But this year, I decided to give it another shot. And I was really happy during the rehearsals, because from all the feedback, I presumed I was doing fine. We were good. I was having issues about being assigned to be the stinger operator this year (again) because that was all I was last year. Yup, I was the "technician". I was NOT a broadcaster. And it sucked, in my core, I felt bad, but I had to put a smile on my face, just to keep the show going. (Not to mention, I cried every night during last year's rehearsals, because my reviews weren't good).
LAST YEAR
Okay, so, maybe I had my hopes up. I was chosen, right? So, that meant I had something. That certain factor, that certain potential. But why was I coming up short? Why wasn't I good enough now? And I realized that maybe I was the one bringing the team down, which was why they didn't give me any lines, at all.
During the contest proper last year, I did my job. I operated the stinger. After the performance, their performance, they all had praises for the broadcasters (which I wasn't). And only negative feedback for me, the stinger-operator, saying the stinger wasn't audible. That they couldn't hear the stinger from afar. That wasn't so good to hear.
When they announced the winners, we didn't make the cut. And I felt really really really bad. So, I was the super heavy anchor that pulled everyone down. They were doing so well, I was the defect.
THIS YEAR
Like I said, I was in the B-team again. Great, brings back wonderful memories. NOT. But, since I am graduating, might as well cherish my last presscon ever. And i felt really dedicated. Even though i didn't stay in the dorms, I made an effort to stay in school until 9 PM. It was physically straining.
At last, D-day came. The Broadcasting contest was the only contest that day. So, all the pressure was on us. All eyes and ears focused, and ready to scrutinize any mistakes.
Then it happens. It was like all of my senses were slowly deteriorating. I was having the bad case of the jitters. An extremely bad case. This happened often, especially when I'm under such huge pressure.
My hands shake as I do all the techie stuff for the stinger, and to add up to the tension in my gut, I was secluded from the others, in the techie corner. damn, that wasn't part of the plan.
They give me a microphone, a wireless one (I had to admit, I was impressed), and I take a deep breath and start the presentation.
All I remember was the serious look on the spectator's eyes, on me. Then, I remember being told countless of times to keep the stinger volume down. And I also remember, very vividly, the 10-second (roughly) DEAD AIR.
After it was all said and done, I felt weird. I felt relieved, upset, and heavy inside. But all in all, I was feeling numb all over. Like, I was drugged that whole time, and now I had just woken up sober and totally unaware of what had just transpired. (disclaimer: i don't go drugs)
I had to wait for two hours to know the results. I hated suspense, especially of this kind.
There I was, sitting with the team, already apologizing to some of them because of the thingy earlier. But it was all up to the judges. If, by some miracle, we got in, then that would just make my day. I cross my fingers.
One by one, they announce the winners of each category. Some won, some didn't. There were shouts, claps, and I'll have to mention that a few tears shed.
And finally, it was time for the broadcasting teams. There were six of us competing, but only three would move on to the division level.
I wasn't getting my hopes up. I knew that I had made a bomb explode on those judges which made them think our group wasn't good enough. But I admit, there was some itty-bitty part of me that clung on to the small miracle.
As I sit there in wait, I tune out everything else except the emcee's announcement.
She mentions the winners in ascending order, and when it was finally time to announce the champion, everyone around me were telling us that we were going to win. It was overwhelming. I felt as if I was bearing the world on my shoulders (well, because of my slip-ups), and I somehow felt like a female atlas. Their cheers were ringing and echoing inside my ears, all those words of expectation.
They announce the winner. It wasn't us.
I felt like I was transported out of the universe for a few seconds only to be recoiled back to that seat, back to the reality that we didn't make the cut. All because I screwed up. And I screwed up, BIG TIME.
I remember feeling remorse and upset, and when those emotions started flooding inside me, my usual defense mechanism took full control. I cried.
It had been a month or so since I cried, and that was a long time already (considering I was a major cry-baby) and trust me when I say, you don't want to get me crying. Because once I cry, I never seem to stop. Even though I keep chanting to myself that I'm okay and order my brain to make me stop crying already, the tears seem to have a mind of their own. They flow, like freaking heavy rain.
I was a mess, and I was all over the place. And just when I think it couldn't get worse, I was sterring towards a whole chain of unfortunate events.
