Audition

I was one of the many hopefuls who auditioned today for the re-staging of Miss Saigon, held at the Philippine Opera Haus.

It was a great experience for me, because it was my first audition for something as big as Miss Saigon, and I hope it signals the start of many auditions to come. I was always too afraid of auditioning and I often ended regretting my actions.

I thought that the auditions would be too scary, but I was relieved to find out that all I had to do was to sing, for a minute, in front of a panel of foreign judges. It wasn't too easy, what with the nerves and all, but that was just normal. I sang at my best, and after I finished singing, one of the judges, with a smile, said, "Very good!" He could have said that to almost everyone, but I was grateful to hear it. One would think that as yesterday's highlight, but no, it's Chester's hug that is!

I know that to date, I have not achieved my dream of being a "singer" but I realized just how much I have. My heart goes out to my family, friends, colleagues, and students for being so supportive. I surely (as expected) did not make it to callbacks, but I am so grateful that I was reminded of so many treasures that I have... things that are already within my reach without the need to audition. The messages that my family and friends sent me made me so happy that there are people who believe in what I could do. There are people who genuinely love me just as much as I love them.

Also, someone knows whether he or she sounded great. I know that I sang well, and that, to me, will always make all the difference in the world. I finally stepped out of my shell.

I will always be in love with singing. It will always be my first love.

"Monster" Talk, Right There

I went on a seminar this afternoon with my colleague, Jaila. We were supposed to learn new things about Test Construction and Assessment, but obviously, we didn’t. I refuse to deem the four hours we spent on that seminar as a total waste lest I just cause myself more aggravation. I just focused on the fact that maybe the reasons why there was really nothing “new” from that seminar is due to these two things: 1) that Ateneo really provides teachers with great guidance and traning since Day One, and 2) I have been mentored by two great professors when I was in College.

All throughout the seminar, aside from the fact that I just amused myself by what Jaila and I talked about regarding the assessment programs we’ve had in college (she’s from UP and I’m from La Salle), I reveled in the fact that I had Dr. Carlo Magno and Ms. Laramie Tolentino as my Assessment 1 and 2 professors during my stay at La Salle (naman, pakitingnan ang profile, please). I have yet to see someone that would conduct a “seminar” on assessment who’s as good as them. 

Gulay, I just hope that next time I attend a seminar on assessment, it would be as great as the lectures I had with Dr. Magno and Ms. Lara. Please. 

* * *

To appease my thirst for something better to happen to me on that day, I found myself inside Fully Booked (Katipunan Branch) after attending the seminar. I went outside with Patrick Ness' A Monster Calls on my bag. I read it when I rode the LRT and by the time I found myself home (Bulacan), I was done with the novel, and I was so close to crying. Well, maybe I was crying... inside. (Gad, that is just so cliched.)

I was reminded of three things out of the great (yes, what an understatement) reading experience:

1) I am an extremely sappy person. (Duh, keep talking about the obvious, Ryza.) I hate being sad, but sometimes it is I who cause myself sadness by purchasing books that are as "sappy" as I am. On  a totally related note, when something causes me pain, I still find a way to see the beauty in it.

While reading A Monster Calls, I was transported back to the time when my seventeen-year old self immersed in reading Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things was writing her Midterm Paper for Afro-Asian Literature while crying because of Ammu's death on the pages. I was reminded of being in High School and feeling what Harry felt (after Sirius' death) when he looked at the piece of glass Sirius Black gave him. I also became a Popoy crying for Basha. I was all sorts of sadness personified, and I felt like a total mess after reading the book. Maybe the fact that there are real deaths I had to face recently (my Dad's last September 28, and my grandmother's last October 13) caused me to sympathize a little more with Conor more than the average reader should. (Well, who am I to say what the average reader should feel?) Point is, it was sad, but it was beautiful. Not all sad things are ugly, inasmuch as "There is not always a good guy. Nor is there always a bad one. Most people are somewhere in between.” (That's an actual line from the novel.)

2) I will never be "over" my parents' deaths. What else could have caused me to deem the reading experience great if the novel did not talk to me at all? I was reminded that there is still, inside me, a monster lurking, begging to be conquered. It exists. When I enter book stores, there's a sharp pang of pain inside me, knowing that I will never buy books for my father again and knowing that when I go home, I will be the only one to "cover" my books. (Fact: 90% of my books were "plastic-covered" by my Dad.) When I sing, I miss my father's constructive criticism. Even when I look at my record book (where I keep my students' grades), I have to stop myself from crying because I am reminded that it was my Dad who painstakingly made an effort to cover it with plastic, paste my students' class lists on the pages where it should be, cut the portions of the record book that needed to be cut, and highlight the "divisions" in between names. I realized just how much I depended on my parents when they were still alive, from the simplest things to the most major of life decisions. I miss them so much every day and I always will until the time comes when I would finally join them. There's always that monster inside me, asking for a second chance to be a better daughter to my parents. I know that one day it should stop resurfacing lest I just inflict more pain on myself. Remembering is heatlhy but dwelling on the past is not. I should know.

3) I'm a (good) reader. I knew, right from the very beginning, what the nightmare was, and who the monster really is. While the word "good" is relative, there is a smirk of satisfaction on my face as I finished the novel before it finally found itself staring into space, with a look of wonder that screams, "When's the next time I would read a novel as good as that?"

* * *

I am so proud that even if our relationship is just in its "baby stages", it did not take Chester that long to figure out that I need some "space" moments after I have just finished reading a book.

"You have that look on your face," Chester told me. "It's the same look you had after reading The Mark of Athena, and after reading any other book."

I may not have my Dad anymore who shares my passion for reading, but I have a Chester who understands my need to be entirely sappy and analytic after reading and who accepts me just the same.

* * *

"Libro o ako?" Chester asked. He was only kidding, of course.

"Ikaw." 

"Weh."

Haha. If there's another monster in me, it's the love monster. Now that's some monster I would never let go. But hey, technically, it's not even a monster. While love may tend to be monstrous at times (my friend Shakespeare wrote several plays just to prove that point), I refuse to see it as horrendous.

* * *

Thank you, Lord, for a person who, even when the monster in me beckons me to be sad and overly whiny, accepts me and understands me. Whenever I cry when I miss my father, his hug alone is testimony to Your greatness. If I were Harry, I know that whenever I'd stare at the Mirror of Erised, I'd surely see my parents. But I also know better. On my back are persons who are still with me, and I know that they are more than enough to drive the monsters away.