From Anonymous: Drew and I

Drew and I had started out as friends in 6th grade. When I didn’t get invited to a party and he did, he didn’t go because he didn’t think it was fair. So what happened? Seven years later, I still don’t know. But somewhere between the beginning of 6th grade and the end of the first tri, Drew and I weren’t friends anymore. In truth, he was flat out mean to me. There were no veiled looks and whispers that were easy to ignore from girls. These were cruel remarks that were impossible to ignore. A pack of boys had picked me as their target and no matter how invisible I tried to be, they found me and had something to say about what I did, what I wore, what I said, and anything else they could find to comment on and ruin my day.
I remember sitting in English class in 7th grade crying and holding my breath to keep in the sobs because Drew and three of his friends were sitting in front of me telling me that I was stupid and fat. Literally. It wasn’t backhanded or indirect. It was a slap in the face every time the words came out of their mouths. How did no one notice this? Why did no one stick up for me? That was about the time I thought maybe the reason there were so many boys picking on me and that no one stood up for me was because they were right. I was stupid, fat, ugly, and every other horrible name they called me.
Unbeknownst to even those closest to me, I loathed going to school nearly every day for three years. I faked tummy aches galore and colds that I just couldn’t shake, but I still had to go to school most of the time. Although there were some wonderful moments in middle school, they were overshadowed by hurt feelings and anxiety of when the next attack would come.
I thought I was the only one they hated. The only one who felt lower than dirt every single day. The only one that thought everyone’s life would be better if I could just disappear. Disappearing sounded like a fairy tale to me. But then I heard Drew and his friends talking about a friend of mine in PE in 8th grade well within earshot my friend and me. They were calling her all the same names they called me. It was like someone had turned on a light I never knew was off. What they said had nothing to do with me and everything to do with them.

From Anonymous: The power of Art..."Cabaret"

“Last night there was a deadly shooting at Seattle’s Jewish Confederation building.”

The director continues, “Today; TODAY these people were killed. I’m not talking about a time period in the past; I’m saying that Today there was a shooting. TODAY innocent people were murdered just because of who they are. Think about this…”

Instead of the previous blank stares, he is now met with looks of dismay.

“There is something horribly wrong with this world when people are being killed because of who they are. Here we are, thinking that we are performing a play about history, about the holocaust, when in reality, nothing has changed. You shouldn’t just be performing this play to entertain people; you should be begging them to open their eyes. You need to make the audience realize that if society keeps letting life go by like it has been, then tragedies like this will never stop occurring.”

By this time, the light watery film has already started to cover the cast members’ eyes.

“What does this mean for you? There are some of you sitting right in front of me who won’t be able to get married just because of who you love; some of you are in danger simply because of the people you are. When will this ever change? And what are YOU going to do to change it? Sit back and let life go by, or force people to open their eyes and notice that this world is a messed up place?”

The tears that the cast has been trying so hard to suppress start flowing. Each person sitting on that stage is affected by what was just said for completely different reasons, yet that doesn’t matter. What matters is the fact that everyone is there for each other. To a stranger, the cast at this point probably seems like a group of bawling teenagers, but it’s actually a close-knit family connected by one common thread. This common thread isn’t their love for theater or their excitement about performing, but rather their newfound epiphany; that together they are capable of making a difference.


Before the director challenged us to think about the power of our performance, I was just another 14-year old boy, naïve and young, thinking, “Sure! I love to sing! Performing is so much fun, I want to get better at it”. That was about the extent of my thoughts. I was just enjoying the fact that I could be a part of such an amazing process, playing the Emcee in Artswest’s Summer Conservatory production of the musical Cabaret. I thought it was great that I was performing in a musical, but that’s all I thought I was doing. It wasn’t until the director presented us with this challenge when I opened my eyes and discovered that theater is more than just performing for an audience. Theater is more than just putting on a costume and singing, acting, or dancing to entertain a group of people. Theater is a way to make a statement, to create change. Theater, in my life, is the one place where I have been entirely accepted for the person that I have chosen to be.
The director’s challenge made me realize that no matter what road of life I decide to take, no matter where I end up, I will always have a place where I will be able to be myself. Coming from a lifestyle of baseball, basketball, and soccer games (where breaking down in tears is seen as slightly strange) to sitting in the middle of a stage bawling because of the state the world is in, is a drastic change, to say the least. This drastic change made me come to terms with myself and recognize that I don’t have to hide from anyone. From that moment on I knew that it was possible to open up and free myself from other people’s judgment and just be me. As long as I was living a life that involved theater and music in some way, shape, or form, I would be okay.
Although I may not become a world leader, create a lifesaving cure for a deadly disease, or solve global warming, being on that stage on that hot July day, showed me that I have an ability to make a difference. While the impact of making a statement about a powerful topic may not always seem significant and life changing, the amount of difference that it does make in the world is the most important aspect of my life.

