This goes out to all who question me on why I wanna do professional theatre.

If concert halls and theatres were shrines to performing artists, the stage must be the altar. On this piece of hallowed ground, years of training and months of rehearsals, scripts of inspired writers and dances of emotional choreographers, talents of sound, lighting and set design all merge to create moments of sheer magic. The sum often exceeds its parts. The miracles witnessed on stage are fueled by their characteristics of fragility, uniqueness and interactivity.

Like crystals, live performances are treasured for their fragile beauty. There is only one chance to get it right, which makes the act even more wonderful as it closes in on perfection. There is no second take and errors must be glossed over quickly. All the time spent on preparation perch on a fine balance.

The miracles witnessed on stage are fueled by their characteristics of fragility, uniqueness and interactivity.

Like snowflakes, no live performance is the same as another. Each unique performance is the result of a myriad of factors. The orchestra plays on a slightly different tempo every night and the actors/actresses get absorbed deeper into their characters as the production runs on. A hard day at work invites sleep and the helicopter in Miss Saigon refuses to start.

Like pets, live performances give you back according to how much you indulge them with. Spontaneous laughter, encouraging applause and instant, natural reactions all work to heighten the atmosphere of the show, motivating the artists. New friendships are forged in the audience as two people realise they laugh at the same moment (when everyone else is hushed). The elusive things called atmosphere and aura appear only during live shows.

The magic of the stage.
That's why


i don't wanna end up living a life i don't enjoy, where at the end of each day i slog home and lay in bed, wondering if twenty years down the road i'll regret the path i've chosen; where i wake up every morning with a sense of dread and trepidation in the pit of my stomach; where each passing minute at work is filled with uncertainty and emptiness.

i wanna wake up excited and fresh, despite the 3hr night's worth of sleep i had, eager as a beaver and kancheong as a spider, reving to get cracking; to pour out my lines wit the enthusiasm of a 13-year-old schoolgirl at her first day of school and be criticized and bettered; where i know i can trust everyone around me for we've built our trust on years of miscommunications and brawls; where the people know my eccentricities and moodswings and love me just the same for who i am.

but does this utopian idea really exist?

And I said good morning Mrs. Sumner I would like you to meet my friend Mr. Jones
He has a house made out of butterflies
I can't sleep sometimes but I've been told
It's a lonely condition called growing old
Let me stumble sometimes

I'm looking for a soul to cling to
Girl what you think about that

This time, well it all comes down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Then it comes right down to me

Hello have you been alright
Did you find a piece of something wrapped around the light side of your life
To make you feel better
Did you get out with your sanity
Did you save a little something for the people in need
And did you know with the rain in your pockets
You can change the weather

Is it just the total for the wages of our sins
And have you made yourself a victim
In a game that you can't win
And our we caving in
And does it all depend on loss and strain and butterflies
And does it come right down to me anymore
This time
Does it all come down
To loss and strain and butterflies
Come on down to me
- 'Loss, Strain and Butterflies'