First, our school principal arrives. Kill.me.now. I couldn't let her see my emotional breakdown, it was too embarrassing. So I stay as far away as possible from her, and hide my face so she wouldn't see. I had to say, her timing was just PERFECT. way to go.
Second, my eyes got swollen. It happened seldom. Like, swollen, and red. Like red eyebags. It was not appreciated when it had had to occur on that fateful day.
Third, I made it my obligation to apologize to every member of the team because I have just single-handedly shattered their opportunity to show what they've got in the division level. And I couldn't control my effing tears matched with my croaking voice as I apologized to them.
Fourth, I was thirsty. Like, really thirsty. Honesty, I felt dehydrated or something. Okay.
Fifth, I wanted a shrink. The amateur ones I had from my really close buddies in school that lasted for hours. There was no one there to talk to. Everyone was clearly preoccupied. Sure I could let out one-sentence statements to some of my friends, but that didn't help cushion my feels.
Sixth, I couldn't reach the other people on the team. Mission (see unfortunate event number 3) NOT Accomplished.
Seventh, when we were going back to the place we were staying in (and I was feeling a wee bit better), someone just had to remind me that it was my fault our presentation sucked. Like i didn't know that already. Whoops, I got the memo. Okay? No need to rub it in again. That's right, bring on back the tearfest.
Eighth, I was being told to get over it already. Like hello? This whole thing just happened like minutes ago, and then a nasty reminder came up fresh from the oven, I don't think I can get over that whole disaster that fast. I wasn't that type. The least you can do, is just leave me be.
Ninth, I felt like everyone was judging me. Don't get me wrong, I know maybe I'm getting way too overboard with all these assumptions, but, if you were in my shoes that day, you probably would have felt the same way, nevertheless.
Tenth, when i got home and told my aunt that we didn't make it, she couldn't believe it. She even asked me why we lost and that she just couldn't believe that we lost. Okay, no room for more rubbing. I get it. I was the failure. I mean, of all people, shouldn't she be the one to hug me and comfort me with soothing words to make me feel better? And all I heard was another replay of heartbreaking remarks I tasted earlier. This was great.
Okay, that was ten. WOW
What I did at the inevitable defense mechanism I had whenever I felt downright depressed about something. I put my earphones on, turn up the music, and tune the whole world out. I know it's a cliche teenager thing, but it made me feel better. Solitude is my best friend, and my lonesome companion. Music was my therapist, who always repairs me for free.
But then I think, as I lie alone in my bed in the four walls of that room, that maybe this was meant to be. That maybe it just wasn't for me. For the team. You can't argue with divine will. It just, you know, happens. I know this would account for something, and maybe everything will make sense someday.
So, for now I'm just on the process of getting over the whole failure de javu thing and turning the other cheek.
TTFN, still need to make this script for out stage portrayal of King Arthur. Doing Acts 5 and 6. And damn it, I have a crush on Lancelot. ;) But don't tell anyone. xD
x's and o's,
AERASALVATORE
My hands shake as I do all the techie stuff for the stinger, and to add up to the tension in my gut, I was secluded from the others, in the techie corner. damn, that wasn't part of the plan.
They give me a microphone, a wireless one (I had to admit, I was impressed), and I take a deep breath and start the presentation.
All I remember was the serious look on the spectator's eyes, on me. Then, I remember being told countless of times to keep the stinger volume down. And I also remember, very vividly, the 10-second (roughly) DEAD AIR.
After it was all said and done, I felt weird. I felt relieved, upset, and heavy inside. But all in all, I was feeling numb all over. Like, I was drugged that whole time, and now I had just woken up sober and totally unaware of what had just transpired. (disclaimer: i don't go drugs)
I had to wait for two hours to know the results. I hated suspense, especially of this kind.
There I was, sitting with the team, already apologizing to some of them because of the thingy earlier. But it was all up to the judges. If, by some miracle, we got in, then that would just make my day. I cross my fingers.
One by one, they announce the winners of each category. Some won, some didn't. There were shouts, claps, and I'll have to mention that a few tears shed.
And finally, it was time for the broadcasting teams. There were six of us competing, but only three would move on to the division level.
