click, click, ka-boom

Holy crap, I got it.

After 14 weeks of being in school, I finally got something right. Now, I consider myself a fairly intelligent person. Theory is my thing; explain something to me, and more often than not, I'll understand what is supposed to happen. Practice, on the other hand, something I'm not so good at. I try too hard when it comes to the application of theory, and that screws me over in the end. But not this time.

I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened or why it happened or what made it happen. I know a lot of it can be contributed to the new friendships I've developed, which, over the last five months, have been my joy and saving grace. I was in class the other day, getting ready to perform my piece, and a voice in my head said, "It's okay, Gina, just let it fly," something my friends and teachers are constantly telling me. And this time, I actually did let go of everything - my fears, my insecurities, my resentment - and followed my head and my heart, simultaneously. I started to do things out of the blue, but it all made sense. I didn't feel trapped in myself and my uncertainties. I allowed myself to tell the truth, my own truth. And by God, it worked.

That one instance carried me through the week, and I miraculously began to nail it all. Class after class, I just seemed to get it right. Click, click, ka-boom, the pieces fell into place. The doubts are disappearing one by one. I'm going to fight desperately to hold on to this memory, this feeling, because this is the kind of thing I need to keep me going, despite the inevitable challenges I will continue to face. But nothing that's ever worth having comes easy. True story.

I was out tonight, roaming around the streets, and even in the midst of impending rain, I couldn't help but feel like the city was smiling at me. Welcoming me into its arms, celebrating my initiation into this select society. I learned to do what this city asks me and wants me to do: let go, dive in, and live for the moment.

I am, officially, a New Yorker.


die, vampire, die

I'm approaching the end of my first semester at AMDA, which means that final demos are looming around the corner. I've been tracking my progress, and though I still have a long way to go, I am overall pleased with the growth I've experienced in the last thirteen weeks. But there's one class that I just don't get - Musical Theatre. I know exactly what I'm doing wrong: I hold back, and I don't allow myself to feel what the character I'm portraying is feeling or act the way the character is acting within the given circumstance. And no matter how hard I try to fix that, I always get too scared. Growing up, I was taught to believe that showing emotion was a sign of weakness, so I've always held everything in. And eventually, I stopped feeling. I've known this about myself for a while now. It's the reason why I'm afraid of love, afraid of getting close to people, afraid of my own desires. I thought I had let go of it all when I took the plunge and moved to New York. But bad habits are hard to break.

I'm using this as an opportunity to kill all the vampires. I don't apologize to those I might offend because I need to allow myself to feel what I'm feeling without consequence. So there.

And here are the contents of my my heart...


Everything comes back to you. All my successes, all my failures, all of my pain. I remember being seven years old, crying because I had fallen on the pavement and scraped my face. As my tears mixed with the blood clouding my vision, you stood there and told me to go away because you couldn't stand the sight of my sorrow. What the fuck is that. I was seven. SEVEN. When something like that happens, don't tell a seven-year-old to go away. Hold them and tell them everything will be alright, and at the very least, give them a fucking Band Aid. I got nothing. I ran to the nearest bathroom and sobbed at the reflected image of my distorted face in the mirror. From that point on, I never came to you when I hurt myself. When I cut my thumb open with a razor, when my foot sliced open from broken glass, when I fell down the stairs, or when I experienced my very first real heartbreak. I needed you, but you didn't want me to. So I learned to live without you.

Things are better now, a thousand times better, but it will never make up for your neglect. Here I am, 24 years old, and everyday you tell me how proud you are of me. All I've ever wanted was for you to hold me and tell me that you love me.


I was wrong about you. When we first met, I thought you were adorable, charming, intelligent, and kind. Then, when all those crazy events transpired, I learned that everything about you was fake. I felt so betrayed; I had befriended you, trusted you. I was crazy about you. You drove me crazy. Despite the fact that it was for all the wrong reasons, that doesn't take away how fucked up what you did was. Still is. I'm 3,000 miles and almost one year away from you, and I still can't get you out of my head. I stopped caring for people like you along time ago, but then you came along and tricked me and made me do it all over again. Well, fuck you, asshole. FUCK YOU.

Goddamn you and your thick head. You probably would never believe I was actually writing this about you.


I feel so lucky to have someone like you in my life. Whenever I don't believe in myself, you give me enough courage and support to make me feel like I could run forever. But you're so sporadic; I never know when I'll hear from you again, and I feel like every time we're together might be the last time. I wish you wouldn't fall off the face of the Earth so much. Because the truth is, I need you. I love you. I don't know if I tell you that enough or if you believe how honest I am about that sentiment. Please understand that I mean every word I say.


Isn't it funny how you can be acquainted with someone for so long but never really know them? Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if our paths never crossed the way they did. I never would have gotten through my post-collegiate depression, and I surely never would have moved to New York. I owe much of my current happiness to you. Thank you for being my friend and confidant. Though we're on opposite sides of the country, I know I can always count on you. As corny as that sounds. But we're corny together, so that's okay.


I'm happy we met. And that's all I have to say about that, for now.


my favorite year

A brief recap of what has, undoubtedly, been the best year of my life:
  1. Shows - Kiss Me, Kate and Chicago, both of which led to breakthroughs in my performance skills and incredible friendships
  2. Trips - Disneyland with my boys, Italy and Spain, New York (twice before officially moving)
  3. Boys - Two, both of whom fell into my life at the right time but for the wrong reasons
  4. Endings - ACLO, KP Educational Theatre Programs, Chez Echo
  5. Beginnings - New York City, AMDA, my life as a waitress
  6. Discoveries - The importance of my family and friends, my independence, my voice
23, thanks for being so good to me. Here's to more in 24.