Sitting

When I woke up at 4:30 this morning to make Mom a smoothie to-go for her class at Lesley University, I hadn't planned on staying up. I went to bed at midnight, after all. But I wasn't really that tired getting up (maybe it'll hit me later) and most mornings this sumer I'll want to sleep in because I'l be out late performing Les Mis, so when Mom commented about what a nice time of day it was, I decided it might be a good idea to take advantage of the morning.

I boiled water for tea and took my laptop out at first, figuring I would continue working on my college checklist from last night. Then I realized how wasteful it would be to spend an early morning in front of a screen, especially because I would be tempted to check my Gmail and Facebook to see who had thought about me between midnight (the last time I checked them) and 4:30 in the morning. It's frustratingly satisfying to see that someone liked my picture or status on Facebook (the only e-mail I get on a regular basis is the Word of the Day, so my e-mail is rarely exciting), or that someone messaged me.  It's frustrating because I'm relying on others for self-security, and because the satisfaction wears off seconds after I click the message or little Earth icon.

Instead, I grabbed my notebook–I've been trying to get back into the habit of writing–a beach towel, my tea, and my car keys. Which brings me to the beach this morning. The sun peaked over the clouds. The waves crashed. I sipped my tea from my Krispy Kreme thermos and burned my tongue. There I sat. Sitting. Sitting. Sun. Waves. Tea. Burnt tongue. Seagulls. Sand. Yup.

I'm terrible at being still. I'm bad at even walking. It's too slow. I would rather run. It gets my heart rate up and gets me in shape. It feels purposeful. I have the annoying desire to always be productive. I always need to be doing something, for something. I'm terrible at being still because I don't feel like I'm accomplishing anything. I'm not content doing things just because I feel like doing them. I need a reason. If I sleep in, it's because I should be catching up on sleep for the week. One of the reasons I'm so conscious about what I eat is because I feel like whatever I eat should benefit my body in some way.

Trust me when I say this neurosis can be extremely mentally draining. Often times I lose the spontaneity of the moment because I spend too much time planning the what and why of my day, instead of just living it.

I know it's important for me to slow down sometimes. Allow my mind to wander without justification. I need to find more moments in my life to meditate; to be at peace with myself, rather than always trying to think of how I can better myself.

Which is why it was important for me to just sit this morning. Dig my toes in the sand and let my thoughts about those s'mores and frozen yogurt and cookie from yesterday go out with the tide. Sip my tea and feel the newly risen sun on my face. Just sit.

The Art of Procrastination

All of a sudden, there is so much I "need" to do when it's time to clean my room...

I "need" to cut up and redesign an old tie-dye T-shirt...

I "need" to make Blueberry Four Grain Pancakes...

And I "need" NEED to update my blog. This I actually do need to do, so I am going to take advantage of this legitimate need to procrastinate cleaning my room just a bit longer, and talk about my breakfast this morning. 

My love for pancakes was rekindled at our In the Heights post-show cast party at IHOP. I had never not liked pancakes, but I would've preferred waffles or crepes if you asked me my preference. Quite frankly, I had never really liked IHOP, either. I had been only twice before, once being in New York for a track meet. The fact that I was running a big race that weekend, on top of the fact that I ordered some sort of strawberry yogurt crepes, left a sour taste in my mouth for the franchise.

On that particular post-show night at IHOP, I got the Harvest Grain 'N Nut pancakes (filled with oats, almonds and English walnuts), topped with blueberry compote. Maybe it was the post-show adrenaline. Maybe it was the fact that it was 11:30 at night, and everything sweet tastes better at 11:30 at night. Maybe it was just that IHOP has really good freaking pancakes. Whatever it was, they were delicious.

My next momentous trip to IHOP was two months later, at the post-show cast party for our spring comedy, Testing, Testing. I got the Whole Wheat with Bananas pancakes, and I will never get anything other than those at IHOP ever again. Fat, fluffy, warm, golden, and maple syrup. What more could a girl ask for? 