When I was 14-years old, the excitement that my director instilled upon our cast had a profound impact on my life and helped to create a phenomenal production of the musical Cabaret. After the show closed, we all went our separate ways and once again began our separate lives. The significance of that specific moment was stuck in the back of my mind, but it went somewhat disregarded until this last summer.
I was sitting in the same theater that I had been sitting in three summers ago, only this time I was in front of a group of wide-eyed and eager-to-learn 12-15 year olds, as their mentor. The same director that directed me in Cabaret also sat in the audience and asked me the question,
“Andrew, can you tell everyone a little bit about why you’re here? Where did your amazing passion for theater come from?”
I was stumped. All I really know is that I have an extreme passion for theater, but I had never really connected in my mind where it came from. Suddenly, my thoughts darted back to the influential moment in Cabaret and I started to explain it exactly way I did earlier. As I got to the climax of my description I could see the tears well up in the eyes of my onlookers and I was at a loss for words.
Emotions overwhelmed me and the only thought I could generate that was extremely hard to communicate was, “I have to be here…I have to be in theater and I can’t imagine my life any other way.”
After I was done talking with this group of kids, I couldn’t stop thinking about how worked-up I got, when a specific student came up to me. It was a twelve-year old girl who I had given special help to outside the allotted class time; she stopped me and gave me the most powerful hug I have ever received in my life. This hug spoke louder and clearer than a thousand words put together, and I thought to myself… ‘I have already made a difference.’

From Anonymous: Scramble

I remember the scramble. We searched our hotel room for every bag we could find. We shoved my folders, organizers, alarm clocks, thumbtacks, posters and frames into plastic grocery bags left by the last inhabitant. As I stuffed my extraordinary amount of clothes into my suitcase, I broke into a cold sweat. As the beads trickled down my spine, I suddenly realized, emotionally, what I was doing. I was moving into somewhere with someone I didn’t know about to participate in something I wasn’t sure about. Away from my friends, and officially an “ex” I felt alone.
We drove over the picturesque emerald hills and too-perfect colonial architecture. It was everything I had wanted: the perfect setting for my next 4 years. I moved into my dorm room hastily and met my roommate. “This is going to be okay,” I told myself. As orientation began I met new people who seemed kind and nice enough. How much can you really know from a stupid name game and someone’s favorite ice cream? As the first week transitioned into the second and third, things became cleared.
At the beginning of actual classes, we had a dance. I got excited at the prospect of dressing up and letting loose. I had been so stressed about meeting new people I was ready to forget about it. As my roommate walked in with her ever-growing possie, she poured me a few drinks. Now- trust me, I drink and I had for a long time. So, I slammed them back. Drink after drink until I was giddy with excitement. As I walked into the dance, the intoxicating smell of vodka and Old Spice filled my nose. I realized that every other freshman had been doing the same thing I was the hour prior. I jumped into dancing and guys were grabbing me left and right. As I danced with this anonymous body, I felt oddly at home. Men, I get men. This I can do. One boy turned me around and reviled his face from the dark light and said: “You want to get out of here?” As much as I knew where this was going. I was dumped and desperate and craving some attention. Sex was something I’d done before; I wasn’t scared.
I lay covered in white itchy sheets purchased the day before. I could almost taste the sweat in the air as he crawled out of bed. After a quick smile, he left and there I was looking at the boring ceiling. This is the time I was supposed to feel used and stupid but surprisingly, the feelings never came. I felt better; I felt like I fit here in this foreign land I now “belonged” to.
I kept on my escapades with everyone who asked. It made them happy and it made me happy. I was important in that one moment. And as I spiraled down and the notches on my bedpost grew, I began to feel better and better. I drank any chance I could and fawned all over men trying to get attention. It worked most times and I felt better and better.

