mirror, mirror, on the wall...

The last few months, my blog has turned into this kind of obligation. I feel like my writing has lost my sense of purpose because I haven't been doing it for myself lately. I write here every so often to keep people posted on what's going on in my life, how I'm adjusting to the city, blah blah blah. And it's become this laundry list of tasks and daily appointments. Bo-ring. The months leading up to my move were so much more exciting to read about, I think. They chronicled my excitement, my fears, my goals. Nowadays, I read this thing and can hardly tell the difference between my blog and my calendar. So I've decided that today, I will take a step away from the day planner and take a step toward the mirror to take a look at, and write about, what's going on inside of me.

To begin, I shall scratch the surface, just to make sure I cover all my bases. This week, I auditioned for jobs. I did not get any. That is my life as an actor. There's nothing else other than that, really.

Okay, now that that's out of the way...

Honestly, I am scared shitless. I'm two months away from graduating, after which I will no longer have the comfort and safety of a class schedule and, more importantly, financial aid. In two months, I will have to find someway of sustaining myself, my lifestyle, and my career. Ten bajillion times easier said than done. I'm no stranger to working multiple jobs, but back when I did it on a regular basis, I wasn't trying to be an actor in New York City. The obstacles I face in that feat alone are too exhausting to try and recapitulate in this text box, so I ask you to use your imagination. I will say, however, what I'm doing here, all by myself in the Big Apple, is harder than anything I've ever done in my life. And those who really know me can vouch for the fact that I've been through some rough shit.

There are other things too. I'm afraid I won't get a job because I'm inexperienced. I'm Asian. I'm a girl. I'm 5'4". I'm slightly overweight. I don't have long hair. I'm not the pretty girl. I can't sing the way I look. I'm not a dancer. Or maybe I'm just not good enough. And the worst part of it is that I can almost guarantee that I work harder than anyone else waiting in that audition line with me. In fact, the only person I've only met two people in my life who I can say, with complete and utter confidence, work harder than me. And one of them is my mother. But how do you show that in a 90-second audition? What does talent have to do with work ethic? God, imagine if it did. I'd be making millions by now.

I don't really like where I live. The apartment is great, my roommate is fantastic, and her dog is adorable. But the neighborhood. Meh. It's okay, in terms of safety, but if I had the opportunity to live even just a few blocks south of where I am now, I'd feel so much more comfortable coming home at night. Also, some people on this street really have no respect for women. Never before in my life have I felt like a total piece of meat. Even when I wore less-than-appropriate outfits for sorority invitationals in college, I didn't feel as violated as I do now, walking down my block. It doesn't matter what time of day it is or whether I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt or sweats and a snow jacket. Men eye me like I don't have a face, ask me my name, and try to follow me home. I should have taken self-defense. Maybe I will, once I'm out of school and if I can find some spare cash to invest in my safety and well-being. I'd also like a dog of my own someday for some added protection, as well as companionship.

Companionship. Heh. My lifelong search continues. One of my best friends got married earlier this year, adding yet another name to that long list of people who've found happily wedded bliss, and I just heard of an old classmate who is two months pregnant. All around me, people are finding love, having babies, starting families. Yet here I am, alone in the middle of it all. I guess you could say it's an equal trade, what I'm doing. Living the dream and all. But the chances of failure far surpass those of success. And the amount of judgement I submit myself to... I must be a masochist. This career has demands so much of me. Sometimes I forget who I am or why I'm here in the first place. Scary. I don't want to be alone. I want to be in love. I want someone to love me. But how do you find time for that when something else requires 100% commitment, inside and out? I have no more to give to anyone, even myself. And in those rare times I find just a scrap of myself I want to share with someone else, I'm reminded of the last time I willingly did that. Jesus Christ, I was hurt so bad that these days, I'm too terrified to approach a man with a ten-foot pole. Only lately have I realized how poorly I've recovered from that last big blow. I'm so much more judgmental of people than I was a year ago. I so easily reject friendship now when I sense that same sort of destructive neediness. I even put up walls with people I'm close to. Damn, I'm fucked up.

That's where I've been, lately. The biggest thing that's eating away at me is this nagging fear that I'll have to go home soon. Because I really really really don't want to. I like this place, and for as much grief as it gives me, I feel like I have to tough it out. If I do, I think I'll find the person I'm supposed to become. Life's just a bit hard at the moment. I'll get over it. I always do.

And that's the gospel truth.