In the summer of 2015, my contract with the Fresco Dance Company was over, and I was lucky enough to have my resignation come into force at the end of our tour in China. I parted from the company in the Beijing airport terminal as they boarded their flight back home, and I continued on a long trip around the world.
My next destination was Perth, Australia, where my brother was living at the time. After spending a few days with him and his gorgeous family, I chose to fly to the east cost to attend the annual gathering of the Australian Lacan Circle, in Melbourne. Lacan is one of Sigmund Freud’s successors, and a phenomenon in his own right – the formulator of a unique niche in the Psychoanalytical movement in Europe. I fell in love with his work as I was beginning my Bachelor’s degree in Psychology, and was very enthusiastic about attending a Lacan conference at the of the world, as if I were an invitee of the conference, the Israeli representative. However, I was just a visitor by chance, dressed up as an Israeli psychoanalyst.
To be frank, I was (and still am) a novice in Psychology and in Lacanian Psychoanalysis specifically, so I ended up understanding very little and actually falling asleep a few times during the conference. Apparently, it wasn’t just my limited understanding of Psychoanalysis, or my mediocre academic English, but the Australian, Belgian and Japanese accents of the speakers that made it impossible for me to follow.
After the anticlimactic conference ended, I looked for another attraction while in Melbourne, and came across an ad for a domestic version of “The Lion King”. I had heard of the show and its grandeur for years, but never had the chance or budget to go see it. So with a dissatisfied appetite from the conference and my pockets full of spending money, I walked over to the box office and asked for the best seats in the theater. Nevertheless, nothing prepared me for what happened next.
By the time the Djun-Djun drum pounded the final and resonant percussion of the opening number, “The Circle of Life”, I was glued to my chair, feeling like I was witnessing a modern day Revelation (like the Biblical giving the tablets of stone, at Mount Sinai). As my soul was glimmering with awe from the music, the aesthetics and the overall magnitude of this production, I knew this was my call. By the time the show had reached the part where Mufassa appears from the heavens and roars: “Remember who you are” at Simba, I was like: “OK, OK, I get the message”.
Luckily for me, I had just gotten the part of ‘Big Deal’ in a production of West Side Story, and was already on the track back into Musical Theater, after devoting myself exclusively to dance for three years. I was especially grateful to have had “the Lion King experience” stand out so dramatically next to the Lacanian Psychoanalysis conference. It reflected the long and short of a decade long uncertainty over my passion for Musicals.
The following two years have been years of change, which have gradually geared me toward a career in Musical Theater. Now that my B.A. in Psychology is complete, and my romance with Lacan relegated to a hobby, I am ready to immerse myself in a show-biz career. In a month from now, I will be flying to New York to take my shot at the Broadway stages. I hope that the sun shines on my “Pride Rock”.