I’ve made a
list of all the wonderful moments I'll never forget from Youngblood: the laughter that comes
from reading someone's new play out loud; the discussions in which a playwright snaps to verbalize what their play is about; RJ and Graeme's wise observations of
what's core in a scene, in a character, in a play.
But workshopping
our work was just a fraction of what we did. Every Wednesday, we met to talk
about the shows we’ve seen, breaking down what’s working and not working in new
plays, and during the breaks, we talked about our own challenges living and
writing in New York. Fascinating were the moments in which these struggles were
revealed in our work, or discussed 'till late-night over drinks at McCoy's.
If being a
new playwright in the city is not difficult enough, being a foreign, young
playwright in the city is rough. There's an incredible amount of barriers to
face when you’re trying to cross borders, cross cultures, to become part of a
new community. So I have to take this moment to thank Youngblood for giving me
a home.
The popular
story is that I’m the most MIA playwright in Youngblood because I was deported,
and in truth, I was absent for 4 years of my membership. However, before I left
the States, I asked RJ whether I could remain a member and while I was gone, I kept Youngblood in my heart.
Abroad, it was hard for me to identify myself as a playwright, so I held on to my membership to not
lose sight of my creative needs. During those years, I'd manage to return to the city once a year and bring pages to the group. Once, there was a two-hour long melodrama, where I poured my heart out to describe all my frustrations with love, in often subversive or coded relationship
dramas.
I was
dealing with a sexual identity crisis, worsened by a tri-lingual cultural
clash, and playwriting was what held me together. It was through my writing
that I could identify my problems and deal with them, mostly in solitude, and if I
didn't have the support of Youngblood, that period in my life would have been
unbearable.
I traveled a
lot, and a lot of that was a means to escape. Escape my problems. Escape my
frustrations. Avoidance was necessary, because I was too afraid to be who I
was. But then I'd come to Youngblood and say to myself: well, one of the big
problems I have is a sexual-identity crisis, so I emailed RJ and
Graeme telling them that Youngblood needed to make a firm stance in favor of gay rights. So
before the Marriage Equality law was passed in New York, Graeme got in a wedding dress and
RJ married him in one of my brunch plays. That's one of the moments that I
personally, will never forget.
Around that
time, I was working on a play called "disOriented," which was
directed by Carlos Armesto and produced by his company, Theatre C. Carlos and I
met through Youngblood on my first year in the group, back in the days when
Carlos was Associate Artistic Director of EST. Looking back at where Carlos and
I started and where we ended, I am so thankful to Youngblood for introducing
us, and planting the seed of one of my best collaborations so far.
Meanwhile, I had the privilege to learn the singular beauty of each playwright's voice, their unique personalities, and over the past eight years, it's been incredible to watch playwrights achieve incredible accomplishments. I'll never forget what I've learned from fellow Youngblooders: Qui Nguyen, Liz Meriwether, Zakiyyah Alexander, Edith Freni, Sharyn Rothstein, Amy Herzog, Annie Baker, Jon Kern, Mike Lew, Josh Conkel, Lucy Alibar, Rob Askins--but they're just a fraction of the talent Youngblood has nurtured, and it's just a matter of time before each Youngblood playwright will make me see something new about the theater and literally make me say: "whoa."
But the
greatest lesson I've learned comes from looking back at the first play I
brought to the group. After college, I was obsessed with the tragic form and I
was working on a trilogy of tragedies called THE HOUSING PROJECT. The first
play, HOUSE OF SOL, dealt with a young gay man, full of revenge and anger, that
severed ties with his family. The play was read as part of UNFILTERED, and
performed by seven men playing both men and women. The show was a drag show
that never got produced, because I kept on self-censoring myself while writing
it. On a retreat to the Catskills, I remember Graeme advising me to avoid
self-sabotage. And after reading the play, I remember RJ acknowledging how hard
it was to sever ties with your family.
This year,
I’m finally facing the music, as I take the necessary steps to make New York
City my permanent home. In my last brunch play for Youngblood's "Fellowship of the Brunch," I wrote about what’s going
on to explore the personal challenges
I’ve been too embarrassed to talk about in person. Sitting in rehearsals with
Kel Haney (our director) and our cast, we talked about how my situation happens
and how sad it is that it's true. Yet, at the same time, there’s something
completely liberating about unveiling your personal wounds, and edifying to have a place to talk about them while being empowered.
Caryl
Churchill once described playwriting as exposing your mind on stage, to then
have it chopped up to pieces by the press. But in the art of making theater,
I've been able to bring in these complicated, personal situations to learn how
to deal with them empathically, and that has made me personally, and I believe
artistically, a much stronger and braver human being. For this, there aren't enough words to express my gratitude to Youngblood.
For those that
know my work, they know that I like writing political theater, because I believe
that theater is a rehearsal room for social change. In that sense, Youngblood also gave me the home I needed until I could find the tools to build a home for
myself. And for that, I’ll never forget how Youngblood taught me to stay true
to my voice, to listen to it and use it to change my life. Many thanks
Youngblood. These lessons, I'll always remember.
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