One step further

Today is not a writing day. Today my words stayed at home. Even so, I thought it right to stop by and say, proudly, that I moved forward with you, my dear Ophelia, I am one step closer to you.
Today I go to sleep very pleased with the outcome of my day. I can feel progress and that gives me strength to move on and to never give up. I believe in myself. I really do.

I WILL do it. I WILL, I know I WILL. I believe, I truly believe.

Beginning

I guess that beginning the character work is always the hard part, but it does have to start. And in the end, I believe that the connection between actor and character is so wonderful that it makes all the hard work worth it.
I tried out various exercises, to help me get in the atmosphere of the Ophelia's situation, life, feelings, relationships, etc. I was kind of rusty, I might say. I was so difficult to try and leave myself behind and embrace another's world. Even so, towards the end of my "rehearsal" I was able to do it, to loose myself for a moment. It felt amazing.
The text, is getting more familiar. I'm starting to love the words and what they represent. I mean, let's see: how exactly is her mental and emotional state when the scene begins? She is shocked, obviously, but does she blame herself for his madness? Does she get upset because her love is going mad. Is she worried he is really mad? And why does she go to father?

OH - That's a HUGE question. Why does she insist on going to her father to talk about Hamlet? Why does she tell him everything? Why does she obbey?

- Because he is the only parental figure she can rely on
- Her brother has left, apparently Hamlet is going mad, so maybe he is the only person she can talk to
- Out of respect. At the time a lady's role was very well determined, she should obbey the male figure in her life. In this case, her father
- She's is so isolated that she has to tell someone

Who knows?

Anyway, I'll answer that later, when I have a clearer view on the matter. For now let's look at how she feels. I am really convinced that is visualizing the scene in her heard while she repeats it. Pretty sure. But even so, what is her voice like. I mean, she is shocked, so it has to be startled, but she is still a fragile, oppressed girl, so she would never speak loudly or shout. So I think that her shockedness reflects inwards, making her even more isolated.

Another good question:

Does she already hint her future madness?

Her eyes, I mean, do they foreshadow her mental fragility and her future collapse?

I'll leave on that one.

Good night Ophelia, sleep tight.

Ophelia`s depiction

Ophelia - the potential tragic heroine who just gets to be tragic. She doesn`t get to overcome the difficulties and triumph as a heroine would. Instead she can`t take and colapses. I know she`s fragile, and that she doesn`t have the ability to fight back, but who would in her position... Noone. Her father uses her at his own need and then is killed by her lover who rejects her and treats her like a whore and her brother has travelled to France. And she`s so humble, you know. She didn`t deserve it. I know she didn`t.

Diary of a new Ophelia

Who is she? Who are you? I think I knew you too well in the past to able to know you in the present. Have you changed? Is she different? I suppose she is... I want to rediscover you.

So let's start with the basics...

Ophelia, the teenager that does not have a mother, the one that is used again and again and again by her father. But she was brought up well, I mean, she is a good girl. She means no harm. Oh, and she loves him... But she can't love him fully because society is out to get her.

Who is she really? The character that Shakespeare decided to mistreat? She is the heroine, the female lover which never gets a chance to perform her role. Hamlet and the plot are too busy on their own problems to give her a shot, a shot at being a lead female role. I mean, Shakespeare just decides to isolate her, to make her so incredibly locked up, so alone. With noone to turn to. How could he do that? She just represents the person that society's eaten up, gobbled. She's taken over by them.

It's just terrifying, you know? To be in that place... that place in the dark where noone hears you scream. The world is just too occupied to take notice. And she is so scared and frightened. She fulfills her role, what she is supposed to do.

She's a mermaid. So beautiful. I think he made her so perfect so that the fall could be bigger. Oh, but she is small. And fragile. How could she not be? When life itself has took care of beating her up.

OK, so let's say this is a fresh start on you.

Act 2 Scene 1 - Description of Hamlet's madness

What should I be aware of? She has just, in that exact moment, come from seeing Hamlet appearing to be completely mad. In a good bye sort of way... He stares at her, holds her, stares some more. And all this in a appauling figure, completely unbuttoned and untied and looking like there is something way down deep which is stirring.

