The last time I cried

Before you start, I want to tell you that I got pretty emotional while writing this so all the sentences might not connect with each other.
I feel like crying NOW - all my bones and muscles ache from today's cheerleading T.T
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     I cry a lot. I cry when my shoulders hurt really badly and when I have too much homework to do. I cry when I do not feel like doing something that I absolutely know that I should. I cry when I miss somebody that I haven’t contacted for quite a long time or when I suddenly remember an embarrassing incident. Sometimes, I cry for no reason, too. I feel my eyes well up in the middle of a conversation they I was actually enjoying. But all these cries are not the same. Sometimes a single tear would do the job and sometimes I would have to cry until I cannot cry any longer.

     Since I frequently cry, I do not remember that well of the “last” time I cried. But I certainly do remember the last time I cried my heart out. It was last year’s November – all the students were preparing for the Minjok Sarang Concert.

     I became the head chief of our school’s one and only musical club, Stars on Stage (SOS), in September. So eager to start my year, I planned to take extra good care of our members and draw out the best result we could make. I knew that we had a concert in November, so I decided to set things straight. I asked the members to voluntarily participate for the concert for only those who really want to do it. Only few of us remained so we had to ask people outside of our club to join us. The procedure took a long time, therefore not leaving us enough time to practice for the performance.

     Two of our members wrote the fifteen minute script for us to perform. It had all the lines and songs to compactly portray the musical we were playing – “Hairspray.” We had an expert musical actress to coach us with our singings and our dance routines. We did the best we could for about two or three weeks. It did improve, yes it did, but it was not enough to perform on the stage. We knew in our hearts that this could end up being a humiliation. Then we perform for the rehearsal, two weeks before the concert. All the students were watching us. And yes, we did sort of end up as something to make fun of. I wasn’t so heartbroken then, although I did spent the whole nights up straightening out the scripts, making dance routines, and teaching the members about them. I was tired, though. I felt that I was the only person who eagerly wanted to make this performance a success. I wanted to do it, but with whom? Who was with me? Well, I’m still not so sure about that even until now.

     The result of the rehearsal was rather terrifying. Our performance, which was supposed to be the first play in the second scene, was put off to the third. And for the worse, our performance time was shortened to seven minutes. We were supposed to do a musical performance in “seven minutes.” It brought all the members down. Most of us did not even feel like doing this whole nonsense anymore. I, too, felt very much depressed. But still, I did not cry.

     We had to start all over again. We threw away the script we had and we started a whole new performance consisting of four songs and no lines. The dance routine had to be remade due to the new songs. We had to do it in two weeks. I literally did not have time to sleep, for I was in charge and I had the responsibility to make this alright.

     The first week was a disaster. All the members had to memorize four songs and our coach was constantly scolding us for not paying attention, being off-key, and not big voice and yatty yatty yatta. I had to stay up all nights choosing costumes and calling the rental services for the size of the costumes and renting fees. I had to stay up all nights assigning each of the lyrics to each member. The songs themselves had to be edited, which was a hard procedure. There was way too much burden. I felt like crashing down.

     On the next practice I burst into tears, or rather, I exploded into tears. We were severely told off because we kept on complaining about all the things – the time, the songs, the dance routines, and the concert itself. The coach yelled at us for being rude and stupid.

     I spent months preparing for this whole thing. I spent all my time and effort on it, even on times I knew that this wouldn’t work out well. I had hope that someday the members would understand all the hard works that I had to do. I put up with all the complaints – “I don’t like this costume,” “I want longer lines,” “I have a big quiz so I cannot come to the practice.” I smiled and again thought of alternative plans with no one helping me. I tried to look cheerful even though I felt like punching every single one of them in the face. And what do I get? WHAT DO I GET FOR ALL THESE CRAP I HAD TO DO? Well, I would have preferred getting nothing. But I did get something. I got, ta-da, a finger in my face! How wonderfully ironic.

     I cried because I felt sorry for myself. All my work was done for the goodness of our club, for the success of our club. I tried so hard to make it work. Through the tears I told every single member what I thought. I told them to quit it now, if they didn’t want to do it. And a girl managed to point at my face and yell “YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO SAY THAT.” Well? You, missy, don’t have the right to stay in my f***ing club.