On the tube home, I overheard a conversation by two strangers who had just met. Usually no one speaks to one another on the station, but this guy and this girl had in common that they were both late and both ‘into’ theatre. ( read: actors, so slightly exhibitionistic anyway)
It reminded me why I don’t like actors. ( Sweeping generalisation.)
She complained she was late, he said to just make up a story about an old lady that made her contemplate the meaning of life. She said that she might as well just say that she met a lovely boy who made her feel much better about being late… He smiled.
What he did? Oh it was to horrible to say…Actually Disney had his soul in a box, he was in High School Musical… Yes and he had just signed up for another year- god life is hard. She was blatantly unemployed, or at least not working on stage, so she would have given her right arm to do what he was doing and complaining about.
She smiled bravely and said Oh kids must love you. Yes he said they do. She taught kids to dance, ah yes that’s was something he was really interested in. Oh he could always get into teaching, there are always kids around.
Oh she was really late now. Yeah so was he but it was his own fault as he tried to get a date in before the meeting with his ex. Why was he meeting up with his ex if it was over anyway, I mean some things are just meant to be. Oh it was a long story, this guy and him were going out for at least 6 years ( Note author: I swear the boy looked about 18 so this surprised me – the years, not the fact he was gay, though it startled her… Duh.)
I don’t know why this conversation irritated me, maybe I am like an ex-smoker who hates smokers. I just find actors really hard to be around, especially the ones that enforce the shallow perception that the audience has anyway. I cannot imagine anything more soul destroying than having to hang out with people who want to be famous or who just want to dance/sing/ perform. And yet I am a part of the latter I guess, this is really frustrating.
Yesterday I was at a party with loads of law students, after I was introduced to a group of them as a girl who had done a theatre course; there was an awkward silence. Then one of them said: So ..erh… Are you still in the eh… business… dahling? And this is the most horrendeous question I can imagine. How do I explain that no I am not, and I don’t want to be famous but I want to be recognised for my art haha. No that I just don’t know what I am doing yet etc etc.
It is very frustrating to not know what you are doing and where you are going. I am a little more at peace with it then I was two years ago, I am definitely less angry and/or scared, but it is frustrating none the less. Yes, I know it is wrong to judge others for living their life, and also highly pretentious, but I just don’t want to be seen as part of a group who would give a right arm to be in High School Musical the UK tour ( sorry if you are in it- I am sure you are great; I cannot even dance, this is all out of spite.) What do I want then?
See that’s the thing, I don’t know.
Maybe it’s just jealousy of people who are comfortable being (resting) actors and being totally into dancing and performing and loud conversations on the train.
But maybe not.
What it is, I just don’t know.
I just came back from a bar and I heard myself saying to a friend:
I am 23! I have a choice!
The thing is I hope that in the future I will be able to say: I am 48! I have a choice!
I don’t know how old I am going to get. Without wanting to tickle fate: sometimes it is clear that you should at least try to live your life consciously.
I try to live my life knowing I have choices, making decisions and living with them. There is nothing wrong with trying things out even though they might not work. I guess I try to live my life in a way that I am satisfied with. If someone ever asks me why I did things the way I did, I should be able to look them in the eye and answer them straight.
Life is not straightforward and things we don’t expect will come across our path, but it’s by the way we deal with them that we are responsible. I think it is ok to take that responsibility for good or for bad, a choice is a choice. I hope never to wake up one day years from now and not being quite sure how I got there, how the days gone past and how everything seemed to pass me by in general.
But that is just my own humble opinion of course 🙂
Today I have been rejected for a project because the company felt my personality was too sensible and dignified for the character they are going to develop.
a) the character is not yet developed, I didn’tknow what they needed.
b) so much for acting background, they must have felt I wasn’t up to scratch.
I am pretty disappointed yes. I would have loved to have done it.
Eerything is so mundane at the moment, it would be nice to have had a challenge.
A rejection on personality, I guess I won’t take it too personal.
This morning there were no trains on the Northern line because of a signal failure. Of course this is annoying, but I had to smile when a grumpy man behind me loudly coughed: ‘ This country is a joke!’
It is a tube delay. At 8.40am. Let’s keep things in perspective people.
When I grow older I hope that I will never be so bitter or upset and so unhappy with my life at 8.40 on a random Wednesdaymorning that I think that the world’s gone down the drain because of power failure…
After seeing SATC I realised that I am 23 and that I have about double the time to get where I want to get and if I’m not there at that time, hopefully I have another 23 years at least.
I love seeing my mum doing so many things as she is getting older. She’s volunteering and helping asylumseekers settling in in their new countries and she finds herself setting up computers, installing internet and fixing up IKEA furniture.