How could she feel about this, I mean? Besides being completely surprised, nervous, boggled, out of breath, frightened, worried. This is the man she loves, in front of her, appearing to be completely mad and acting in an extremely creepy way. She's gone mad, she'd think, what happened? My love has gone mad. Oh my god. I don't know what is going on. She is too nervous to even think straight. The words just come out of her mouth as she tries to remember what just happened. Is it me? Was it my fault? Is it because he is in love with me?

Let me try it out. Now. For the first time like this. Ohhhhh, let's goooooooo

Oh no, I can't. Not now. I'm going to learn my lines first. Then I'll try it.

That's it for the first one. Let's hope I keep finding stuff out. I don't think I'm already comfortable to talk to her directly. I need to settle more, discover how she's changed, and then I'll do.

See you tomorrow

Olha para cima e para baixo

Não escrevo como antes. Antes tinha que parar-me de vir aqui escrever, agora tenho que forçar-me sequer a abrir a página. O que é que aconteceu? Este foi um lugar tão especial por tantos meses e agora não me diz nada? Disse tanta coisa, tanta coisa que não devia... Cresci tanto e agora olho para cima e para baixo e não sei. Não sei. Costumava escrever sobre todas as certezas que tinha, e agora... Não sei. Estou constantemente à procura, a mudar de opinião e não concebo que não seja assim. A minha vida dá voltas e voltas, não sei o que vai acontecer depois, como é que posso manter-me com as mesmas convicções? Antes era mais intransigente, intolerante e achava que estava sempre certa. Agora vejo que isso nem era de todo mau. Lutava por alguma coisa, tinha a maior certeza do que queria, vivia tudo muito mais intensamente. Alguns diriam que amadureci, já não sou tão irracional e por isso não me comporto tão instintivamente. Foda-se isso tudo. A única coisa que sei é que agora as palavras já não me saiem e em vez de acreditar com todo o meu ser em alguma coisa, vagueio sem destino, sabendo que nada é eterno. Não sou capaz de restringir-me a uma única só vontade porque já sei que novas experiências vão surgir e que tudo vai mudar novamente. Agora?? Agora já não crio laços para não ter que os quebrar. Agora já não me apego como antes, só porque não suportaria vê-los ser arrancados diante dos meus olhos outra vez. Outra vez não. Para onde vou? O que procuro? Estou farta de perguntas. Chega desta merda. Chega. Algum dia vou ter que começar a dizer que não. Merda. Que vazio. Que vazio. Quando me for embora daqui, vou chorar? Não.

Como?

O branco por cima do cinzento arrasta a cor e deixa-a partir.
Deixamos que nos levem o que amamos e ficamos a olhar enquanto desaparecem na linha do horizonte.
Na minha mente corro em busca do que deixei que me levassem, mas na realidade, os meus pés afundam-se na terra e não saiem do mesmo lugar.
Está na hora de deixar, de começar, de levantar, de decidir. A medalha perdeu o valor dela e nem sei mais porque escrevo.
Antes queria dizer alguma coisa, cada palavra posicionada no seu lugar para dar um certo significado à frase. Mas não. Não dou. Não deixo. Não consigo.
E o que despertava a minha tristeza já não existe. Estou para além das lágrimas, já não consigo chorá-las, nem contê-las, nem senti-las.
Estou cansada e não saio do mesmo lugar há horas. As minhas pernas congelaram e os meus braços começam a encraquilhar-se.
Não sei distinguir o real do irreal nem o bonito do feio.
As pétalas de uma flor são me iguais aos destroços de uma casa somente feita de cimento.
Já vi, ouvi e disse as coisas que mais temo. E continuo aqui.
Porque todos os suicidas têm medo de morrer. É verdade, aquela coragem que se vê nos filmes, não existe. Quando confrontados com a morte, todos temos medo. Mas às vezes a dor e a aflição conseguem ultrapassar esse medo.
A nossa mente tem poderes que não temos capacidade para entender. Leva-nos a lugares obscuros em que o céu está fundido com o chão.
É um lugar sem vida.
Mas só o é porque a morte nunca lá chegou.

How am I supposed to deal with this?
I'm a big girl now...
I shall not cry. I'll cry no more.
Even though, I'm still a little baby
Please...
Bring me back.

I would come back to life,
My eyes would say yes.
Right now,
They say I'm a bitch,
I bet you can guess.
You say I hit because I can... But baby,
Can't you see you're all I had?

And now you left,
I don't seem to know how to deal with it...
What can I do?
I just can't take this through...
I don't seem to understand
I just wish we could all
Just put our head in the sand.