...as characters on stage love and lose, rejoice and despair, live and die, the actors portraying these characters must be one hundred percent committed to their actions. This commitment only works if they are totally void of themselves and fully present in the skins of their characters, reacting to everything that happens “in the moment.” That escape from myself into another character is what I find so beautiful about acting. I’m not always comfortable being myself, to the point where I have no idea who I am or how to be.
But I don’t want to fit. I know enough of my own stubborn flaws to know that attending college crafted exactly for students like me will only leave me locked up in my dorm room finishing homework problems, until I had to emerge for my next class.
This is it. College acceptances have been sent out; the bear has taken Casa by storm for the last time; prom is over. We are now a week from graduation and everyone has the same question on their mind: what now?
What is it about them? The fluffy ears, the black and white splotches, or the innocent little smiles? Is it because they are utterly adorable or is it the way they plod along without a care in the world? Is it the thought of riding one along the streets, holding a stick of bamboo in front of it? Or maybe it’s simply because as a part of my culture, it is something I can relate to. Pandas.
On the first day of high school, at 8:20 a.m. on a cruel and bitter Wednesday, my Spanish II teacher inquired, “Como te llamas?” What had she asked?
One comfort. One place. One family. Many lasting memories. Home: the place in which one’s domestic affections are centered.
Twenty applications, several with multiple essays, and, ultimately, only one college.
Citizens pay taxes in the belief that they will be returned through government services. What if they aren’t?
Music is contagious. From the rhythmic beats to the euphoric melodies, music is something that anyone can pick up and become entranced into.
I’m sitting in a big black chair and I’m crying. These are not some sad-love-story-tears, or even bad-news-tears; these tears stem from ten years of nostalgia and one year’s worth of uncertainty.