Somehow, the thought of that happening makes me smile a little. I hope that Marlon would have to sit through hearing all these details about me.
That makes me feel less alone in this whole tirade.
Five
Tell me again,who’s wonderful idea it was to have a party on a Sunday?
I can stillhearthe loud singing of my relatives as my ears thrum from the overexertion of last night, blending itself with the screeching of the train. Today is the first official day at The Australian Film Institute,and I really didn’t want to spend it in a daze.
While it’s an hour trip away, I actually don’t mind the trek. I get to catch up on whatever I’m reading, and right now, I’m rereadingTo All The Boys I’ve Loved Before,one of my favourite romance novels.
Except, as I thumb through the pages, the words merge together as I try to blink the remainder of sleep from my eyes.
Finally, my train approaches the last stop - Central station. I catch my reflection on the doors before it opens up. Staring back at me is a wide-eyed girl (with nice hair, I admit), in aSpirited Awaytee, which I decided to wear in hopes of attracting some Ghibli fans as a conversation starter.
Ireallyneeded the conversation assistance today, especially after Orientation Week last week.
For five torturous days, my cohort fell victim to activity after activity of icebreakers, which I saw no need for, especially since ouractualtimetable required us to be in for only three days.
For five days straight, I suffered endless doses of imposter syndrome, as aspiring filmmakers boasted on and on of theirpractical camera skills, or their existing credits on short films. Over and over I listened to future cinematographers, screenwriters, and directors gush over their wideset ambitions of being the new Steven Spielberg, of their desire to create change with their touching narratives.
Me? I rambled on about how my favourite film is Pride and Prejudice(2005 version, duh),starkly contrasting their catalogue of Christopher Nolan or Quentin Tarantino favourites.
In fact, an aspiring VFX artist let me talk his head off over how I thought the Mr. Darcyhand-flexscene was a work of art.
The cherry on top, however, has got to be the weird looks I received when I told my peers about how I joined the film industry to adapt more novels into movies.
Honestly, were my ambitions so far fetched from the rest of the cohort? Storytelling is storytelling, no matter the form, isn’t it?
Truthfully, if I have to doonemore icebreaker activity this week, I’ll actually rip my hair out.
Icebreaker Activity: Who Are Your Favourite Characters?
It's the first thing I see when I walk through the doors of my screenwriting class, projected against the wall.
Great.
I spend the better part of the morning stammering to the aspiring production designer beside me about why Belle was my favourite fictional character. It’s because she’s a reader, like me, and the heroine in Beauty and the Beast, my favourite fairytale. The activity is followed by a lecture on characterisation, which I could actually enjoy, if it weren’t for the brain fog.
Remind me againneverto do karaoke on a Sunday night.
Finally, the clock strikes 12, signalling lunch break, and my stomach grumbles on queue. I gather my items immediately,and zoom out the door. I can’t get out of the classroom fast enough.
“Hey Jas! How did you find class?”
Rose-coloured hair enters my peripheral vision and I turn just as Kiara’s pale arm brushes against mine, her pierced-lipped grin an instant mood-lifter. I met Kiara last week on the first day of O-Week, where we started talking about video games instead of sharing three fun facts about ourselves. She’s one of the few that I clicked immediately with from the icebreakers.
“It was okay,” I profess, shrugging a little. “But I’m exhausted from last night so I found it hard to really pay attention, you know?”
Kiara quirks a brow, and nudges my shoulder playfully. “Ooft, party a little too hard?”
I chuckle, shaking my head, “Not me, but my family did.”
“Goddamn, remind me to come over to yours.”
We emerge from the large glass doors of the building and onto the grassed field right in front. Picnic benches are scattered conveniently, and thankfully I spot one that’s empty. I pull out my leftover chicken adobo and rice from my bag, my tongue tingling in anticipation.
“Hey girls!”
