i wrote this a few months ago and never published it. drama school lyf stuff…
i’ve been busy busy busy recently and have been constantly reminding myself to ‘immortalise’ how i’ve been feeling recently, particularly since that performance (that conflict thang) was last week.
in this case (annoyingly)…the “journey” really was the “destination” as my mum likes to say (too much). creating, laughing and thinking in depth was amazing. so was having the opportunity and chance to do something like this. we’re so fortunate to have it.
as a brief explanation, the performance contained glimpses of personal conflict within conflict zones through five simultaneous stories/movement sequences repeated over and over again for three hours. it aimed to explore human nature, violence, and how (or why) we keep repeating history.
specifically my story - or “the woman“‘s story (or “the loner’s” story as everyone liked to remind me) - delved into loss, memories, and starting again. it ended with hope but unfortunately, it wasn’t what stuck with me the most. at the start of the process (about a month ago), a person was absent and so i helped a friend to analyse and devise a sequence based on a horrific story. perhaps what made it more atrocious was that it was true; a man and his son were convicted for a crime (which i believe was trivial) by being stripped and bound, placed in a room, with the threat of their family being killed if one of them didn’t die in the hour. the father gave his life and with no other choice the son bit into his father’s neck.
digging deep to create something genuine, i had never been so upset or had such little control over my thoughts and feelings. never before had i even been close to exploring something i could truly identify with, the fact that there were so many thoughts going through my head about my own parents was horrible. i still can’t forget how torn i was between thinking the father was selfish to leave the son with the memory of killing his own father, or both living and allowing their family to die. how do you make a decision like that…
in any case, the sequence was created, and it was not ‘my’ story - it never was - but the possibility of spending the next four weeks uncovering so much reality was too much.
before ‘showtime’, our third year director told us that the person whose story it was had told him: he couldn’t remember the moment he killed his father, he only remembered their last embrace. i felt my emotions welling up even though it was no longer ‘mine’, and i could suddenly see beauty in what we had created. not just stories of conflict and hatred and change, but stories of honesty and love and endurance.
it went by much faster than i thought (the dress rehearsal dragged on…), but i was and am so grateful to have had the chance to dig deep and excavate my own thoughts, lay them out and even share some of them. the days after the performance, i was hopeful for the next rehearsal. but as i realised the bruises on my knees from the rehearsals fading, i knew i was losing something. but, it had it’s time and i’ve gained so much that it doesn’t matter.