"The Theatre is a Temple of the Arts"

Fifty-five. That's how many days it's been since I last breathed the air in Singapore (which I'm told now is once again filled with ashes, courtesy of Indonesia, so good thing I'm not there inhaling it with my stately, ample lungs. That's right, I'll find anything to boast about.). I don't know what's there to say about passing a fifty-five day mark, except that life for me is all cheerios and candy-cane. Each day lives like a fantasy, each sound's like a symphony and all that, as I skip along to class, birds sing to me and strangers cartwheel as they high-five. It's just not humanely possible for anything to be even more perfect than it is. 

Okay, I can't do this. 

It'd be lovely if I could really say that everything's sunshine and daisies and butterscotch muffins with juicy blueberry centers, just for the purpose of incurring everyone's envy and poisonous hatred, if nothing else. On the surface, it does look as if everything's fine, and I'm going along with the motions as though I've always been a cog in this smoothly operating wheel. I live in a lap of luxury with a doorman, marble lobbies and concierge, thanks to dad's money, I don't have to think before making purchases because I know I'm always supported, and there's no lack of social activities with all the guaranteed weekend (sometimes weekdays, cause they don't call it Wasted Wednesdays for nothing) partying. It looks so perfect that even I've been fooled by it for a while.

I don't want to sound like a supremely unappreciative brat, because of course I'm thankful for all I have going for me right now. I know I'm among the rare minority that gets such opportunities, and I'll be the first to say how grateful I am to Papa Almighty. But in trying to get my life together by myself, pushing myself every day to do something I couldn't, or wouldn't have before, and maintaining that strong exterior you need to survive in such a solitary environment, I feel as though I've neglected myself. I've heard stories of how studying and living in a new place can be tough, but this was totally different from their kind of difficult. For the ones I've heard, mainly, are those that steadfastly refuse to integrate into the society, choosing instead to remain in gangs of their own race or background, so it becomes more and more comfortable for them in their little 'pseudo-homelands', and each time it just gets harder to break out of it. 

In my case, the difficulty is finding something here that's really 'me'. Something that appeals and speaks to my loves and interest, something I can call mine. I feel really displaced, somehow, like I'd be having fun and enjoying myself somewhere, but at the same time, I know I'm half a beat off from their rhythms. It's not as easy as 'similar interests' = 'instant chemistry', for I've seen people in singing groups that I just get the yeack-vibe from. Sure, I can put up a front and seem like I'm really into whatever it is we're talking about, but somewhere in the back of my mind I'm thinking, 'Why am I saying stuff that sounds so out-of-character for me."

Do people really adapt to their environments, or do we seek out environments that can adapt to us? I'm finding myself a little more emotionally unstable these days, I guess from the lack of honest, introspective, face to face, personal interactions that I used to enjoy with my inner-circle in Singapore. Not the pathologically disturbed kind of unstable, just that I find myself more susceptible to welling up at TV shows or stuff like that. Like my emotions are just bubbling at the surface, waiting for that one dramatic 'bawling in the shower' scenario that everyone should try at least once in their lives. It's efficient cause you're already wet, just use the shower-head to conveniently wash off the salty fluids.

I guess a plus point to living in America is that stuff you've once only heard about are now very much within grasp. Just last week I went to watch that amazing musical Wicked, when it was playing at the Overture Theater in Madison. It's probably around a fifteen minute walk from my Palatial Dorm. To see performances of songs like Defying Gravity and For Good, songs we've known and have been singing for so long, presented right in-front of you by a green witch is beyond amazing. I won't go into too many details, for I've already written them in an email to Damian, and I don't like stealing words from myself. All I'll say is, it's everything you can possibly imagine, and more. And then probably even more than that. (You are absolutely right if you think I'm doing this to make you jealous.) The main point is, watching Wicked, even though I had to watch it alone cause no one else would pay $150 to watch it with me, was the first 'truly me' thing that I've done since arriving here, and I finally felt reconnected to the person that matters the most to me - Jesus. 

HA wouldn't that be hilarious. Just kidding, I meant myself. 

Next up at the Overture - Joan Rivers, 23 October, and I can't wait to scrutinize her wrinkle-less face from my Row B seat.