tomorrow is our permanent address

So the parents put Ang Babae sa Septic Tank on while we were having lunch, and maybe if I'd seen it any other day I would have been resolutely unimpressed by it just because everyone else thought it was wonderful, but it's today and I suppose I still feel something too close to bruised and sore and miserable for comfort, so it made me laugh.

I am tired, I am so, so tired, even though this is probably the least tiring module ever and also mostly my fault, because hello Arsenal-Milan at 3:45 in the morning, but I can't not- and isn't this the root of all my problems, I don't do things because I want to, I do them because I can't not. I don't even want Mediscene anymore- I say this every year and maybe I mean it every year, too, but getting the main cast in one place for long enough to make one full run is like herding cats, people, like herding cats no one told you were tigers, and I may have to drop the play-within-a-play thing after all because I cannot get extras, and dry run was rescheduled because the Culture Comm people didn't get hold of whoever was in charge of Class 72 Theatre, and of course Globe chooses today to cut off my phone services. And the stupid research protocol Googledoc refuses to cooperate with me, and it's sweltering like high summer, and I don't even know if I'm doing this whole directing-thing correctly, I don't know if I'm actually getting anything done that the cast wouldn't do on their own except for maybe put them all in one place, and second-guessing yourself will always be necessary, because otherwise you'd be self-righteous and completely unbearable, but I don't know when I'm no longer being logical and I don't have the time, I don't have the time. I don't want to do this next year- hell, I don't want to do this now, but I signed up for the job. It's not like I wouldn't have been doing it even if I hadn't.

And I'd like to say that I want to go back to when things were less complicated, but I can't for the life of me remember when that was.

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In completely unrelated news, I love my production team, and I love all my housemates.

Sed passed sign-up sheets for Mediscene actors and props people around the class this afternoon and they came back filled and I feel like I've won the Lotto; that is: I have probably been happier, but I can't remember when.

I missed this, this wonderful electric feeling of grabbing people and making something and making that something work, and of course I'm so fucking scared of creating something that is pure dissection with no emotional core and of course I'm going to screw up and of course that will all be irrelevant tomorrow, because tomorrow we are going to have our first read-through and I've been asked when auditions were, I haven't had to do auditions since Garnet, because I have the best team ever and because I am director, my job is to get stressed and not to be scared of anything, and because not doing the play is not anywhere near the list of options that can be counted as acceptable. And there's an actual Facebook group (I use my Facebook now, more or less; my mental justification is that his love story ended in tragedy and ruin, so I may as well use his site) and this is going to happen. It's the best thing in the world. Cough drops have nothing on it.

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(Listen to me, kids: you have to pick all the fights, and then decide which ones aren't worth following through on, because one day you won't be able to, and that will change everything.)

I cannot call the shots. I can tell the person calling the shots that they're doing it wrong and this is how to do it better, I can pass on the shots with my added caveats and comments and general advice, I can fire away suggestions and run through everyone else's and make the result something we can work with, but I cannot be the person who throws ideas in the air to be gunned down and improved upon (and the way I structured that sentence already says a lot) and who has to put it all together. My entire existence depends on opposition and reaction and irritation at people doing things wrong. I cannot be the person who does things wrong to begin with.

Summary of that paragraph would be Lord, let this cup pass from me, if anyone were there to listen. I am not Prince Hamlet, and I'm not William Shakespeare either, but then again William Shakespeare never got anywhere by despairing about his inability to be William Shakespeare. (If someone tells me that this means that I ought to be despairing about my inability to be Kit Marlowe I will punch them, if I don't laugh first.) I am not our director*, but damn if we don't make this play the best play we can make it.



*All of a sudden I sympathize with all the directors I've ever rowed with. I suppose I get to be one sort of stupid in high school and another sort of stupid now.

Or, what the hell did I think I was doing, part 2 of X.

Because, Mediscene.*

I want to enter. I want to enter and drag in Allison and Billy and Meg and Sed and Vincen and Niko and everyone with a good punchline (i.e. everyone) to write the script, if only so I can not have to. I want to create something sharp and funny and satirical and honest, something without the easy answers people expect from everything, something that is only smart and only tragic because it is true. I want to direct the whole thing and actually be a half-decent director, because one thing I learned in high school is that knowing what a good director should be like does not make you one. I want the ideas to translate to the stage. I wouldn't even mind failing everything if it meant that the play would work.

So Allison filled up the entry form and the classmates pretty much said okay, and. Well. I don't know if I'm good enough, I don't know if we'll have the time, et cetera, et cetera, we're used to this. In theory, the solution is easy; in practice, not so much.




*College of Medicine + play = Mediscene. If you came up with this name, I don't like you.

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So this morning on the way to school I only looked one way when crossing the street, because Pedro Gil is a one-way street, and so I got hit by a pedicab going in the direction you're not supposed to go in. The pedicab driver was wearing a Ronaldinho Barcelona jersey.

