was Allison, and the class erupted in laughter. I turned red, embarrassed, but everyone was quick to tell me that it was okay. This was the first time that I felt accepted by the people around me. This was the first time that I knew a home away from home.

Still, old habits die hard. I sat away from the group for two weeks, until a senior began to sit with me every day. She was the coolest, smartest, and kindest person I had ever met, and probably ever will. Invigorated by her charm and with a little bit of pressure, she got me to audition for the first play of the year: The Outsiders. As a ‘nobody’ at this school, I was sure that it wouldn’t go so well for me–and as far as auditions were concerned–I was right. In the middle of a haphazardly written monologue from some self-proclaimed writer on the internet, I forgot my lines. I asked for another chance, which was granted, and only led to the same thing. This happened a total of four times, and on the fifth, I finally got it right. I left the stage that day with no faith in myself. To my surprise, I was cast as the supporting character of Sodapop Curtis, the older brother of the lead, Ponyboy. Thus, I began my long journey of self-discovery as it pertains to being an actor.

Learning how to act among a group of people who had been doing theatre for years prior didn’t come without its challenges. I felt far behind everyone else, who knew how to sing and dance in a way that I had never been taught. I was lucky enough to have a director in high school who saw me for my potential: not just what he saw on the surface. He respectfully pushed me toward my goals and roused my spirits to set my sights on something bigger than myself. I didn’t know it then, but every face I had ever seen on a movie screen was mine. I was always in wonder of movies–how they made me understand myself in a way I couldn’t before. I realized that I wanted to do this for other people; I wanted to help people feel their emotions and discover themselves. I wanted to tell stories, and more than that, I wanted to tell them truthfully and correctly. If I were to be an actor, I would have to find where that honesty lied in myself and bring it forward. We have one life, and knowing that, I knew that I had to make the best of what I had and use my talents to drive me further into the unknown. I was scared.

Now that I’ve spent two years in college, I still find myself facing tremendous storms of ups and downs. I’ve faced a wealth of rejection, loss, and anxiety. However, the one thing that is different now than years ago, is that I have been here before. I know that despite the challenges I remain undeterred. I cannot be confined by the fears of being wrong. I see exceptionally talented people at my school–people my own age doing things that I once thought were unimaginable for me. I can achieve the impossible. I can go to space and see the stars, be whoever I want to be. That is what being an actor is all about. But more than that, I can write any story I ever wanted to. I don’t have to be told what I can and can’t, should or shouldn’t do. I have the world in the palm of my hand, and I am the artist who can shape it into something better. I can use my talents to inspire others to construct a world where people work for the good of each other, rather than for their own self gain. I may have to start small, but isn’t that where every great artist started?

There was once a point where I had no idea where I was going to go after high school. I didn’t get into five out of the seven colleges I had applied to, I was waitlisted for one, and was waiting to hear back from the last. There was a point where I thought all hope was lost, and that I had exhausted my options. But then, I landed on my feet. Things worked out. I got accepted into my top choice for college: The University of Southern California. They say that progress isn’t linear–in fact, it is anything but. There are setbacks, loops (sometimes for months), small steps forward, and crumbs of hope that we must cling on to. They add substance to our stories and means that where we end up is just that much more significant. Without being lost for even just a moment, we never would pioneer what lies beyond the horizon of our knowledge. We are beautiful with every scar that our journey gives us, every grief that makes our hearts ache, and every truth that we discover for ourselves. I am grateful for the mess.