Anyway, I've been craving pancakes these past few days, but I was set on having whole wheat pancakes, and alas, we didn't have any whole wheat flour in our pantry. So, after surfing the internet for about forty minutes last night, I finally came across a series of healthy pancake recipes that I combined to make my own:

Blueberry Four Grain Pancakes

Yields 6-8 pancakes (4"-6" in diameter each)

• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
• 1/2 cup cooked quinoa
• 1/4 cup ground chia seed*
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1 large egg (or 2 egg whites)
• 1 cup milk**
• 2 tablespoons dark brown sugar (or light brown)
• 1/3 cup original applesauce
• Blueberries (optional)***

*Some websites I read said chia seeds are a whole-grain, and others said they aren't. Regardless, chia seeds are filled with nutritional benefits, including healthy omega-3 fatty acids, carbohydrates, protein, fiber, antioxidants, and calcium. So, whether or not you call these pancakes Three Grain or Four Grain, they're still really healthy for pancakes.

**I used plain almond milk, but I'm sure any other milk would work fine. 

***Although the blueberries are optional, the quinoa flavor is strong, and I thought the blueberries helped mask the taste (although I don't mind the taste of quinoa). 

Here's where my skills in the kitchen fail: following directions. All pancake recipes I read online said to toss together all the dry ingredients first. Next, whisk the wet ingredients (in this case, applesauce, milk, and egg) in a separate bowl. Then, stir the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Honestly, I just combined them all at once in a big bowl. I used a whisk to break up the egg, and then a wooden spoon to stir it all together. It still turned out fine, but if I were to do it again, I probably would separate the ingredients.

One tip I did read, though, was to be careful not to overmix the batter. Stir until all the ingredients are just combined. Otherwise, the pancakes will be tough and dense. 

Heat a griddle or skillet over medium heat. Coat with cooking spray, oil or butter. I used an ice cream scooper to drop the batter on the skillet, which made about 4" pancakes. I liked this size because it meant I could stack more pancakes :) 

Wait until bubbles begin to form in the center of the pancake, and then flip. Cook until the other side is golden brown. Coat your griddle or skillet before every pancake or batch of pancakes. 

Stack and serve with maple syrup! 

And now, three and a half hours after I have woken up, I return to clean my room. At least it's almost lunch time!

Let Anything At All Happen Just Beyond the Sunrise

Although I promised myself a few weeks ago that I would move out of In the Heights, my school's recent High School Musical Theatre Awards (TAMY) nominations–nine total!–have refueled my love and longing for its familiar streets. I long for the bodega and Daniella's salon. I long for the sweet Piragua. The other day my friend Ella sang "Breathe"–one of Nina's solos–in her senior recital, and as I heard the introductory chords, I couldn't help getting choked up. I long to be back onstage as Nina.

The line dividing myself and Nina is thin. I understand the self-imposed pressure to succeed, to make people proud. The feeling that I never do enough. I understand the hesitation, the fear of the unknown. As I watch the DVD and listen to the music, I feel almost like I'm watching my own life. As I watch my character fall in love with the character Benny, I feel as if I'm watching myself fall in love.

I listen to our duets and get the same warm feeling I get when listening to a Taylor Swift song about a boy I like. I watch us onstage and I can't help wishing that the love was real. Because somehow, in Nina's love for Benny, she is able to forget about the future, and leave whatever happens "beyond the sunrise" to God's will.

And then I remember that Eric–the actor who played Benny–and I were just acting. It was Nina and Benny who were in love. Not me and Eric. And I have to pull myself out of this fictional world to actually live my life. But it's difficult. It's like breaking off a relationship––some days I'm fine, and others, I have to listen to songs on repeat.

At some point, I should be able to live like I do onstage, in my real life. And I don't mean specific plot points–I don't need to drop out of college, and backtracking to my role as Rizzo, I certainly don't need a pregnancy scare. I mean my approach to life. Onstage, I live in the moment. I feel the energy. And I act accordingly. My 28-performances of Les Misérables last summer taught me that no show is ever going to be the same. I have to just let myself feel what's going on around me. That is what makes the characters onstage, and the events in the story, believable. That is what keeps them fresh every time.

As much as I sometimes wish it were, life isn't scripted. I have to let whatever happens beyond the sunrise, happen, and not worry so much about the future. And somewhere along the way, I'll hopefully find my Benny.

Some Southern Flavor

The more I think about it, the more I think I should be a professional food critic. I could travel the world, eat, and write. To get my theatre in, I'll make sure to be really theatrical when I'm eating, like Bob Murray in What About Bob.

