Surrey. Car theft capital of North America 2002.
Surrey. Fuckin’ brown people.
Not you Indu, you’re cool, I mean, you’re practically white.
Surrey. Natasha.
Seven years since we parted ways and every day, in every face I see, something reminds me of you.
Surrey. Must be Latin for things fall apart here.
Love falls apart here. Families fall apart here.
Family.
“A’s, you should be getting A+’s”
“She wants to be an actor. Sitting around all the time watching movies.”
“She wants to be an actor. Sitting around all the time watching movies.”
“You’re what? Valedictorian? I don’t know what that is, I don’t care”
Surrey. Leave Surrey.
University. University. Must be Latin for impersonal academic objectivity shoved so far up your ass you choke. I can’t even say art anymore. Nevermind theatre.
So I forgot how. I forgot.
So I forgot how. I forgot.
Until... Theatre at UBC Presents Billy Bishop Goes to War. That show was like seeing the face of God. It was so undeniably real. And I think to myself, I wanna do that. I hold onto this feeling. This feeling, this feeling, I hold on when there’s nothing else to hold onto. I hold on until three years of rejection letters pay off. Until someone finally says, hey, we want you. Until I remember where I belong. Where I belong. Where I belong.
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