lipstick on the mirror: reflections on a memorable trip to the toilet
who knew potty training would have a whole new meaning after this job?
When I was younger, I always had certain expectations of how my career, as a young Filipina in the acting industry, would look like. I predicted I’d likely follow a set path before me: to keep my head down, smile and to take whatever comes my way. So, when I finished at drama school, I had no clue as to where this career would take me, though I was rather cynical through it all.
Soon after graduating, my agents sent me in for a new musical called Stalled, set in a fancy women’s bathroom in Seattle, to play at the new King’s Head Theatre in Islington the following year. I will admit, I didn’t even know that this theatre existed, but I somehow managed to twiddle my thumbs well enough to get into the show, without any idea of what I was in for.
My character, Krystal, was a young gay woman drowning in her work as a means of shutting herself in the closet, lest her mother finds out. At UCL, I was accepted by the kindest of creatives, many of whom were Asian and queer. Their journeys of self-acceptance, love and filial piety often took centre stage in the lunches we’d have around campus, amidst the backdrop of looming deadlines and job applications. These are the friends who have formed a substantial majority of my “people,” as my colleagues would say. The resemblance was uncanny. My friends laughed about it when I told them. In my defence, when I left drama school, I anticipated I’d play a character so far removed from me that I’d have to immerse myself in research. To then play a character that represented the stories that hit close to my home, was a surprise.
And this was only the beginning.
I had to know what an EPK was, send in costume measurements, know that a ‘can’ in a recording studio is not a can to drink from and to know that being on time is paramount, especially for notes. But one of the initial significant challenges I confronted was being an actor as an immigrant. With this being my first show, I soon realised I had never been surrounded with role models of how to live a life as a creative in this country. What managing money looked like, having partners, families, simultaneous projects, supporting loved ones, being away from home, redefining home… I was very overwhelmed very quickly, with this vivid, rich picture of ‘adulting.’ Amidst this, I had to learn to hold my own in a company of trailblazing and talented actors, half of whom had successful careers longer than my lifespan. I was intimidated, to say the least.
To also originate a part was not something I had ever even thought of to happen early in my career, let alone as my first job. Where there was so much honour in being able to represent being Filipino in this role, there were many moments when my self-doubt and impostor syndrome fully kicked into gear. As the days rolled by in the rehearsal room, I had to quickly unlearn the unhelpful rules I had made for myself. A three-week rehearsal process is simply not enough time to wallow in self-pity and develop a completely new musical. Creation does not stop at the rehearsal room. And everyone, every single person, has their ‘off’ days and nobody is ever perfect.
Then, the run rolls round and yet another layer of discoveries made themselves known to me. How to put on your own wig, how to do a show when you are vocally tired, how to manage time while being in multiple projects, how to do auditions when you’re on your period, how to keep your mental health in check whilst in an emotionally challenging project… the list goes on.
But the one thing that I will take with me into the rest of my career is the confidence I’ve gained from the powerful women around me. My colleagues gave me the understanding and the space to learn on the job, because, as much as I was learning about the job of being an actor, I was also learning about womanhood. How women have made many rules for themselves, how our bodies fluctuate throughout our lives and how to show up unapologetically as a woman in any space. It was an immense privilege to be in an all-female company. I realised I hadn’t been in a space with this many women for this long since primary school (I went to an all-girls’ Catholic school for a while). It did not take us all long to realise that this was going to be a special project for all of us, across ages, cultures and backgrounds.
By the end of the first week of rehearsals, we were a sisterhood. We supported each other in the moments where we were at our best and our worst. The mother-daughter relationships extended themselves to the whole company; we young ones turned to our mothers aspiring for their legacies, they looked to us for a glimmer of hope in the future. Something beautiful happens when we stand squarely in the space of our power. I will treasure this bond forever.
On a more personal note, I am grateful for the love and support from my family, friends and loved ones from around the world – Manila, London, Madrid, Birmingham and beyond. In the days when I was exhausted and withdrawn into myself, seeing the surprise cameos in the audience got me through and held me up.
Krystal, you’ve given me so much more than I could have ever dreamt up for myself. It was a blessing and an honour to step into your shoes. Thank you.
(PS: hope you like the pixie cut)
