We string along emotions throughout events, events that make up what we know as “a day”. These emotions are pushed and pulled and morphed into an acceptable exhibition for the public, displayed brightly (but not so brightly) in hopes of masking your true mental state.
I wear a mask in public, we all do. I began to perfect the color, shape, and flavor of my mask through the arts;
Teatro
Well actually, through my older brother referring me to theatre because I was ditching school and he volunteered at Plaza de la Raza. I met my first love there, among many other passions that blossomed into lifelong endeavors. It’s a shame the Cal Arts Community Partnership (CAP)/Plaza de la Raza Theatre program officially ended in 2017, after 27 years of magic and raising people like me.
Through Plaza, I would score a scholarship to study at Cal Arts for a summer program called "CSSSA", where I would meet kids from all over the world dedicated to becoming serious artists, performers, writers, musicians, actors, and dancers. They were studying in order to contribute to the world of elite arts I believed was so not me.
One of the friends I met, we'll call her "Bam" was particularly edgy, which I was drawn to in my apathetic teenage years. We snuck away to smoke cigarettes and established a camaraderie early on. The program would eventually end, and I would return home - back to my life in LA.
I'd learn my grandmother passed away while I was attending CSSSA and my parents kept it from me. I'd also learn my dog got hit by a car and would also die, and then my little cousin would soon pass due to health reasons. I thought my little summer of "art" was just a pretend go away session, and then I had to come back to reality - (that shits not for you tonta).
Still, it was a great learning experience. So much so, that I believe it brought on an uncontrollable amount of stress. That, or all the shit I did as a kid finally caught up. I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis my senior year of high school, before I left for college. But that's another story.
The reason all this is important is because I ran into Bam three years later, while I happened to be on my lunch break in my college town. I saw a girl skateboarding in a dress and I thought, hey I do that...I should go talk to her. And I instantly recognized her as the girl I shared a cigarette with that summer at Cal Arts.
We exchanged numbers, and she casually mentioned backpacking Europe to me - because she was moving to arts school in Scotland. It was a serendipitous comment. I had just applied to study abroad in Australia. Why Australia? Because it was fucking far away, my ex had just dumped me, and yeah he may have once mentioned wanting to go there. I was partially heartbroken, partially willing to go to the other side of the world to see it. It didn't matter that I didn't know how I was going to afford it, or how to go through security at the airport. It didn't matter that I had no real knowledge of anything other than who I perceived I was.
I called Bam. I told her my plan. And we planned. Terribly.
I'll get into the logistics later, as money is always tight no matter who you are, but the plan was this:
I'd buy a ticket to London and meet Bam at her aunt’s house. We'd fly out to Barcelona from there, and then to Lisbon. She'd take the train from there to continue her travels, and I'd fly back to London and catch a flight to Melbourne to study from there.