By Rainier Lin (’25)
Hello Everyone,
I’ve done some regrettable things in my life, so I should be able to tell if I regret something or not. Unfortunately, when it comes to this “article”, I am unsure. In the near past, I’ve lurked in the Wolfington Post discord, writing and editing for others. If one searches hard enough you’ll find an old piece of work I wish does not exist. Back then, I had some strong opinions tagged with the wrong information: the worst sort of combination. That has changed (yay), and so have my essay marks. As my distaste for English deepens, so does my grade descend. Given these facts, you’d think my title as a “writer” for this edition is wrongfully applied. Those around me have heard my constant complaints about how much I despise English. So, why have I returned? It’s rather simple.
The Order of Events:
- Little Grey, bounds up to the GSA’s therapy meeting.
- He takes out his phone, ready to record for his interview –but if there’s one thing I learned from Yearbook it is: “You must ask for consent before you record an interview.” – Mr. Peltier (probably).
- Little Grey quickly rushes away after collecting top-secret information because our two clubs are sadly at the same lunch hour.
- ~~~
- “WE DON’T HAVE ENOUGH ARTICLES!” – Little Grey to Mr. Lu
- “I can write one.”
- “REALLY?
- “When is it due?”
- “Tomorrow.”
- Huh.
Hopefully, that very coherent list of events explains the existence of this article. If it doesn’t then… I’m sorry you had to suffer through that. To quickly sum things up and make sure we’re all on the same page, just know that despite coming to our meetings a meagre total of three times, we still love our 小佛山儿 (Little Grey). So if he asks, we’ll do whatever is possible to make it happen.
And so I thought and I thought about the possible things I could write. I could do a ‘how to do’ or perhaps an experience, maybe a story. I haven’t written creatively in a while so my head is pretty dry. But, y’know what folks? Anyone can write as long as you have a willing editor! In my case, I have no idea who this editor is. Wait, do I even get an editor?
Nevermind. Logistics, logistics, that’s not my problem. But if there is a sort of beta reader out there, know that I tend to change tenses and create tunneling run-on sentences that often make others question if there’s a hidden punctuation mark. For your information, there isn’t.
That leads us where we are now –an odd knock-off version of “Late Night Thoughts with Lu.” Only it’s not a late night, it doesn’t include many thoughts, and it isn’t with Lu. A horrible scam, I know, I know.
So, why not lean into it?
There aren’t enough brain cells up there to recap the whole month, but I can relay the few select memories I have left of the monster that was Tech Week.
March 2
Unlike the lucky crew members, the cast had to stay behind in the basement of the junior school. We were shoved into this cold, dark room. This carpeted rectangle would sometimes waft of smelly socks and sweating feet– O the tragedy! O the suffering! We were locked in the beloved Drama Room while the better half of us regarded the beauteous set and busted lights of the dressing rooms. You can clearly tell who was more favoured. (You can’t, I’ve included both pros and cons, AND we know everyone in Theatre Company is loved equally.) It’s crew.
This act of separation, however, was a calculated attack. It prevented actors from their innate destructive tendencies when approached by beautiful things, and allowed crew to set things up in peace. It also ridded the actors of props so they needn’t worry about that during the rehearsal. I mean, if the flower isn’t there, you can ignore it, right? (Don’t forget your props people. The crew will hate you.) Yep! So, scene by scene passed with hands grasped around invisible objects. Imagine the silliness of sword fighting without a sword. It was an enjoyable time.
March 3
Again, the crew was packed up to the theatre while we lowly workers were stuck at school. One more class of YML physics. Just one more. One more….ZzzZZzzzZZZzzzZzZzzzzzrRRRrrRuuumMmmmBbbLle and the reliable school bus containing Mr. Butler comes to save the day.
But is the day really saved when you arrive and the first thing you hear is that we’re three hours behind schedule? Or that the first thing you hear is loud crashing from the stage?
The fly operator controls the movement of the ropes high up in the sky. These series of levers make sure the stage lights are where they are and whatever other special things are right in place. They should not be operated by Marklin Lim.
Less than an hour in, just as I was about to tune my camera to the dark environment of the audience, the line of flowers above the stage came toppling down. If I still had that photo saved, you’d see it, but the 0’s and 1’s are gone with the wind.
