maybe, just maybe

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Moulin Rouge inspired.

I dream of making a musical play. Yeah. Right.


Sometimes I wonder why dreams can't be just easier done than said and just forget that stuck up cliche? Though it kind of sounds bad, I still wish it works that way. Unfortunately, that way is not the way of the world, right? You have to work hard to get what you want, and if ever you don't get exactly what you want...half the time, you will after you trip down ten thousand times. Haha. And imagine, on the same banana peel. Eh?

Ehem..anyway, let's go back to that impossible dream.


I have always wanted to make a musical play ever since like...two years ago? Yeah, not really like the hard-core-since-born dreamers but at least, a dreamer. Now in order to achieve that, I have envisioned myself to google for a director, storyline, scriptwriter, song, musical director, choreographer, really creative producers, group of willing actors, band of singers, dance group, set of lights, and all those various entities needed for a running production. Hah. People. Where am I suppose to find you? And to be sure, where am I seeing myself in this dream production? I have no idea.


So there you have it, the dream and the problem. All I need now is to search and immerse myself to all things musical and find out if this is not just some infatuation I've again acquired through the absence of productivity and hunger of innovation and creativity within me.


I am a confusing person, I know, for my want of lots and lots and lots and lots (you get the point) of things at the same time but never focus on one thing. Consider this, as an early gradeschool blackboard lecture copier, I am the one who could not ever stick to one color of a pen nor style of writing in one sitting. I always made it a point to change my penmanship from cursive to print to cursive to print with every possible two sentences I copy. Funny yet the habit never really bothered me...until now. Even as a musician, I started out trying the six-stringed guitar at daytime and the monochromatic keys at night. Yes, it gets me surviving in the busy musical world, though lately, I am focusing more on the latter instrument. It's black and white. The point is, I just want to be sure if this is what I really want. And why. WHY. Gosh, my ever favorite question of all time. And my equally favorite answer would always be...I have no idea.


Anyhow, because of this impossible dream I am eyeing on reuniting my sense of artistic mind (still dreaming) with this Theater Center Workshop I've met two years ago. W-wait...two years ago? Okay. OKAY. Now, I GET IT. (Do you?). Inspiration came. NAH. Now that I think and write about it, at the same time, whatever made this dream impossible in the first place...is me. I claim not to be good in singing nor to be expertly musical so I therefore concluded that I AM NOT ready. But a friend (Yay! Lil bro) just reminded me awhile ago how I should get out of my shell. Haven't I? Or I must have returned once again coz I'm feeling cowardly again. But...but...

"it's not about kung mglng ka or what...that is not what it's all about. nor are you playing for laughs in other words mpsya ang audience...pmnta ka dun dhl may purpose ka. may gus2 kang i share na part of YOU"

At this age, maybe I'll never be able to claim that "HEY, I'm ready! I'm ready! I'm ready!"~spongebob all the time. No matter what I do is not yet enough (or is perfect the term?) Til I am finally am able to overcome my inner self I'll be forever be lying down waiting when I shall be ready to share this ringing silence of me. No, I can't.

One month to go. Fifty days to go. Maybe, just maybe I am meant for something better than this.

One plus one equals three.

I know what you're thinking...and the answer is Yes--and No. Yes, you see it right, I have learned a new method of adding things up but NO, I do not like math. One of the few great lessons I've learned from my friend and professor is that not to take everything too literally. Things just don't add up and result to the same way you actually thought them to be. But if you still can't figure it out, picture it like this.

You suddenly had a hopeless romantic inspiration and wanted to write a story. So, you spend days and days--even months thinking, researching, writing, editing and re-editing altogether and before you know it, you have a story! Fast track a few years later you read your story once again and see what you've conjured up during your younger days. By then, you'd realize..."Oh..my...gosh! Did I write this?!!" Well, the exaggerated way. "I cannot believe I wrote these mushy stuff!" or let's be narcissus "SERIOUSLY, I wrote these? Wow. I was sooo cool."

But of course, that is not always the case but only based only on my experience. Because you might either be too proud or too ashamed of what you've done and still won't believe it otherwise. Most people can do a lot of things, even better than what they planned, if they just put lots of effort into it then end up thinking, how was I able to do it? Funny it maybe, our minds and determination can work beyond what we can normally perceive as mere patches of moving clay on this earth. Really cool actually. When you add up what you think you have then the sum would be equated to that. But not really.

1 effort + 1 imagination = millions of art

So, one plus one is?

To my professor

I've said it once and I'm saying it again, "I'm not that good a writer" and I've seen better. In the eighteen years, two months, and 22 days of my life I have never been truly confident with showing others what I write because it was just like sharing my deepest secrets and inner thoughts to people who I don't even know. But then, lately, I realized what influence and information I may give to others just by writing.

And I would never have thought of doing so without my professor, Sir Abe Rotor whom I and my good friend Audrey would secretly(except now it's no longer a secret) call "Tatay". He is like a father figure and at the same time wise dude for us, a type of guy who could gladly inspire anyone who would also gladly listen to him, otherwise, every words he would say are seemingly useless.

So anyway, I am probably one of the thousand living humans who dares to listen to this wise man. And though I may not be able to write like him especially not with poems (simply not my forte) and also incapable of writing at least three articles a day, I would still do my best to write, write, write, and write!

No matter how bad, at least I do something about it, right?

Here is the blog of my professor: avrotor.blogspot.com