The night of the presidential debate what the night it all broke. After sitting in my room alone, while others watched the battle, I continued to drink. As my head became hazy, my lifestyle became clear. I was a whore, slut, drunk, and a fool. I repeated these words over and over again. I wrote them down on countless pieces of paper and continued to drink.
As my self- loathing increased, my long to live decreased. I looked around the room for something to make me disappear, nice and quietly as to not disturb my neighbors partying next door. I reached towards a bottle of pills on my roommate’s dresser. The pills were large and hard to swallow- I assumed they could pack a punch. I laid the pills out on my itchy sheets and counted. I picked up the first pill and smelled it. It was bitter and strong so I quickly shoved it my mouth and dry swallowed. It wasn’t bad and I didn’t feel anything. I reached for the next pill and back at the door. It was closed and locked. I raised it with a steady hand to my mouth and swallowed again. As I felt the lump work its way down my upper pharynx, The doorknob started too shake. I folded my sheets over the line of pills and picked up my red solo and smiled. My drunken roommate wandered in and flopped on her bed. She eagerly propped open the door with laundry soap and started to sing to her favorite song. People from the party next door walked past, laughing at the ridiculously drunk freshman swaying in her room to Jason Mraz when one tall slender girl paused.
She came into the room with erratic steps, pausing to assess the situation. Gently sitting my roommate down in a chair, she came and sat on my bed. She asked me what was wrong and I lied- “Nothing,” I responded, she pulled the solo cup out of my hand and smelled it. She repeated her question but this time she was a bit more serious. She grabbed my shoulders tight and tried to get some eye contact. When her ice blue eyes met mine, I burst out into tears. I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth so she just sat. Her hands still firmly on my shoulders, her eyes began to water too. I pulled back that white sterile sheet to reveal my plan. She looked with no obvious surprise. Confused, I looked around. Two security campus guards stood at my door. The escorted me down the hall, my head turned downwards. I felt all the doors opening, and eyes staring at me. It was the most embarrassing thing of my life.
It was at this moment I realized that I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t be here and continue to do what I had been doing. I realized that I couldn’t make this work and it was over for me. The gig was up and I needed to escape. The preppy polos and freshly mowed lawns had trapped me. I didn’t fit but tried to fit in the most natural primitive way I could- to function as only a woman, only an object.

I sat in the counselor’s office on the phone. My mother sat on the other end no doubt in immense fear. I explained to her that I couldn’t be here and I had to leave. I prepared myself for a battle of wills and an epic argument about my “education.” After a long, nervous pause she responded “of course.” Within days, I made my graceful exit leaving some people I loved and some people I didn’t behind. I grew a lot in only a tad over two months. I had hit my rock bottom and made the hardest decision of my life. I didn’t follow my plan. I quit some could say. But I had to and I made a decision just for myself. After spending my life selflessly, and generously, I realized I had sacrificed myself and who I was for other people and in doing so, almost gave away my life.

Since then, I have lived my life doing what I want to do and fulfilling some of my dreams. Although I still battle to please everyone and be the best person I can, I recognize the importance of happiness for you.

From Anonymous: Worst Nightmare

In the worst nightmare of my life, all of my family died. In my dream, I was in school, and my teacher pulled me to the side and said that my family was dead. I refused to believe her. Suddenly I was at home and my house was empty. All the lights were off and I looked around at the lonely bedrooms. I could not believe it was happening. I thought I must have been dreaming, but it was all too real and I couldn't wake up. I never felt so lonely as I did at that moment. I have never been more lost. I wished so much I could just wake up and that life could start over. That I could just see their faces once more. I was hysterical. My life seemed to be completely over and I could not find a reason to live. Then I woke up. My pillow was soaked because I had been crying in my sleep, which is something that has only happened to me once. I felt my face and my blankets and looked at my room. I heard t.v. coming from another room. It was a weekend morning, very relaxed, and the bright morning sun shone brightly. It was all a dream. I ran to the next room to see if my family was there. There they sat, completely unaware of the trauma I had been through. It was just another morning for them. I ran to my family and hugged them. After they got me calmed down I explained why I was so happy to see them. Nothing has taught me the value of my family more than that dream. There is not a single moment that goes by when I am not thinking of them, praying for them, and thankful for their health.

