I can only apologise, in the most English way possible, but my story begins like many coming of age movies, as a bit of a Cliche.

I know i’m a little old to imagine myself the lead in a coming of age movie but it’s one of those guilty pleasures, I love losing myself to the world of hope and excitement that being a wide eyed adolescent with the world ahead of you brings.

Anyway I digress, and I probably will many times as my writing always would as a child. I’d begin writing a story about a magic ice cream and soon it would tell the unrelated tale of a dolphin and a mermaid becoming best friends. Sorry sorry sorry, back we go.

The cliche is, or at least I believe for many performers it is, I started dancing at the age of three. I loved it. I found it hard to find my confidence at school and felt like I didn’t quite fit in, I was a bit smaller, quieter, had glasses and huge teeth and no older siblings to show me the ropes. But in dance class I would thrive, I would head straight to the front of class. I would give it my all, I would lose myself in the music (anyone else break into song at this point?) feeling every movement, like my soul was telling the story. I think I enjoyed the praise I got when I did well. I pushed pushed and pushed… to the point my teacher pulled me aside and told me I could pull it back a little. I was just a kid learning how to express myself.

Life continued this way, between home, school and dance class. Unlike now, when I will often be in a new place each morning, things stayed the same for a while, same house, same school, same dance studio and I could never imagine myself to be the type of person to move or change my routine beyond going up a school year or joining a new after school club.

At age 10, I remember one particularly exciting day when my parents called me to a dining table meeting to let me know they had enrolled me in StageCoach. I was granted a lot of opportunities growing up, a privilege I don’t take lightly, Horse Riding, French Lessons, 4 hrs of Roller Skating on a Sunday, I think I even joined my brother at Karate for a session or two, but of it all, performance stuck like glue.

At 13 I was googling and I came across a school that to me felt like it belonged only in fairy tales, or at least in a cliche coming of age movie. I believed deeply in having big dreams and going for what you wanted and I ran downstairs and pretty much told my parents I would like to see it, they allowed me to, thinking it’ll be a nice day out and it’ll keep me quiet, but nothing more. It must have been a few weeks later my dad drove me to look around. I remember the utter rush of magic that went streaming through every vein in my body. This cannot be real. I teared up, I always found it hard to cry at movies in front of my parents, I was always too embarrassed but, In this instance I felt overwhelmed. This place. This is nothing like I could have imagined. but there it was, bricks and mortar and kids with buns and dance bags running past to get to class.

It’s funny that everytime you recall something you are only recalling the last time you remembered the thing. I wish I journaled then, like I do know, so I could be sure I was recollecting that day exactly as it was, but all I know for sure is that I had decided there was no other future I wanted. I set my sights on an audition. I owe so very much to my parents support through my entire life but none more so than them welcoming this ambition of mine. They arranged private sessions for me, with my StageCoach teachers to prepare me for the audition and finally the day came. In I went.

The audition was held in the Ballroom. I felt prepared. very well rehearsed. My singing was weaker, I knew this but I had worked very hard. During the dance call… should I admit this… I brushed my hand across the wall heading to the corner for kicks or spins, just in case I never came back, in an attempt to lock it in my memory and savour every second.

Months past and a letter arrived in the post. It was a large white letter. It took me five hours, a bucket of anxiety filled tears and a heap of coaxing from my family before I finally ripped open the seal to reveal the outcome. I got in… but not as a boarder. I lived two and a half hours away. Yet there was still hope. A few more weeks had past and a bed became available. Signed sealed delivered, off I went.

It wasn’t financially easy for my family and they made some huge sacrifices for me to be there but to even be in a position to somehow make it work, I was very lucky.

Particularly memorable moments during my time at Tring, were the first performance in the theatre, I was so present in my body that day, feeling I was truly living my dream. I can recall the hazy lights, my position on the stage and the atmosphere. Another moment I remember vividly was when I fainted on school photo day and another was coming second in the Classical Acting cup. I nearly got my name engraved on the famous walls but not quite. That’s ok.

Things were wonderful, of course my time didn’t come without teenage angst, stressful deadlines and early mornings I would have rather slept through, but it went relatively smoothly as a whole. However, as my AS level (first year of 6th form) exams were fast approaching, I got sick. I got very, very, coma level sick. I could go on in much more detail about this chapter of my life and maybe one day I will write about it (I have recently found out about the journals my mum made during this time to use as a reference). But for now i’ll use it as a vehicle to say, perhaps it was after this that life started to feel a little less like and immortal fairy tale and a new reality set in motion.

... tbc