I am glad she is doing all that because it shows me that life is continues, at every age you learn new things and you experience new challenges.
Today was not a particular amazing day or wonderful day: works was just ok and I came home full of hormones. So just to remind myself that it is not the end of the world;at 9.15pm the boyfriend is already in bed and maybe I should just join him…
Today it was the birthday of someone who got embarrassed by birthdays. He claimed it was because he was a boy. I don’t understand as I am exactly the opposite: a) a girl-obviously and b) I Love Birthdays.
It is the excitement on the day: I promise you that the days of crossing off nights on a self made calender around my birthday are long gone. But it is that feeling, that there is something special about this day. It is not just a day. It is your own day.
Even during years in which I cried nights before my birthday because life was so shit I did not want to turn 15 – haven’t we all been there?- the actual day was still pretty good. Yes, maybe it is the attention, it must have been especially as a child in combination with the presents ofcourse. Yet more and more, it is just an appreciation of another mile stone. Another year gone.
When life is rough for awhile, it seems to swallow you up whole and you cannot see the end; when the paths are smoother you barely notice the days, weeks and months go by. Still at the end there is your birthday; the day on which everything started.
You have fulfilled another cycle, grown even after childhood in so many different ways and so many things have happened; whether good or bad from your birthday it can all start again. A new year of your life is starting. I love it all. The feeling of closure, achievement and excitement for those things still ahead. The feeling of happiness that I have lived for another year when others were taken.
Not everyday you have the feeling of adventure or curiosity: some days are just plain boring.
So let’s celebrate the days that aren’t: I Love Birthdays!
Today at work – I was clearly not very busy- I had an e-mail conversation with a colleague.
We were talking about nice guys. Nice guys never get the girl. Cliche but true.
Why is that? Why is it that we girls, fantasise about the perfect man, complete with heritage, Wall-paper house, yacht and six-pack but never with that perfectly nice character.
The one who helps old ladies cross the road, who phones his mother every sunday after he has been to church and who aspires to work part-time so he can be a more hands-on dad to his four beautiful kids who he adores, who buys you flowers and presents as a surprise and who knows exactly what to say to comfort you, who adores you and who will follow you to the end of the earth.
Personally I think this is because we girls aren’t that different from boys.
Times have changed, gender stereo-types are broken and both sexes are more and more on equal footing. The nice guy almost seems old-fashioned, you can imagine him with slippers and dad-jumpers. ( Yes, chivalry is appreciated, opening doors etc and even the walk-home to make sure you are safe; but once at the door you don’t want him to peck you on the cheek and walk off into the night feeling all righteous! Admit it even though we might not want to have sex on the first night, we’d like to think that you might- as we know you do.)
The bad guys, the ones with a naughty streak I mean- not the ones who are involved in emotional or physical abuse in any way shape or form – provide a challenge, the proof that you have to fight for a relationship and that he is with you because he chooses to, not because he cannot think of anyone else. They provide a challenge not just through arguments but by the way they live. They are still one step ahead in this whole emancipation process which only now starts to accept the female wild childs. ( Along the lines of: Man with lots of sex = cool, woman with lots of sex = whore.) They are what we are not – so therefor attractive or they are the fully-fledged version of what we aspire to be- so therefor attractive.
Bypassing the nice guy and opting for the more challenging version is just a logical step of evolving times.
During lunch, between 1pm and 2pm the streets around the office crowd full of people.
People who are hungry and who have one hour, 60 minutes to pretend that they are not in a job. All cafe’s and eateries are full, Pret has queues around the block and even the self-service tills in Tesco’s cannot ease the load of sandwich hunting people.
The office working force is a funny bunch. Everything is routine. From the time they leave home ( maybe even a gettin up ritual) until they get back. They all arrive for work at the same time, making the peak hours of the tube an absolute delight. Whatever social boundaries and hang-ups the British might have, these are all out of the window between 8 and 9 am in London on public transport on a weekday. Whatever would be considered socially unacceptable any other time, any other place is now the norm. Elbows are coming out, personal space is invaded to the point of sexual harrasment and people actually snap at eachother – even though we are random strangers.
As I was walking down Tottenham Court Road today around 1.25pm, humming to myself in my own little world, on my way to some Miso Soup I suddenly heard a icy scream. As I looked left of me, I just saw a truck whizzing past a lady -also in her own little world- who was standing in the middle of the street. People stopped, shocked, she stood still and I looked at the scene absolutely mortified. This seemed ages but I’m sure it all took one second. One second of realisation that that one split second can make all the difference.