060: Re-evaluation

I must confess, I've strayed away from the reasons why I started this blog in the first place.

I wrote: "...this little blog of mind...must be just for me." Believing that this is a medium where, like "Reinaldo Arenas who, in his memoir, wrote about the 'splendor of (his) life,'" I had hoped to do the same, "to ingrain in me a joy that celebrates my heart beating, my lungs expanding and contracting, my existence, my life; ...to implant in me a wisdom that teaches, even though I am allotted only an infinitesimal space in this vast universe of ours, even though I may affect no one, even though I feel alone and insignificant..." I wanted to stand naked before all in a spirit of celebration of my life...

Yet still I avoid the many skeletons in my closet. However cathartic it might be, I'm still a creature of habit, unwilling to tear down the walls, paralyzed by irrational fear. The splendor of my life is left undisclosed... Sigh. (You see, I'm still doing it: I'm guilty of hiding behind a superfluous writing style and overused clichés, never getting to the point of what's in my heart. Double sigh.)

During my senior year in college, tired of following the path my family had set, I rebelled to revel at a feast of creativity, taking courses in sculpture and acting. In my acting class, as our final assignment, each team was to perform a short scene. Our acting coach selected for my partner and me a scene from Tony Kushner's landmark play, Angels in America, Millennium Approaches. She also selected for me to play Joe Pitt, the closeted gay Mormon lawyer. Already, even before my acting career had a chance to splutter into existence, I was typecasted! But the fascinating aspect for me is that, looking back, I think my coach saw me-her gaydar was so well tuned that even before I knew myself she saw me.

The scene's setup, as written in the play, is described:

On the granite steps outside the Hall of Justice, Brooklyn. It is cold and sunny. A Sabrett wagon is selling hot dogs. Louis, in a shabby overcoat, is sitting on the steps contemplatively eating one. Joe enters with three hot dogs and a can of Coke.

Joe: Can I...?

It's a scene where Joe realizing that, all his life, he has been wearing a false skin, albeit his own, he wants "to shed (his) skin, every old skin, one by one and then walk away, unencumbered, into the morning."

He takes a swig of Pepto-Bismol.

After having some bites of the hot dog and sipping the Coke, I also follow suit with the Pepto-Bismol, grimacing, "I can't be this anymore. I need...a change, I should just..."

And here I am today, still uttering the same words, still feeling the same sentiments. I can't be this anymore.