Seriously though, sometimes I think this describes me exactly.

This past weekend, my family and I travelled to North Carolina to check out some colleges. While there, of course I was determined to get a taste of the local flavor.

After dining at University of North Carolina at Greensboro (UNCG) for lunch on Friday (which had an overwhelming amount of options...I may or may not have had a minor anxiety attack) we got ice cream from this local shop called Yum Yum. Yum Yum also specializes in hot dogs, which are literally fire engine red. We asked the girl behind the counter why they were red, and by the look on her face, I immediately knew we were the oddballs in the shop. "I've always eaten red hot dogs," she whispered to her fellow employee. (According to The Gazette, all hot dogs used to be red, but after concerns were raised in the 1960s that the dye had risks of causing cancer, many companies stopped using the dye. Many hot dog makers in the South, though, used alternative dyes–like the kind used to color cough syrup and cherry soda–to keep the red color.)

The highlight of the day, though, was barbecue at Stamey's, a local joint recommended by one of the admissions councilors at UNCG. I was determined to get good pulled pork down South, and gosh darn it, I did. Stamey's Old Fashioned Barbecue has been going strong since 1930, and I can understand why: they picked one specialty to focus on, and they made it well. The menu is only one-sided, and you can have your choice of chopped pork, sliced pork, chicken, or hot dogs, prepared in their house-made barbecue sauce. Sides include hushpuppies, french fries, baked beans, chicken tenders, Brunswick stew, Stamey's slaw and rolls. The rolls, mind you, are $0.30 and are literally a hamburger roll. Where can you find anything on a menu for $0.30 anymore?

I got a chopped pork barbecue sandwich, and both my mom and stepdad got a plate of the chicken and barbecue pork combo. That's where this picture comes from...

My friend Connor would be so proud of me. 

And of course, for dessert we had to try both the peach and apple cobbler.

They should serve dessert with soft serve ice cream in the North. It was like frozen whipped cream. 

After all this, it's fair to say I may have needed to loosen my belt after dinner. 

But that was only Day 1. Day 2 started off with a long run, but was shortly followed by a visit to the original Krispy Kreme. 

Dunkin' Donuts can't even compare, especially when the Krispy Kremes are warm. 

The picture above is currently the background of my phone...we'll see how long that lasts.

And this is what I call double-dipping. Seriously. My friend Connor would be so proud.

Maybe my next trip down South, I'll actually work up the courage to try fried chicken and waffles. 

Time to Fly

It's been over a week now since my high school's winter musical, "In the Heights," ended, and I'm still listening to the soundtrack, wishing that I could hear the voices of my fellow cast members sing the songs instead. Even after four months of listening to the same music, I'm not sick of it. I'm sick for it. I would give anything to be back in Washington Heights.

"Post-show depression" is not uncommon for myself, or any actor. After spending four months working with a cast, connected with characters, lost in another world, it can be hard to come back to reality. I find love is more natural on the stage. I'm so much more comfortable on the stage. Life is so much easier on the stage.

And then there comes the time to leave it all behind. And suddenly everything I've been working on for four months–the relationships I've worked to developed, the notes I've strived to hit, the accents I've perfected–is gone. As Prospero reflects in Shakespeare's The Tempest, "We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounding with a sleep." Many people link Prospero with Shakespeare himself in The Tempest (Shakespeare's final play), particularly in this monologue. Shakespeare spent his entire life creating illusions that disappear at the end of the final act. The magic of his plays exists not in the text we hold in our hands but in the life the actors bring to them, and that life is not tangible. At the end of the play, we are left with a few good memories that may eventually fade and some props for keepsakes. How can one not come out feeling depressed?

This show in particular is a hard one to let go of. It's a story about community and home, and being able to share this story with a group who I have found a home with was an incredible experience. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the story, In the Heights focuses on the Latino community in Washington Heights, New York. The playwright Lin-Manuel Miranda commented that it was one of the first plays where Latinos weren't portrayed as servants or in a gang, but in their relationships with each other. Everyone in the story dreams of getting out of the barrio and making something of themselves. Ultimately, they realize they have been home all along.

