DRAMA QUEEN

Embracing and pursuing my ‘theater kid’ nickname

BY JIYA SINGH

You’re so dramatic!” my mother yelled as she attempted to shove me into her car. “I don’t want to go! I would rather die!”

Any fourth grader should spend their Saturday night playing with toys at home, not watching their mom’s friend’s daughter’s play. Kicking and screaming, I reluctantly sat in the car, my arms crossed and expectations low, as my mom bickered about me being a “drama queen.” Cranky, I followed my mother to a seat in the front row and prepared myself for a night of torture.

Flick. The lights went out, and the audience and I sat in the uncertainty of the pitch blackness. But as the familiar, comforting overture of “The Little Mermaid” began playing, my drowsiness disappeared and I was instantly transported to a new world where anything was possible. Mermaids could grow feet, eels could sing, fishes could fly and 9-yearold me was changed forever. An urgency swept through my body like nothing I’d ever felt before — I had to be up on that stage.

Even more desperate than my original pleas to not watch the play were my pleas for drama summer camps after experiencing “The Little Mermaid.” And when I sang in front of my elementary school as a dancing hot dog, my first ever role, everything in the world seemed right. I finally felt good at something.

Immediately, I submerged myself in my new passion. I spent hours memorizing the raps in “Hamilton” and stayed up until 3 a.m. in middle school to rewatch “Hairspray,” providing me with the unfortunate compared to playing the hardest role of all — myself — to finally tell my computer-engineer family of my deeper desire to pursue acting seriously.

(much deserved) nickname of “theater kid.” I could deny it all I wanted, but the sheer joy I experienced when making my eyebrows purse up or curl down for the approval of the audience spoke for itself — derogatory or not, I was a theater kid, all right.

Mask Off

I have to admit: the external praise I began receiving upon acting in school productions filled me with immense pride. After every performance, hearing variations of “You were absolutely amazing!” and “Can I get your autograph?” by everyone from my strict teachers to strangers in the hallway made me feel like a mini celebrity.

However, my years of “fame” were accompanied by a growing stress of the future. As my evenings were spent making lifelong memories at rehearsal, my classmates’ evenings were spent “preparing for their future” by competing in Science Olympiad. I was left behind, and

I couldn’t “make believe” the future wasn’t happening to stop it.

I’ve heard it all my life — passions cannot become careers. I needed to find something technological or scientific like my peers. But still, drama was pulling me in its direction the same way it had when watching my first production. I felt stuck on whether I should reach for my dreams or resort to the expected, practical option. Yet the more I thought about it, the clearer it seemed — I couldn’t give up on my life’s biggest passion for the approval of my peers. I had to simply go for it.

Playing the drunk orphanage caretaker Ms. Hannigan or the looney pirate Captain Hook were nothing dreams seem intangible — becoming an award-winning actress was mine. People can and will continue to talk about what I should do, say, and pursue. But at the end of the day, when I come home to my inner 9-year-old, I know I will be proud that I chose to chase after what I love instead of catering to others. turns out, my mother (as always) was right — I truly am a drama queen.

And while I’ve learned how to cry on cue, I’ve never cried more than when the decision letter for my dream drama school came in a few weeks ago. Suddenly, the Broadway posters on my walls, hours I spent recording my auditions and Lin Manuel Miranda cutout in my car didn’t seem like such an embarrassment.