Eating Out

Eating Out

I've got sauce on my fingers, got to wipe them clean. I slurp some more Coca-Cola as I think back to those times, once again. I was off to uni! Life was great. And it was exciting! Excitement for life, for growing, for education, for pretty much anything, but above all, for theatre. I was to commence my bachelor's course in theatre. Oh, theatre, the most precious passion I could have ever found.

As a young teen, I attempted to find myself in sports. I had always admired the sight of team players on the field. They appeared so confident, so commanding, so strong… they were in total control. I found myself longing to be on that field. However, after several broken bones and with no spectacular feats in any games to show for it, I was forced to find my calling elsewhere. Besides, there always seemed to be tempers flaring with the sports players and unpredictable results. A lot of them called me names. It was not for me. So where else could I belong?

It started off as an increased interest in drama class. I eventually got into an after school drama club, and found that theatre simply clicked with me. The ideas, the creativity, the performances, the inspiration; all of these things came alive in me when I met theatre. I had stories to tell, and ways to tell them! I wanted to make people think, and feel! But most of all I wanted people sat in the audience longing to be me, just as I had longed to be somebody. The best part was that theatre was a community, always with working with others, performing to others, having fun with others. This was something I had struggled with for a long time. Finally, I found a purpose! So of course I was to continue developing this purpose of mine throughout university, and later in life. A high adrenaline seemed to have permanently taken me by hold. Everywhere I went, I wanted to jump out and sing the most beautiful of Shakespeare's sonnets to the world.

So how did I get here? As I hunch down my head to take another bite of the burger, I gaze at the reflection slumped opposite me, I wonder when did it become too late. I wonder how I lost all of my control, and settled for this doomed existence of feeling sorry for myself in fast food restaurants. That whole pre-university era of excitement seems like an old dream. How could that mind be the same as this? Well, I suppose I just did not know how to deal with the unexpected. What had I expected? A successful course and grade for one, but also a never ending supply of friends. Above all, a future in what I loved: theatre.

Is it really too late? Perhaps I can find the passion again? But my stomach churns at what I must get over first. I remember as soon as I arrived into my accommodation halls, something felt wrong straight away. It was as if there was poison in the air. If only I could have recognised that the poison was my ego. From my very first social interaction, I just rubbed people off the wrong way. When I told them I was an artist, they laughed. When they laughed, I got angry. And when I got angry, the things I spouted kept me further away from my dream of theatre. I still find myself shaking when I think of that boy who told me I would never work in theatre because I was too weird. Weird? Weird is art! What did he know? He certainly knew how I felt when I put his head through a window. That moment that led to my expulsion, to the disappointment of everyone around me, to my own self-hate.

I've been in this hole for a while now; I'm not working, not studying, not doing anything. But I am eating out. I come to eat burgers, because they offer me a comfort while I ponder my past and future and relax in a place where no one will lecture me or remind me of my failure. Only myself. Not that I want to be like this forever. I must get back up. I rub and scratch my waist, once so thin, now filled out and pudgy. Hey, what about tomorrow? Can it be a new day? I don't know. But I must say, although I was sceptical when they offered me to try it, this new spicy peanut sauce goes very well with the chicken fillet burger.