Above is my much-loved script, dog-eared and bookmarked and filled with scribbled stage directions and character notes. Even my friend Alex, who never ceases to find amusement in stealing my things, knows that my script is not one to be tampered with by others. I remember sitting at the lunch table the day I got my script, highlighting my lines and music for my dream role: Nina. 

Nina Rosario is the one who makes it out of the barrio. At the start of the play, she is returning from her first year at Stanford University with some surprising news: she dropped out. The girl who always seemed to have it together, who "always made the grade," and who spent her whole life trying to go farther, feels like she failed. And she doesn't know how to tell everyone.

Nina is the most close-to-home character I've played so far. My prior leads–Ms. Wiz in The Wiz and Rizzo in Grease–required me to stretch my acting to become someone almost completely opposite of who I am. Nina is more genuine, and I found the line dividing myself from Nina to be very thin. I understand the pressure to succeed, the pressure to make it look like you have it together, the stubbornness to admit you don't know what you're doing. I felt it nearly every moment with this show. Nina's role is more vocally demanding than the roles I have had in the past. Mandy Gonzalez–who originated the role on Broadway–has a killer belt, and every time I listened to her sing, I felt self-conscious that I could never perform Nina as well. Every show, there is some prop or costume piece that helps me connect with my character. For this show, it was a butterfly.

My first exposure to the butterfly was this journal I purchased a few years ago with the proverb, "Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly." I didn't think much about the symbolism behind it, though, until my friend Liv gave me the butterfly Alex & Ani bracelet for my birthday in November.

Like every Alex & Ani bracelet, there was a brief description of the symbolism of the charm. The butterfly symbolism read as following: "A regenerative species, butterflies consistently transition from caterpillar to cocoon to butterfly. Giving us faith in change, the butterfly is associated with unwavering grace, soulful insight, and eloquence on our journey. Channel the energy of the butterfly and emerge brilliantly from your own transformation." 

When I saw Mandy Gonzalez wearing a butterfly shirt on Broadway, I knew the butterfly was my symbol for Nina. "It all makes sense!" I thought. "Nina is transitioning to find her place in this world. I'm transitioning to find my place. And I must transition to find my voice through Nina." Thus began my butterfly obsession. After browsing through every store in the mall and thirty different internet sites, I finally commissioned my stepdad, who's an artist, to paint one for me. 

And for Valentine's Day, my mom bought me two pairs of butterfly underwear. (Considering I had four nights of performances, I did a load of laundry every night to make sure I had clean underwear for every performance.)

I cannot remember loving a character more than I loved Nina. I worked tirelessly on her character, trying to find my voice in her songs. I will always remember that Saturday rehearsal when the music director approached me and said, "Something changed. When's the last time you listened to Mandy Gonzalez?" I told him it had been over a month. "You can tell. That was fucking gorgeous." And then I remember the Monday after that when I went to my voice teacher and she ripped apart the song, which I know ultimately made it better. I will always remember that moment on stage when I started crying during one of my songs because I connected with Nina so much, and I felt her pain. 

Every character I have ever played has taught me something new. Ms. Wiz helped me be confident. Rizzo taught me that no matter who I meet, I can always find some way to connect to them. Nina helped me find my voice, and I am so grateful to the casting team for giving me the opportunity to perform this role.

Tomorrow I have auditions for the spring play. It's time for me to take flight from Washington Heights, but I will always wear my butterfly charm as a reminder to let my voice be heard. 

"All the world's a stage"

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages," said the famous playwright, William Shakespeare.

I like this quote because it makes the connection between real life and the theatre. The theatre is a place to fabricate reality. It is a place where you can role play situations without consequences. Even within the confinements of the script, there is a remarkable freedom that comes with being someone you're not. Theatre is filled with these strange paradoxes, which fuel the theatre's intense conflicts.

At the end of every school year, our teachers ask us to reflect on our work over the past year, and make goals for the next year. This year, I decided that in addition to improving my own craft–both in writing and acting–I wanted to reach out and share what I love with others.

For those of you who have followed my blog, you may remember some previous posts talking about my volunteer work at an assisted living home. When I visited the assisted living home in previous years, I sat with the residents at dinner and talked, and sometimes visited them in their room. I wanted to be able to give them something, though. I wanted to be able to share with them what has been my ultimate outlet of expression throughout high school: theatre.

