When I’m sad and disappointed, I always tell myself that there are so many other people worse off than me. I should be grateful and happy for that.

And I know it’s true.

So, why doesn’t it work? Why do I still feel sad and disappointed?

I try to dissect my feelings to analyse them away. I imagine myself reaching for my heart, where bad feelings seem to congregate, throbbing and wanting to burst out of their prison, and I grab hold of it.

I grab hold of my heart and pull it out my chest and look at it.

It’s red and bloody and little. Yet it holds so much. So much disease and darkness and fear and pain.

I give it a squeeze. I put it under a running tap. I cut it in half. I slice it in pieces. I say, “Whatever’s in there, it’s just feelings. Intangible and invisible and nothing. So how could it possibly hurt me?”

It’s a nothing, my heart. Whatever’s in it, it’s nothing.

I put it away, in a corner of my room, in a shelf, in a box, wherever. I don’t want it anymore.

I dissociate myself from my feelings, from the pain, from the bad stuff. Because the heart, bearing all that hurt, isn’t in me anymore, therefore I’m not hurt.

I’m free! I’m fine! Life is absurd, anyway, so why let it bother me?

But I can still feel my heart inside me. It’s still there no matter how many times I take it out and put it away. It still provides safe harbour for my feelings, good and bad. It’s part of me and I can’t shed it.

So I get angry and I say to it, “You’re just an organ. A bloody, throbbing tool whose function is to keep me breathing and walking. Therefore you can’t hurt me.”

It’s silent. It continues to throb. And with every throb, hurt spreads out of it and travels in every direction until every part of my body is filled with the hurt, so that my body becomes weak and helpless.

I have removed so many hearts from me. There are so many hearts sitting around in shelves and boxes and bins. And yet it’s still in me, stubbornly beating away, wickedly gleeful.

Hah. You can’t get rid of me. I’m you as you’re me.

Defeated, I sit in silence and feel the pain, live with it.

Next time. Next time it’ll work and then it won’t hurt anymore.

I’m in a deep funk but I can’t cry

I finally did it. I disabled my profile on the online actors’ database so that people will stop calling me for auditions.

It’s kinda dumb because I paid $150 for that service (one year of listing + another free year cos I signed up during the promotion). But it has brought me only heartache.

Now, I need a break because this year has been a bad year. I’ve gone for a zillion auditions and only gotten a few lousy jobs.

But, worse than that…

  1. I get offered extra roles.
  2. I get invited to audition for extra roles.
  3. I get invited to audition for the role of a 40+ year old woman.
  4. I get offered non-paying or very low-paying jobs.
  5. I keep getting crummy, forgettable roles.
  6. I keep losing jobs because I have the wrong chemisty with the male lead.
  7. I totally suck at auditions

The winds are against my favour this year, so I shall stop fighting it. It’s freaking October already; I’m tired.

In fact, about three months ago, I made the decision to “take a break” before I lose my sanity. But I decided to leave my profile online on the off-chance that I would be “spotted” by someone willing to give me an exciting project to work on.

And I busied myself with other things such as acting classes, acting books and generally trying to improve myself first, instead of actively trying to find jobs.

But when I stopped trying to get jobs, people started calling me nonstop. Except that they were all the wrong people, either calling me to audition for yet another job I wouldn’t be getting, or giving me stupid jobs that insulted my pride.

That’s gone on for three months. After last weekend, I kinda lost it.

I have been so depressed all week I have been overeating and suffering indigestion. I don’t think I’ve put on weight, though. Even if I have, it all goes to the wrong places, anyway, so I’ll still look too skinny.

I’ve been so depressed I can’t even play WoW. It’s that bad. Playing games usually take my mind off my depressions, but now it seems to make it worse.

Anyway, so, I have taken my profile offline and am going to stop reading casting notices and just… stay home and mope.


By the way, I have disabled comments for this post because I don’t want people to feel sorry for me or give me encouraging pats on the back.

I wrote this not to garner sympathy but just to rant.

I don’t think anyone should sympathise with me or feel sorry for me because I chose this path and I accept full responsibility of the consequences.

I have no regrets. If I’d known the results beforehand, I would still have chosen this path.

So, you can say that I’m in perfect control of my misery.

Cheated by fate

It’s Friday again. Too fast.

It seems like only yesterday when I wrote my last blog and thought to myself, “It’s Friday again. Too fast.”

And then here is the weekend again, barely have I recovered from the tragic passing away of the last week.

I don’t like it when time flies like the wind and fruit flies like bananas because flies are one of life’s greatest annoyances.

