Finally, another work up. Sorry to those who have been checking back ever so often for new stuff, but hey you didn't pester me on my cBoard.
Actually the Evening of Music and Drama 2003 was much much better than this. I always nicknamed it 'the height of my career'. Which it was, if you look at it in that perspective. But I never did pen my memories down, and all I have in remembrance now is a couple of lousy low-res photos to try to relive the magic once more.
It is with a certain reluctance that I close the programme booklet each time I read it, sighing, unwilling to put it in my little drawer of memories. A couple of times I found myself embracing the booklet, staring into blankness (I quickly put it away. I don’t want to give the impression I like inanimate objects. That would be utterly disastrous).
This feeling exists in various degrees, I’m sure (at least, I hope), in all the Secondary Four students who participated in the production. It is, after all, our last year. We will not only bid the exciting job of working in Dramafest goodbye, we also say adieu to the magnificent palace of a school we have studied, lived, and cried in.
I must confess, with regret, that I had not played as big a role as I should have in the planning and execution of Dramafest. I left the job, instead, to Wai Kin and the new committee of Sec Threes, among others, to do it (Why do you think I got the laughable post of wardrobe manager?) I did not have much to do, really. Apparently the various directors felt safer lugging their costumes around, instead of handing it in for safekeeping as I had instructed. As my younger brother had commented after he saw my stage pass, ‘Wardrobe manager? Later all of them get wardrobe malfunction! Ah ha! ~snort~ Ah ha ha!’ (-_-")
Since I had nothing much to do, I spent the whole of Friday snapping at people who happily frolicked about when their faces were coated with half-an-inch of make up, sitting them down and dabbing sweat and oil off their faces, while imperiously lecturing them on the dangers of going onstage with running mascara. I mean, Victorians are a dangerous audience, and besides, there was Mr Seow to contend with (Hey, it’s true...). The Sec One ushers, though they obeyed my gentle admonishments, played Nascar the moment I stepped out of the holding room. I honestly have no idea whether to gleefully or shamefully announce that Sagar happily joined in the fun. He was just about the only one, if not the only one, to receive my most venomous stare.
I stayed out of backstage until I was called for during the night show, seeing how I wasn’t too agile in the dark during the matinee. Only careful consideration of my next few steps saved me from making a dreadful racket in the wings. I must commend the actors, though, for portraying their characters in full force during the night show. Even the plays of Dramafest ’02 did not possess such a high standard of acting.
I pen my thoughts down partly because Mrs Poon said we would be doing our reflections, and also because, once again, I wish to preserve the memories of that night, which are, as I write, fast slipping into oblivion, never to surface again (at least for the next five years or so). We all went home that night, exhausted, some of us struck down with tonsillitis, but hoping for more, hoping to continue the legacy of Victoria School’s Drama Festivals.