It may surprise and dismay you to learn that I was once a young, budding actor. No, I’m not talking about my frightful turns in a web series here or a Tetris-based fake documentary there but my teenage self’s propensity for taking roles in my secondary school’s regular theatre productions. Yes, you’re reading the blog of someone who was once Macbeth! Brutus! Lysander!…Judge Hathorne from the Crucible…
How impressed you are or not is up to you, but it’s not really the point. I had all but forgotten about the time in my life when I thought I might one day make a career in the spotlight (all breathe a sigh of relief) until today, when – attempting to make the mess of my teenage bedroom habitable again – I came across programmes of said productions, signed by staff and friends alike.
And that’s when I felt the pangs of nostalgia strike.
I sat there reminiscing for far too long, reading inscriptions from people I had barely even thought of for years but who, according to their personal messages, I was really rather quite chummy with. I don’t really feel any regret for losing touch with most of them – we all move on, and the friends I wanted to hang on to I did for the most part – and I reminded myself that too much nostalgia is a dangerous thing. “It was better back in my day!” is the cry of the truly unaware, the person who doesn’t realise that every era is one person’s golden age and another’s doomsday.
It was also fairly easy not to get too rose-tinted about the past when I remembered what horrors the education system brought me.