Compiling all I had learned from my directors and the books I had read, I compiled a 12-week theatre workshop subtitled: "All the world's a stage." I chose this quote not only because it is from one of the greatest playwrights of all time, but because it emphasizes the point that everyone is an actor-–we've been acting our entire lives. It puts everyone on equal playing grounds, regardless of their experience on the stage. Every week focuses on a different aspect of theatre, starting with monologue work by exploring the tools we have at our disposal as actors (voice, emotion, movement), working up to dialogue and experimenting how to work with others to perform a scene, and finally concluding in a small performance. My hope is that these sessions become a place where the residents, too, can express themselves.

This week was my second week. It was titled: Voice, Emotion & Characterization. Through a variety of activities, we explored how to use our voice and body language to embody different characters and convey different emotions. We had a grand total of seven people–three more than last week–and everyone stayed the entire time. It went much smoother than the first week. The first week was a lot of talking and about half the people left midway, which was a bit disheartening. I wasn't as prepared the first week. It was a busy weekend, so I didn't have time to review my notes beforehand. I hadn't thought about the fact that some of the residents wouldn't be able to stand up for the activities. I was unsure how to address everyone. I was nervous––I've never done anything like this before.

This week I felt much more prepared. I was able to laugh with the residents. Although I am technically the instructor, I have so much to learn from them. One resident attended a drama school that isn't even around anymore. She plays the accordion and traveled the world singing. Another resident used to sing in a barber shop quartet. He wears these great suspenders with musical notes on them.

There are centuries of actors, playwrights and directors to go to for inspiration. Sometimes I forget that there are people even closer for inspiration: those in my everyday life. I'm so excited to see what these residents bring to the table––or should I say, the stage.

Outside the Heart-Shaped Picture Frame

I believe Valentine's Day is intended for two groups of people: lovers and children under the age of ten. For the lovers, it is an excuse to buy each other chocolate and flowers and write romantic love notes. For children under the age of ten, it is an excuse to eat lots of candy (although apparently now schools don't allow candy valentines for their class parties due to health rules) and perhaps get a valentine from your elementary crush (I still have the Fun-Dip from my third grade sweetheart stapled into my journal). 

For everyone else, it is just another ordinary day, filled with some chocolate and lots of cute couples to be envious of. Maybe envious is too strong of a word. Jealous? 

But when I think of the girls walking around with roses from their admirer, or who have their hair curled for a Valentine's Day date, envy is a word that comes to mind. Because their day fits that heart-shaped picture frame. They have a reason to celebrate Valentine's Day, and it's hard not to feel a little left out. "If only someone would offer me a chocolate or a cookie," I thought at lunch, and then laughed at myself for being melodramatic. I've been spending too much time on the stage. 

I have to remind myself that everything I have ever tried to fit in a picture frame has ended in disappointment. Shouldn't I know by now that the best things are often outside the frame I molded? The best things are often the ones I didn't plan? I'll remember next year (or the year after that). 

Regardless of the fact that I wasn't visited by Cupid on this particular Valentine's Day, I found other reasons to celebrate, and upon reflecting back, it wasn't as bad as I first made it out to be. 

The morning began with a two-hour delay and a Valentine's Day-themed breakfast. Heart-shaped raspberry chocolate chip waffles, whipped cream, and strawberries cut in the shape of a heart. I think we only use these heart-shaped plates once a year, but they're great for that one time.

Also, a blend of french vanilla and strawberry-banana yogurt, topped with a strawberry heart and speckled with chia seeds. 

Then, instead of a hot Valentine's Day date, I babysat for my director. Which in hindsight, ended up being the best way I could have spent my Valentine's Day night. Like I said, Valentine's Day is meant for two groups of people: lovers and children under the age of ten. My director's daughter (she's six) and I had a Valentine's Day-themed dinner: peanut butter and fluff sandwiches cut in the shape of a heart (fluff died pink with Hershey's strawberry syrup); heart-shaped strawberries and kiwi; and strawberry milk. 

Then we made valentines and played charades.

Maybe next year I'll have a valentine, but in the meantime, I'll stick with my heart-shaped waffles, strawberry milk and babysitting. (And by the way, the heart-shaped peanut butter and fluff picture frame was delicious...especially with the toasted bread.) 

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!