From Anonymous: Home Alone

I was home alone, because my parents had left about a half hour ago to go to the movies. It was around three p.m. on Sunday, and I had to write a history paper due the following week. I was 13. I had always been a bit irked by staying home alone, but by this time I was pretty comfortable with it. As I sat and typed my paper on the computer, the stairs and walls creaked. I reminded myself that the house was just “settling” as my mom would say, because the house was a bit old. I was jumpy as I worked on my paper. I thought I heard sounds, but I kept telling myself that it was all in my head and that I needed to focus. Then I heard thumping from the garage. I assured myself it was nothing, but then I was positive I heard footsteps. I sprang to my feet when I realized that there was something coming from the garage, and I was terrified because I couldn’t remember if I had locked the door between the house and the garage. When I heard the handle turn, I knew somebody was trying to get in the house. He tried the door, but it was locked. Then he knocked a few times on the door to see if anyone was home. I could not move from where I was. I was standing and listening, and the front door to my house was just 5 feet away from me, but I could not get my legs to move. All I could do was listen because I was afraid. Then the knocking got louder, the door handle was shaken, and the cat door was kicked in. I could not move and I was hardly breathing. I pictured what the intruder looked like. Just a few months prior to this moment, the house across the street was broken into with a girl my age home from school sick. A man had knocked on her house’s door, and when she did not answer he threw a rock in her window. She screamed and the robber ran down the street, past my house, through my other neighbor’s yard. I knew this because it was on the news. I pictured the man as the man who had been described on the news. All I could remember was that he had a red, plaid shirt. I kept looking at the door, which was just 5 feet away. I managed to take two steps and then I was stuck. I was so close to the door to run across the street but I could not move because I was so fearful. Then the door dividing my house and the garage was opened. I was paralyzed and I wanted to run away. The door to the outside was so close but I was stuck. The intruder stomped in and paused. I wondered what he was waiting for. Then I heard his rusty, deep, ratty, dangerous, scary voice: “good, nobody’s home.” I wondered who he was talking to. Then it dawned on me that there was more than one robber! That idea had never even crossed my mind. I never even thought of a circumstance where to people robbed a home. I thought how I could protect myself. Since I couldn’t run, I decided I would scream, but I couldn’t get my mouth to open. Then the garage door opened again, and a second person entered. I heard the voice of a woman. I thought I must have imagined it. Then I instantly walked out of the room I was in and down the hall, straight toward the intruders. I wasn’t thinking. I saw my mom standing there with my brother. She was smiling and he was laughing. My mom was telling my brother to stop joking around. I was instantly thankful for my safety and my family and my health. I had a hard time staying home alone after that, so I learned self defense. If I were in that situation again, I would be able to handle it much better.

From Anonymous:Skiing in Utah

Last febuary i was skiing in Utah. I was at the top of the cliff and my brother said he wasn't gong to jump off it beucase it was "rediculously BA" and so i laughed in his face and jumped off the cliff without really noticing that there wasn't a good landing space. When i hit the run below i didn't have room to stop and so when i tried to turn i hit a bumb and my knee went POP and i tore my ACL. This little rather untrancendic moment is relevent because it happened two weeks before track season, something i really cared about. I had this apiphany that sports are really temporary, and thinking about it, I am not very good at them. So then, that summer, in lew of speding hours training for cross country season, i joined a community theater. I played Sebastion in The Tempest, as a victorian era duchess. There was a moment when i was swimming in the lake next to the community theater, at eleven at night with my cast and i felt like i belonged. i felt a peice of mildue on my foot and my hair was plasticy from the grey spray that was in it. It was overcast in seattle, even in august and you couldn't seen te moon. right then, when triculo hit me across the head with part of his costume, a pair of checkered pants, i felt like i completely belonged.