She Who Will Rise Again

Sometimes I wonder if people want to be with me because of who I am, not because of what I do. It's a question that comes up every now and then, and it's something I'm still learning.

I made the decision to be an actor when I was 9, and to be a film maker when I was 21. Ever since, the work has never ended. The classes, the workshops, the networking. Non-stop. And I love doing it...

But it's been such a huge part of my life, that people sometimes forget that outside of all this, I'm still a normal person. Who likes to do normal things. Like sleep. And eat. Or just do nothing and watch bad television.

When the operation happened, that's when I was forced to see who I was outside of the films and all that good stuff. I was a human being, that bleeds and gets hurt just as much as the next person. And it was during that time I was starting to see things for what they really are. And seeing the truth is scary. Honesty is scary.

But it doesn't take a stay at the hospital to make me feel as if  I'm weak. The rewards for taking risks are absolutely wonderful, but there are days (weeks, months) where you feel as if you've fallen and you don't know how to get back up again.  And it's in these moments that reveal who are meant to be in our lives.

It's in these moments where people show you their true colors, and when people show you their true colors, you better believe it and make your decision then.

Because if I had lost my ability to film, who would still want me? Who would still want to be around me? I've asked myself these things during my many, many failures.

It's no wonder famous people get crazy. The minute you reach success, it's wonderful. You relish in it, and people just want to celebrate every moment with you. But people can turn on you the minute you make a mistake, or a bad movie.

I think that's why I went on this little spiritual journey of mine. To figure out who I was outside of my passion, when the production ends and the cameras aren't rolling. Who I am when I'm not escaping to create.

And I must say, the search for one's self has been incredibly revealing, and it is painful to open up old wounds that never truly healed. But for the sake of me and my art, it had to be done.

And what I've learned about myself is that in no matter what I do, I give it my all, even if it my "all" isn't a lot. However, I seem to be more active in helping others than in helping myself. I guess I had always figured that's just what someone does so that they'd never be alone.

But as soon as I fall, if I failed, I had started to realize that the number of people that helped me get back up did not even come close to the number of people I had helped.

Like I said, the truth is scary, and it hurts like hell. But now that I've seen that truth, I can't go back. Nor do I want to. I have only one life to live, and I was lucky to get a second chance to live it, and I  refuse to live a life that's based on lies I wanted to believe.

I want the real thing.

The Next Step

During the first few months in my new city, I once said that the darkest thoughts come during the quiet moments of my life, which is why I always try to surround myself with noise.

It explains my impatience. Why I get so antsy when things stay the same, when nothing happens. Why I can't just sit down and truly give myself a break.

Escaping into a world of fantasy is easy. To get lost in one's art can create a feeling of euphoria. Of purpose. But what happens when a project is finished? What happens when you get back in to real life?

That's what I wanted to figure out. When I lived back home it seemed that art was an excuse to run away. When I came back, so did the thrill. At least for a while.

But there was always that part of me that just wanted to stop running, and face the inner demons so set on consuming whatever it was that kept me going in life. I wanted to explore that light that came out after hitting rock bottom. Even if it meant going through the darkness.

I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it, but the important thing is I've been given a second chance to figure it out.

She Comes Home

I feel like I lived an entire life in the span of one month.

But I guess that happens when you've almost faced death. Life starts to come at you fast.

Really fast.

And sometimes, it's hard to get others to keep up with you. And many times it seems you're doing too much, too soon, too quickly. And they are not at fault for thinking that way. That's just how it works. Their experiences are different than yours. They have a different journey.

I've always said that the world I've envisioned is a great place to be. My problem was always convincing others to come with me. I can only show them through my actions, which many times I've had to do on my own. I had to be my own support system. My own cheerleader. My own coach.

It's why I love collaboration. I can only give them a taste of what I'm thinking, have them interpret what I mean, make minor adjustments if only to push them further, and bring them closer to my world. Because the closer they are, the more they can see and understand me, what I'm all about.

It can be extremely scary though, to show a piece of your heart. To put yourself out there, and to expose yourself to vulnerability. But I think I've learned heartache after heartbreak, that it builds some kind of resilience. You have no idea what you can survive until you actually go through it. And it seems to me that the heart is much stronger than I give it credit for.

My Uncle once told me that the reasons why artists go through pain is because when we create, we can create the ending we were hoping for. And for a very long time, I've wondered if I was cursed to go through such pain for the sake of writing stories.

I come from a long line of great storytellers. Those who have lived through such times as the war and persecution, with nothing but their imaginations to entertain them. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to be that person to do a little song and dance if it meant that it would help people forget about their problems (Or at least acknowledge what they were going through to know they weren't alone), even for just a moment. I guess that part of me never died, even when I developed the complexities of the grown-up world.

Starting over is never easy, no matter how many times you do it. It's always scary to start from scratch, to pick yourself up again and begin anew. It's uncomfortable, it's weird, and dare I say, lonely. And many times I miss the cozy life I once had, where everything I needed and wanted was within reach.

But that is exactly why I left that life. Because I was tired of being too comfortable. I wanted adventure,   the epiphanies, and a life to say that I built with my own two hands, no longer being in anyone's shadow, but stepping into the light.

I wanted my own story. And if this is what it takes, so be it.

I'm not done yet. Not even close.