Sapphic Pondering

         A wise woman (Rebecca Bunch from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend) once said “nothing was ever anyone’s fault”. The universe is a jerk. We are all just passive players in this large game of life, bent to the will and whims of the unknown forces of fates. We are traumatized and tired, and we should not be faulted for our blunders. Evan Hansen, the titular character of the popular musical by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, seems to be the perfect embodiment of this sentiment. The story of Dear Evan Hansen was comforting: Evan, just like us in at least some points of our lives, found himself in a mess of bad decisions that were not entirely in his control. Throughout the musical, Evan and those around him were all victims of their circumstances and traumas, and the musical established a soothing, hopeful tone that reassured both their characters and their audience that their pain and struggles were valid and understood. They used a grammatical tool – the passive voice – to bring about a sense o

            Always think twice before a murder. That was one of the most profound lessons Hamilton: An American Musical taught me. There is always a chance that the duel between you and your nemesis will become the climax of an internationally acclaimed musical. You will spend the majority of two hours and forty minutes narrating said nemesis’ life while simultaneously getting roasted to bits by the entire show. It happened to Aaron Burr, it might as well happen to you too. In the original Broadway show of Hamilton: An American Musical , the sets, colors, costumes, and songs to convey the juxtaposition of Hamilton and Burr’s belongingness on stage, as their presence symbolized the driving and hindering forces of the American dream. Hamilton as a character embodied the essence of the American dream: the idealization of an American society where everyone, despite their backgrounds and identities, can be successful with hard work and determination. This narrative is integral to the id

Miss Saigon was one of the few musicals I got the (dis)pleasure of watching live. I didn’t cry a single tear. I was too busy being furious. Highly acclaimed as it is in West End and Broadway, Miss Saigon reeks of colonialism and white savior complex, a white narrative from and for white colonialism. Even though Kim and Chris are both set up to be different from the rest of the characters, their Otherness cannot be more opposing yet are strikingly similar. Kim was othered not only from the other Asian characters – shone by the light of purity, innocence, and femininity – but also from the audience whose sympathy she was supposed to garner. Chris was othered from the characters – as one of the only white men in the show – but he was one and the same with the people who are watching him. Kim is a virtuous character, but at the same time, she is a fallen woman. Her narrative ties neatly into the virgin–Madonna-whore complex, a complex born from the misogynistic idea that women can eith

I.                    The maze behind school: She stood in front of “the maze”: an ancient labyrinth where hazardous traps guarded invaluable treasures. An adventurer, she had ventured into such place countless times, each escapade more dangerous than the last. She was used to battling powerful monsters and avoiding gruesome ambushes. She sneaked her way into the tight opening. Her pace quickened with the heavy footsteps of armed men. Ducking behind a big carton box, she put a hand on her chest and smiled excitedly. They were walking straight to her trap. Leaving the bandits tumbling after each other into a deep hole on the ground, she ran to the opposite direction.   By the time she rounded the final corner, she was panting, but not without a little triumph. Maneuvering her way around a heap of old logs, she squealed in ecstasy when the other side of the maze finally came into view. Her pace quickened and she started to run. With a half-giggle half-huff, she bust