Say whatever else you like about the universe, chances are I've said it too, but don't say it doesn't have a sense of humor.

Hindi ako marunong magbilang. Ang kasunod ng Scene 4, Scene 6.

And theatre is a bundle of love and hate and nerves and panic and Salzella doesn't know how right he is, and it's all worth it in the end, if only because even you want to laugh at your own punch lines.

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I owe many thanks.

Main cast- you guys were awesome, all of you, Orven and Jenn and Jasper and Thea and Maddy and Theia and Allie (JESUS IS GOD AND SAVIOR AS WELL) and MJ and Billy. Where have you seen a better NPA leader, or a more awkward barrio couple, or a more- well, I'm not sure what the word is, exactly, but it's definitely a more- wife, or an albularyo with a full repertoire of Disney songs?

Scriprtwriters- Allie, Meagan, Sedric- you saved the play, and my life, last Thursday, and everyone who enjoyed this play owes you more than they will ever know.

Extras and backstage crew- you rock, for working like you'd be in the spotlight without the benefit of actually being in the spotlight (well, most of you that is- Jim, you're the best one-scene wonder ever, I think everyone will agree).

The fences-and-bushes assembly line this afternoon- without you our stage would have been bare, and I owe you for that BioLec make-up class.

Meagan and Bea- you had one and a half hours to figure out how to make things work in the lights and sounds booth, and less than a day to piece stuff together, and you got it done. There are no words for your accomplishments.

Sed, Bea, Maddy- we really ought to pay your rent. Thank you.

Indayog, if it weren't for you Jasper wouldn't have shown up at 7:30 this morning, you will never learn of my gratitude but it's there anyway.

Alexeis, I apologise for forcing you to suffer the logical consequences of being Orven's roommate, and without you we woulnd't have gotten the theoretically 7:30 practice rolling.

Tella, thank you for the glow-in-the-dark stars and the fishballs.

Ma'am Beltran, Ma'am Frisco, Ma'am Vitriolo, Sir Mong- thank you for a classes-free afternoon.

Gee, without all the support and information we wouldn't be half the play we were. We wouldn't even have had a play at all. Thank you, and it's a shame you didn't get to watch.

And if I didn't text you it's because I didn't have your number. iMed, we're brilliant. Not hardworking, not the least, but brilliant anyway. In our way, I suppose.

And now, sleep.

To anyone who has ever had to prepare for a boring, pointless, crazy presentation, and who has ever considered not showing up to practice for said boring, pointless, crazy presentation: just show up. Because it won't eat up much of your life, and because you're going to regret not putting on an awesome show if you know that you can put on an awesome show, and because somewhere there is some poor idiot who just wants to make it all work.

All right. Play is tomorrow. Main cast, I want to see you at Sed's and Maddy's house at 7:30. I'll forgive lateness if you're coming from Muntinlupa, otherwise no. You can bring your breakfast and your toothbrushes, you can sleep when it's not your scene, I don't mind, just be there. If you're still awake and reading this, turn off your computer and go to sleep. Everyone else, Sed's and Maddy's, 9 am. We have no SocSci, we have no Math. Bring your costumes, don't forget your slippers, if you need anything text me by 6 am tomorrow. That's all.

No that's not all. We need to practice, we need props, and gods above a backdrop. It's not going to happen, and I don't need it to happen, but still. My kingdom for a backdrop.

Okay. Go iMed, kaya natin ito. XD

We have a script, a main cast, our first practice tomorrow, no props to speak of, and three days to pull off a one-act play.

We're iMed. Kaya natin ito, kasi magaling tayo. At kasi nilipat ang mga exams at ang mga deadlines ng mga papers natin. Pero magaling pa rin tayo. Go go go. XD

I can say what I like about being able to work better and produce better output when not on a deadline. As a matter of fact, I do. But there's the fact that I never finished anything when not on a deadline, and then there's the fact that there is nothing quite like writing the last lines of your script in a house filled with noisy classmates and a television with cable knowing that you're pushing a deadline yet again, and that no one can push a deadline quite as well as you can, not really.

And theatre is more or less a bundle of love and hate and nerves and panic- mostly panic, and maybe occasionally graced by those moments of clarity when you know exactly what you are doing and to hell with deadlines- and it may not be the best thing in the world but for sure it's going to be one crazy ride.

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Also, if you were involved, in any way, shape, or form, in the making of Tuesday's Inquirer crossword, I don't like you.

THE DEADLINE IS ON THE EIGHTEENTH AND WE ARE SAFE, DAMMIT.

Yes, that's reason enough for the Caps Lock.

Also, we got to watch Gordon- I think UPM has the talk on their website. A reaction paper for PE is a small price to pay.

Also, you know the feeling when you suddenly realise you actually know what you're doing? It's scarier than the feeling when you suddenly realise you don't know what you're doing, but it doesn't matter so much because, well, you know what you're doing.