Just when I think I’m walking away from theatre to concentrate on music and serious writing, the stage coaxes me back.
The best bit is being able to combine my love for music and story telling into helping get a play off the ground. It’s a scary yet exhilarating collaborative endeavour. It’s going to be a lot of hard work but I hope it’ll be worth it.
Right now, I’m dreaming up soundscapes in my head. I’m hearing the city, its voices and the music it plays. Feeling the rhythm, the beats and the ‘soundtrack’ of Kuala Lumpur. A city I love and loathe, own and disown.
Our director said something that I keep hearing over and over in my head, a refrain that still haunts me at night:
"You don’t just throw people away."
I know what that feels like – to be ‘thrown away’. Cast aside. Dismissed. Made to feel not good enough. So easily replaced.
It hurts. Part of getting over that is acknowledging the pain and purging the bile that threatens to accumulate in my throat sometimes. I spent half the year getting over someone I stopped seeing in January and right now am still dealing with the fallout of drama I didn’t expect to encounter. But that’s life for you. At least drowning myself in the arts makes me feel closer to whole.
Looking through YouTube for inspiration, I come across this song from Pasek and Paul’s song cycle, Edges. I love the show; its lyrics are fresh, its melodies fun and it makes me want to write my own songs for the stage.
The song Dispensable, though, is painful to listen to. No, not because it’s a terrible song. The lyrics just hit home far too easily.
"I hope that I won’t have to wait to heal. Until you feel as broken as I feel."
That’s the sad bit. I want to be OK. I want to just be over every hurt and heartache but healing takes time and sometimes, I don’t get a say over when I really will be OK. Time, I find, heals nothing. Dulls the pain, maybe. But time does not fix things. It doesn’t.
Wounds will heal when they heal and life, being the bitch it is, likes to rip wounds open before they get a chance to even scab over.
What hurts the most
is knowing that I love you more
than you love me.
So there’s nothing I can do,
though you say it isn’t’ true.
You wont have a discussion,
and you know the repercussions.
All of your reasons,
are easily defensible.
So you can cleanly walk away from me,
I guess I’m now dispensable
What hurts the most
is packing up a box of things
that once belonged to us.
Is the T.V. yours or mine?
Are you already feeling fine?
I don’t know what you’re thinking,
I start slipping and keep sinking.
I try to understand it,
but it’s just incomprehensible.
The one that you once loved is now alone,
accepting he’s dispensable.
Show me, feel something.
Let yourself scream.
Prove that this is harder for you
than you make it seem.
While I’m shattered,
you act happy to be free.
Say I mattered as much to you,
as you always will to me.
I hope that I wont have to wait to heal.
Until you feel as broken as I feel.
What hurts the most,
is watching you be done with me,
when I’m not done with you.
What will you tell your friends?
Is this how it really ends?
You’re adjusted and collected,
all together uneffected.
You found your solution,
you always were so sensible.
You never opened up enough to hurt.
And dared to be…
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