March 4
Today was the day before the dress rehearsal. Today was the day I got to skip AP Lit (just kidding, our wonderful Ms. McGee was our chaperone)! Today was also the day I ran from backstage to audience and from audience to backstage to take the 533 photos found in the 03/04 folder. It went well. I got a bunch of sleeping photos. Somehow we managed to catch up on the seven hours we lost the day before. Somehow. I wouldn’t question it.
Left to Right: Hired Fly Operator, Eddie, Marklin.
March 5
Thanks to Charles and Alan in grade 10, we got dress rehearsal photos! Thanks to Eddie for jumping off the stage and starting a little chain of unfortunate events.
Cool picture of Act 2 Fairy Dance: Lifting Rachel
March 6
Opening night went wonderfully. Never had we ever had a more smooth opening night. The crowd laughed and clapped, and we felt incredible. Hazel cut her hand on some unknown item but Avery and the rest of the mechanicals saved the following mechanical scenes. So applause to them for such last-minute changes.
I couldn’t remember much else.
That’s a lie. We did cast letters today. The most bittersweet event of all of Tech Week. We write letters to everyone and receive letters from everyone. Sometimes they speak of good luck and breaking legs. Other times they talk about past experiences and upcoming lasts. For the past two years, I‘ve refused to read them before opening night, because everyone I’ve known has had to fix mascara stains. But because of my lack of makeup this year, I thought it’d be fine. I read a total of three before I started crying. They weren’t particularly long nor were they from members of long relationships. They were just teeth rotting sweet.
People putting in cast letters
March 7
I woke up with a fever.
—
Although the times of “the show must go on are over” as Mr. Hatt lovingly states, I couldn’t subject Rachel and Hayden to the pain of learning my ridiculous lines. Not because I didn’t believe in their abilities, but because I could very easily prevent that stress with our beloved Tylenol. I know both Hayden and Rachel really appreciated that: his response being “Thank goodness– I mean, let’s go, you feel better” and her follow-up being “Ahahah real”.
Of course I gave everyone a scare, but isn’t that the fun of theatre? (No, no it isn’t, don’t do stupid things, my friends.) The crowd was tough this time, but everyone backstage kept up the smiles and “good jobs” despite the silence. Truly a wonderful team.
—
When the show ended and we lined up at the exit, three interesting interactions occurred.
- Someone approached me and said she nearly cried during the last scene because the monologue I performed was not usually done as correctly to the text. That certainly boosted my feverous ego.
- Mr. Lu gave us hugs, and following those hugs, we were graced with YML selfies.
- A woman gave me flowers. I did not know who she was at the moment, but man was she the kindest lady. She talked about my being here despite the dreadful pull of sleep, and of how these gifts of flowers and candy are to be shared between my siblings and me. Later, as we packed up for the night, I came to learn that the woman was the mother of Leila. The dearest dear of the four lovers. The flowers are sitting in the middle of the dinner table, and the sweets are still there (but I’m unsure whether or not they’ve been eaten by little thieves). Thank you very much.
March 8
Special surprises are usually a good thing. Usually a matter of cheer and laughter and happiness. But when we all gathered up in a circle around the stage we knew this was the time and place we would shed our first tears of the day. Mr. Hatt tore our hearts and Ms. McAllister burnt what remained. In our hands were letters stained with our tears because our teachers couldn’t write a single good word without wrenching our sore souls. But that’s okay. Our other hand closed around a group photo printed out the night before and a pin symbolizing our production. Another tangible piece of Sihi’s gorgeous artwork.
—
I blanked on a few of my lines and forgot a few other cues, but that doesn’t matter. I hope.
—
The main show was what happened afterwards. The wavering voices, the twitching of an upturned smile, the beginning of the end.
The arms of folks I have never held before. The cries of voices I have never heard so sad the last few nights.
—
I could’ve also written about Ben taking a Mid-Scene-Leak and not washing his hands because there were only 30 seconds left before he was back on stage; the missing shirt of Anthony; the 103 spins Paloma did while waiting for me to arrive; the silver glitter Manuela fell in love with; the dress-shopping adventures of Ms. McAllister and the ‘L’ Henry was forced to take against Mr. Hatt’s superior gaming skills.
So many things happened. So many things are lost in my memories. So many things I still remember but so many are the things I lack the words to write about.
—
Maybe this quickly stitched-together article was fun to read. Who knows. At least it ups the numbers.
Bye byee!