The Hours And The Minutes.

19 hours
You told me they didn’t like it. They wanted to change it. They thought it was too confusing, that there’s not enough distinction, that I look too much like a bride and that I shouldn’t sing. I wanted to explode. My eyes leaked instead. Goddamn faulty explosion mechanism.

18 hours
You tell me you’d fight for me. You would even take a stand to cancel the show altogether. It was touching really and you knew I would not have the nerve to let that happen. I made you promise we’d kick butt tomorrow instead. Messages came in saying that they liked it as it is. Why is it so hard to believe?

15 hours
I wondered how I’ll justify the need for me to exist on stage, wondered how we’d be able to extricate myself out of it smoothly, patching up the plots and the choreography in the small space in my head. For once, I knew I wanted this. I want to be there tomorrow. I can’t remember how I fell asleep.

9 hours
I lied. I didn’t overslept. My limbs were light but they weren’t weary but I couldn’t bring myself to move fast. I drank water. Forgot to eat. I still wondered what would happen if I don’t show up, if a truck runs me over on my way there. I do that sometimes.

8 hours
I sang in the shower, the last practice. How can one note kill my confidence that easily? I rehearsed a speech that i never got to give about why the narrator has to be there, why she is important and why she has to sing. I wanted to tell them that the princess and the narrator are of the same spirit, the same wounded little thing which is why they’re difficult to tell apart. One is a phantom of the other, a representation of the crushed - his conscience if you will. She called. I returned her call. I hung up in time in case she does answer. At least she’ll know I called.

7 hours
Finally pushed my body out of the door. Flagged a cab. I’m already late. I wondered if I should save taxi fare by going halfway and going the rest by bus. I paid the full fare instead. I contemplated putting on the seatbelt. What would happen if this car collides? The show would go on, it has to.

6 hours
He’s not there. Oh thank god. I walked around, pretending like I have things to do, not wanting to get strapped into that tight corset.

5 hours
Walked around like a duck, thinking of ways to look more dramatic and eerie. Came to the conclusion that I look stupid swishing a strip of organza. I am just going to wing it.

4 hours
Actors standby for lighting plot. I strapped myself into the red dress, the one I’m supposed to use to seduce you. Your hands are cold. Warm margarine served raw is disgusting. I fed you a lump of it. You choked. I laughed.

I am starving. My stomach is twisting in all sorts of ways. You looked pretty with makeup. It outlines your lovely almond eyes. You told me you have biscuits. Your biscuits saved me for a while.

3 hours

You gave me a small envelope. Inside you thanked me for my efforts. On the other side it said:

“Our greatest glory is not in never falling,
but in getting up every time we do”

I wish I could join the gaggle of people gathered in the wings, strumming a guitar and singing in a circle.

2 hours
My hair is not done, my makeup is not finished. I yelled at you, like a threat. I couldn’t find that slip of paper.

1.5 hours
You hovered above me. Is a fairy what you want? I think we need more eyeshadow, more purple. To the right of me, you look so beautiful, regal and composed. To the left of me, you look so handsome with hair smooshed. You came with a slip of paper with scrawls on it. Things about today being our finest hour. Our finest? What does that mean?

1 hour
I checked my first exit. I felt the door handles in the dark. As it closed behind me, I grappled for the exit. It wouldn’t budge. I panicked. I hate dark, small, locked places. I pushed harder. It opened and whiteboards came tumbling down. Crash. Oh, fuck. I dragged you out to see the mess. Impatiently, I asked you unkindly to ask for someone to clear it up. I didn’t check my second entry.

I came back inside. I sat on the floor with a packet of food in my hand. I was so hungry. I felt the ceiling on my shoulders. I heaved, on the verge of tears. You came by with a hug and you asked which flower I wanted. There were only gerberas left: pale yellow, lemon yellow and odd yellow. I picked lemon yellow, the brightest happiest flower. You came by to sit with me. I asked if you remember that we’d kick ass today. I think I believed it. I must have. I gave your palm a tight squeeze, or was it you who did it? I can’t remember. You gave me the piece of paper that said that it would be our finest hour. I dropped it on the makeup table. You came by to say that I had dropped the note you gave me, still in its envelope. I must have dropped it on stage. I took it out to read it again. Our greatest glory?

I dug into my chicken feverishly. It was really good chicken.

30 minutes
Hands in the center, shoulder to shoulder. Each of us say a wish, a hope or a prayer. Majapahit!

15 minutes
Breathing in the dark, feeling the cold silk on my legs slither as I walk. Breathe. La la la. You and you and you and you hugged me in between whispers of jiayous and good lucks. I looked at you from the corner of my eye. I closed them again. This is it.

10 minutes
What does DO sound like again? Do re mi fa so la si do… I can do this. No, she can do this. This is her song. They’re the same person, the same spirit. This is their song. I will sing it. My heart thumped hard.

5 minutes
Majapahit overture on gamelan. I smiled. The first time we heard it in rehearsal, we danced in the middle of level 7 and called it Jaipongan. Now in the dark, we pretended this was a club, shaking our shoulders and our hips and our fingers like it’s mambo night. Infectious. Cast and dancers hiding between large slabs of black curtain. Ridiculous. We are mere inches away from collapsing into a heap of giggles.

60 seconds

“Our greatest glory is not in never falling,
but in getting up every time we do”

Here we go.

The little things can get you through a day, an hour, a minute or a song - alive and sane.