Every day, I get the feeling that I’m going to die before I fulfill all my life’s desires.

And time just speeds along without a care, without consideration for the fact that I haven’t done all the things I have to do.

I am sad, too.

I didn’t want to blog about it because sad blogs are stupid and I don’t like to invite sympathy.

But I just read a short story in which the protagonist decides to write about a true event which has haunted him for over eight decades. He finally writes it at his deathbed because he believes writing can give him freedom.

He says, “What you write down sometimes leaves you forever, like old photographs left in the bright sun, fading to nothing but white. I pray for that sort of release.”

(That’s from a short story called “The Man in the Black Suit” by Stephen King.)

When I read that, it felt like Mr King himself was advising me to “get it off my chest”.

So here I am blogging, while waiting for my dinner to digest so I will have room for the chocolate rum balls I bought last night.

I lost a big movie role because I’m too compatible with the male actor.

The role is not big big, but it’s bigger than the previous two I had. It’s a main cast character, I believe.

I am not inconsolable, of course. I have a spare heart of titanium lying around in one of my intestines. I put it on over my regular stupid weak tender heart whenever I am faced with rejection. Every bullet of pain ricochets off it without so much as leaving a mark and I laugh manically at pithy attempts to crumble my soul.

I invoke my silver lining mantra. Every dark cloud has a silver lining. I’m not bothered by failures because I know something better will come along out of every loss.

I invoke sour grapes. It’s not, like, a perfect role, anyway. Not going to cause millions to adore me and worship me, so why bother?

But I am sad, indignant, because of the way in which I lost the role.

It was down to two actresses. The male actor who is to play the husband had already been cast and the director had both actresses come in to read with the male actor to see who looks better paired up with him.

Better, I am to find out later, is very subjective.

At the reading, I found out that I know that actor. In fact, I just acted in a short film opposite him. I thought that gave me a pretty good chance to snag the role.

I even did a good reading and I know the director liked my performance.

I went through an asthmatic, hyperventilating two weeks waiting for the good news phone call.

It didn’t come.

The only good news is that my heart is now an expert at beating very fast every time the phone rings.

Not exactly a very useful skill that I will call upon many times in my life, but you never know. Actors have to be skillful at everything you can imagine and everything you can’t.

I finally found out that I didn’t get the role because I was too compatible with the male actor. We looked too good together. At the audition, in between reads, we were joking around with each other and having a good time.

In the movie, the husband and wife are supposed to be in constant conflict and the director wants a certain awkwardness to show up.

I didn’t get the role because I know the actor and I am not awkward with him.

Such a bitter pill to swallow.

Worse than the vile Chinese concoction I take for sore throats.

I don’t blame anyone. I am in full support of the director’s method of casting and directing, which is to find the actor who, in real life, most resembles the character in the story, so the film can look totally natural and realistic.

He is of the school which believes in subtlely more than acting acting, and I totally dig that. Not that I don’t dig the other schools, but I believe different techniques, different styles, work for different people, different projects.

I am sad because I had looked forward to playing this role and I thought I had a great chance of getting it. It is not every day a big movie role appears up for grabs in Singapore. In the rare occasion that a movie is going to be made in Singapore, they always cast famous people first and the rest of us plebians get to be icing sugar and parsley.

But I am not disabled by the unhappiness which is, at best, intermittent. I can still function with zest. I look forward to getting an even better role than the one I just lost.

And that is why time is going too fast for me.

I need to get a good role before I’m 95 and hallucinating on my deathbed.

I’m hogging the casting lists every day, refreshing pages every three seconds, waiting, waiting, waiting for a to-die-for role which profile I fit, which is actually open for audition.

In the meantime, I have simple joys to contend myself with.

The Goonfather bought me a new keyboard yesterday. It is such a joy to type on. The keys are OH, SO, cottony soft and ghostly silent. It’s the Microsoft Comfort Curve Keyboard 2000, which is also anti-spillage, and with which I am immensely pleased.

I have a role in another short film which I think is going to be a lot of fun. We’re all getting costumes from an actual costume shop because it’s sort of a theme thing. That is so way ultra cool. We have a rehearsal tomorrow and I so enjoy going to rehearsals, even if it’s on a Saturday night and we’re not paid for it.

I just bought four books by my favourite authors and I’m devouring them like a starved puppy devours his favourite bacon-flavoured chewing strip.

Life is good.

And now, one of life’s greatest pleasures, one of my most wicked indulgences, beckon me.

Chocolate rum balls (from Subway Niche) and a good novel, in bed.