Oh, I am so sick. So, so, so sick that I can't get out of my bed since two days. It's the usual cold/headache/sore throat/fever but trust me it's not that usual as it seems.

I am thinking of all the classes that I'm missing, the deadlines that I'm skipping, the tasty meals that I'm ditching, the precious moments that I'm wasting, the workouts that I'm avoiding; I'm thinking of all the meetings that I'm ignoring, the cute guys that I'm not seeing, the experiments that I'm not performing, the kids that I'm not teaching, the talks that I'm not having; I am thinking of all the pain that I'm suffering, the pills that I'm devouring, the salty water that I'm gargling, the layers of comforters that I'm wearing as I lay dying but most of all, I'm thinking about the stories that I'm plotting.

It all began with pizza and pop. I mean the onset of nervousness that spread down my spine the moment the cold gush of diet coke flooded my throat. The warm free pizza helped somewhat but it could not contain the fear of having a sore throat the very evening I had yet another theater audition.

I walked out of the free food event in time and prepared myself and my belongings to leave for the auditions. This time they were held in the main theater of the city and I had guessed right that this time I'd be auditioning on a real stage instead of a small room. After all, this was a bigger play, with a bigger cast, and a bigger chance.

"Hi! Are you here for the auditions? What's your name, let's see. Hmmm, oh, you're quite early! There's still a good hour before your turn. You can fill up this form and chill around till I call ya!" The stage manager faked her excitement very well till the point she handed me the form, and then resumed her whining to her assistant about how long she had been sitting on her desk collecting forms.

This standard protocol was only applicable to me because the rest of the actors and actresses (majoring in fine arts) merely swooped in, exchanged some hugs and old stories with the stage manager and went straight for the auditions with an unearthly confidence while I paced the hallway up and down in sweat, waiting for my turn, and simultaneously wishing I should have been anywhere but there. In my second trip to the bathroom, I decided to stay a bit longer, lured by the solace that it offered and the huge dressing mirror that demanded a final practice before the one in half an hour. I rehearsed the monologues in hushed voices, carefully watching my movement and that of the door lest anyone should walk in by chance and discover me in a theatrical pose sufficiently comical for their next day's gossip about an Indian.

When I entered the auditorium, I found the judge occupying a central place amidst the massive seating capacity,

"Fear not, you'll not die here today!" She could sense the shadow of nervousness that had fallen on my face upon viewing the grandness of the stage.

"I see, you're willing to do any role, hmmm," she continued to make comments as she read the form I handed her, "and this is one of your first times, not a lot of experience, hmmm, well I'd have you read the two monologues that you've prepared, and you can climb up the stage and begin whenever you're ready."

I acted. Slipped up a word in one of them, and then to make it worse, I corrected it by saying the word that was supposed to be in the phrase; perhaps I should have just better gone along with what I said first. But, a certain phrase did invoke a chuckle out of my dear judge which greatly cheered me. I finished and we read out loud a dialogue together, in which I think I did merely okay and not very great as compared to her. My practiced monologues were better. And in the end, when we thanked each other for our times, she said something that made my day,

"You know, it takes a LOT of courage when its your initial trials, and it's good for you, good for you..."

While leaving I asked the stage manager about the statistics of participation and selection.

"About 75% of people trying in would eventually be given some kind of role, it's a huge play."

I had missed my last bus, it was late in night as I took the cold, lonely 3km stretch of a road to my apartment by foot. A single thought invaded my mind, If I don't make into this, I better not fool around anymore. My rejection would mean that there's something seriously lacking in my ability to be on stage in this foreign land. And I was partially convinced that I'd be rejected and why not, when the experience column in my sign up form is often empty. Walking alone in the night, I felt dejected and lost. Nobody misses me or ever did, I mouthed. I tried to thumbs up to the vehicles scurrying along the road in the hope of a lift on that chilly night but nobody paid attention, and it only worsened my state of mind.

When I keyed in to my apartment, dragging those heavy legs to my room, I galloped a glass of milk on the way; undressed myself and crashed straight into the welcoming bed. How long I lied still I can't remember but soon my hand crawled out of the bed, searching for the laptop. Plugging it on, I turned to the only thing that mattered to me in life. The only thing that made me happy, and content, and joyful. And thus, I began to write this post.

EDIT: I got the results and as usual I'm not selected :| This is like the deepest depressing moments in recent months, not to say this massive breakup I've been going through. Hope by next week I'd have got something cheerful to talk about, but I doubt so.