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Sunday, December 10, 2006: Flame of the Dies Irae
It's been burning in me ever since last night when I found out about two things. I'm going to be firing some salvos here so this post will be really charged-up. I apologise if I've hurt anyone.
First and foremost, a long shoutout to you.
You are the one who caused my flame of love for drama to freeze over, do you know that? The thought of having to be in your class at every session was too much to bear. Choreography won't get us anywhere. It only brings in money for the choreographer while the performers who have to present the dance have to slave to get the moves right, do you understand that? Of course it's easy for you to choreograph and then get us to perform, but, like, you bloody well just choreographed my batch's dance out of mid-air when you couldn't remember your initial moves. YOU DIDN'T EVEN MASTER YOUR OWN DANCE, AND YOU WANT US TO MASTER IT. Is that even fair, I wonder? I doubt you even dared to choreograph the Chingay or NDP or whatever large-scale performance that you choreographed in this I-can't-remember-so-I'm just-making-it-up fashion.
Besides, you say flexibility matters to an actor.
I say NOT.
It just has to flow through you. It's just like music. Once you understand the melody taken by your part, you will automatically feel it. No doubt stage actors have to use big actions to try to get the message across, but that can be achieved without flexibility. I CAN DO IT WITHOUT YOUR WARM-UPS; SO CAN THEY.
It's not that I dispute your professionalism or your expertise - I just think that you shouldn't have been there.
You are the one thing that caused me to quit. It's not Mr. Monitor's calling me a "crazy baboon" that forced me to quit. Speaking of the monitor and monitress, I felt that I was more mature than them back then, and I still feel so now. So what if they are popular? Mr. Monitor was immature enough to call me names.
Either way, thank you for the honour of letting me be one of the floor dancers last year. That's an honour that I'll gladly junk away with the rest of the trash.
I'm glad some of the juniors got to take part in a drama item within this year's showcase. Good for them, unlike me; I had to suffer at your hands all this while.
Now, for the second cause of my anger.
I shall only address the situation in a few lines, unlike for Mr. Choreographer.
Your superiority complex evidently has the better of you, even after so many years, or should I say, centuries. After all this time, I can't believe you still have it. You've evidently inherited it from your ancestors. Come on, people, Isabella is long gone, and so should this rotten attitude. And to think my teachers took away the drama from some of the Literature students in my level in favour of studying your situation back then. I can tell you, it was really a rotten era. So was the Apartheid era in South Africa - the South Africans were second-class citizens in their own homeland, in favour of your ancestors' descendants who are there.
On another note, return the Olympics to the Greeks, please. They should be the ones to set the standard, not you. And I don't understand why, at the Asian Games, all the names are changed to fit your format.
It's true, the second group of people were descended from the same kind of people who landed on South Africa and brought about the Apartheid.
Now that all the salvos have been fired, I think I shall leave my blogblog in peace - after this one last line.
O Salutaris Hostia, da robur, fer auxilium!
Singing off.
~Seraphine Chorister~ sang in The Butterfly Garden
[10:23 AM]
