Performing is the place I am free. However, I guess I didn’t fully understand freedom; why I would feel happier there than anywhere else. That was true until one specific production changed the way I act entirely. In my senior year, we performed Bonnie & Clyde, and everything felt off from the very beginning. Casting was announced, and it was something that always made my friends and myself nervous and excited. But this time, we just felt this overwhelming, uneasy feeling of tension. Some of my closest senior friends—four-year students—were all frustrated with the roles they received, feeling like our director failed them, that she was overlooking their acting abilities. And yeah, I was salty too in the beginning; I, along with many quietly questioned why certain people had been cast at all. Now within a week, backstage became hostile. I had never felt so pitted against people I cared about—I was angry at them, but I was still trying to support them. It was the first time I had been placed in the middle of a production that didn’t feel weighed down by actual performances, but instead by the fury and bubbling animosity that surrounded it backstage. I think that when people began communicating in avoidant one-word answers, began raising their voices, and scowled and shrugged at each other, it clicked. I knew that this place had shown me freedom because that production had shown me how it felt to be trapped. If everyone stayed angry at each other, the show would fail. My friends had lost respect for our teacher and director, so I had to step up. Being close with other performers and making memories or inside jokes was what made me love performing in the first place, and that is what acting will always be about in my life. In that production, I fully appreciated how acting works, that it has always been about the people who make the production happen. I had been given the choice to stay committed to the show that I thought was damaged beyond repair; I had to find ways to personally lift others up and rise to new levels so the performance can succeed as a whole—even when the world was telling me that my friends and I didn't deserve what we wanted. So slowly, things began to change. It was not perfect, but how much really is? I saw before my then teary eyes that genuine love and generosity, at last, started to break through. By the time we reached opening night, we had created something we could be proud of, even with its faults and its kinks (an unpainted set and a fragile home-made car), and even with the tension that made an aura around the show. I had developed more passion for performance and togetherness and finally understood how to be resilient. Going into college, I am going to pursue acting professionally, especially in film and television. I want to take on roles that will challenge me: roles in shows that will force me to grow, not just in my career but to learn lessons for life. I am ready to commit fully and continue learning hands-on and night and day. More than anything, I want my performances to resonate with audiences and my castmates, and reflect the same dedication that carried me through that experience. But my dedication sprouted from the support of people who saw that spark in me. The influence of my drama teacher, Ms. Rossiter, and my mom both encouraged me to actually step up my game. They saw my drive and pushed me forward. They taught me that standing still would not get me any further, that I must march forward against the gusts of a storm and take my journey seriously. They both made me see success as something tangible, but impossible without effort and intention. So from then on I always had intention, like when I played Mr. Green in Clue, who’s character made me explore comedic timing and commit fully to an over-the-top character, or while playing Christopher Boone in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, which required serious precision and emotional depth in a completely different style. Now looking ahead, I am really drawn to playing a villain! I see something very compelling about exploring a character who is morally ambiguous. The same drive that helped me push through a difficult production is what drives me toward new characters now. Bonnie & Clyde could have easily made me lose my love for theater. But I let it do no such thing. It transformed into a lesson, one that taught me that performing is where I can feel free: free in my skin, and free to lead and create meaningful moments without concern of the circumstances.