Scene of Eve

“And that’s a wrap!” the director shouted as everyone around me clapped and congratulated one another for a job well done.  Everyone else took their leave, trucks, and cars filling out into the night. Meanwhile, I was left alone to pack up. It was always like this with every gig. The downside as a freelancer? I do everything. I’d be lucky if the project has the extra budget to hire a team for me, but that rarely happens. And when it does, it quickly pops back into me being alone when it’s time to pack-up. I’m fine with doing things alone. I always  wanted to be able to style myself with my own designs. I also dreamt of traveling to places, and shooting gigs gave me that. I also dreamt of learning what goes on behind the camera, which the shooting gigs gave me too. So really, I was fine being the unknown love line of the main character for the music video. I was fine being the nameless face that many seem to recognize but then just pass by. But I know that I do all these because I have expectations of being recognized for what I love doing. It doesn’t have to be for everything I do. One is enough because I know the rest will follow.  What was it that I was after? Surely it wasn't the fame. I never remembered feeling my heart skip a beat with fame before. It only did because it felt so full yet light. Even without the recognition, I felt like I was already flying. Because I had my passion. I started freelancing at a young age hoping that once I formed connections, I could somehow pitch my stories to directors and other writers. But the industry proved itself to be a harsh path. Even with connections, nothing really comes out of it. I learned the hard way that I need to have a name for me to be worth the attention. With that, I decided to keep freelancing. My parents were very supportive, though I felt their uneasiness every time I visited them. The pressure was also there because though they probably didn’t mean it, they always expected me to have some big news. “So, were you able to talk to the directors? Did they say they’d give your story a shot?” my  mother asked as I sat on our beaten-up sofa.  I smiled lightly. What was I going to tell her? That I failed again? That someone better than me was chosen? I couldn’t because  I know the pitying look she’d give me. Out of all the looks she’d given me, pity is the one I hate the most. It makes me feel useless. Like I should be guilty or something. Her look of pity would always sway me. And it f*****g sucks because I should never find myself doubting my decision. Once I do, everything I’ve built would crash. And I can’t find myself building them back again. It’s no easy feat to gather courage. Because sometimes, even if you do find it by some miracle, it doesn’t always cooperate.  “No, mom. A lot was going on in the set so I could not even ask for a spare second. But don’t worry. I promise on my next gig, I’ll have news.” “Any emails from the companies you pitch your book to?” My mom would always have her follow-up questions. She hoped that at least there was something I might just be forgetting.  “Will we see your name in the credits soon as a director?” Of course, that would be my dad’s question.  It was always about the possibility that he would finally see my name on the screen. My name is practically his. Maybe even my dreams are his? Then again I was never for myself, to begin with.  I love how my parents didn’t tell me to pursue other jobs, but I sometimes feel suffocated. It was not them. But it was not me either. Instead, it was the people around them and their f****d up expectations. That would be another scenario where I would hear them huffing out a breath, their teeth clenched to keep from talking because it would be a double-edged sword for them. If they talk in my defense, people would say that they didn’t raise me well enough. Just because I didn’t follow in their shadow. But then if my parents agree with the f****d up expectations, they would appear pitiful. The parents that still struggle for a living because their daughter could not even support them.   Either way, there was going to be talking behind my back and theirs.  Sometimes I just want them to ask me how my day was, but they never did and never do. They stopped ever since I told them that I’d pursue freelance modeling. I always thought that it was the path that could lead me further towards my goal. But maybe it was the wrong step? Because even though it was within reach, I felt like there was some kind of bulletproof glass that caged me away from my dreams. I saw it dancing, just there, calling out for me. Or maybe it was mocking me? How would I know? The cage was noise-proof as well. All I could was gawk at it. Maybe even drool every time it danced close to the glass. It was tapping my palms against the glass. And then it twirled. I could see every angle. Every aspect. I think. Maybe it was my fault? After all, I was the one who fooled everyone that I would be fine in pursuing freelancing as a model. Funny how I fooled myself too. Funny how I still think that everything is worth it when in reality, it was all slowly sinking down the drain.