I wasn't getting my hopes up. I knew that I had made a bomb explode on those judges which made them think our group wasn't good enough. But I admit, there was some itty-bitty part of me that clung on to the small miracle.
As I sit there in wait, I tune out everything else except the emcee's announcement.
She mentions the winners in ascending order, and when it was finally time to announce the champion, everyone around me were telling us that we were going to win. It was overwhelming. I felt as if I was bearing the world on my shoulders (well, because of my slip-ups), and I somehow felt like a female atlas. Their cheers were ringing and echoing inside my ears, all those words of expectation.
They announce the winner. It wasn't us.
I felt like I was transported out of the universe for a few seconds only to be recoiled back to that seat, back to the reality that we didn't make the cut. All because I screwed up. And I screwed up, BIG TIME.
I remember feeling remorse and upset, and when those emotions started flooding inside me, my usual defense mechanism took full control. I cried.
It had been a month or so since I cried, and that was a long time already (considering I was a major cry-baby) and trust me when I say, you don't want to get me crying. Because once I cry, I never seem to stop. Even though I keep chanting to myself that I'm okay and order my brain to make me stop crying already, the tears seem to have a mind of their own. They flow, like freaking heavy rain.
I was a mess, and I was all over the place. And just when I think it couldn't get worse, I was sterring towards a whole chain of unfortunate events.
First, our school principal arrives. Kill.me.now. I couldn't let her see my emotional breakdown, it was too embarrassing. So I stay as far away as possible from her, and hide my face so she wouldn't see. I had to say, her timing was just PERFECT. way to go.
Second, my eyes got swollen. It happened seldom. Like, swollen, and red. Like red eyebags. It was not appreciated when it had had to occur on that fateful day.
Third, I made it my obligation to apologize to every member of the team because I have just single-handedly shattered their opportunity to show what they've got in the division level. And I couldn't control my effing tears matched with my croaking voice as I apologized to them.
Fourth, I was thirsty. Like, really thirsty. Honesty, I felt dehydrated or something. Okay.
Fifth, I wanted a shrink. The amateur ones I had from my really close buddies in school that lasted for hours. There was no one there to talk to. Everyone was clearly preoccupied. Sure I could let out one-sentence statements to some of my friends, but that didn't help cushion my feels.
Sixth, I couldn't reach the other people on the team. Mission (see unfortunate event number 3) NOT Accomplished.
Seventh, when we were going back to the place we were staying in (and I was feeling a wee bit better), someone just had to remind me that it was my fault our presentation sucked. Like i didn't know that already. Whoops, I got the memo. Okay? No need to rub it in again. That's right, bring on back the tearfest.
Eighth, I was being told to get over it already. Like hello? This whole thing just happened like minutes ago, and then a nasty reminder came up fresh from the oven, I don't think I can get over that whole disaster that fast. I wasn't that type. The least you can do, is just leave me be.
Ninth, I felt like everyone was judging me. Don't get me wrong, I know maybe I'm getting way too overboard with all these assumptions, but, if you were in my shoes that day, you probably would have felt the same way, nevertheless.
Tenth, when i got home and told my aunt that we didn't make it, she couldn't believe it. She even asked me why we lost and that she just couldn't believe that we lost. Okay, no room for more rubbing. I get it. I was the failure. I mean, of all people, shouldn't she be the one to hug me and comfort me with soothing words to make me feel better? And all I heard was another replay of heartbreaking remarks I tasted earlier. This was great.
Okay, that was ten. WOW
What I did at the inevitable defense mechanism I had whenever I felt downright depressed about something. I put my earphones on, turn up the music, and tune the whole world out. I know it's a cliche teenager thing, but it made me feel better. Solitude is my best friend, and my lonesome companion. Music was my therapist, who always repairs me for free.
But then I think, as I lie alone in my bed in the four walls of that room, that maybe this was meant to be. That maybe it just wasn't for me. For the team. You can't argue with divine will. It just, you know, happens. I know this would account for something, and maybe everything will make sense someday.
So, for now I'm just on the process of getting over the whole failure de javu thing and turning the other cheek.
TTFN, still need to make this script for out stage portrayal of King Arthur. Doing Acts 5 and 6. And damn it, I have a crush on Lancelot. ;) But don't tell anyone. xD
x's and o's,
AERASALVATORE
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