On a windy October afternoon sat nine other high schoolers alongside of me. Cramped around a circular table while enjoying sushi and dumplings, we discussed our goal of helping underprivileged children in our surrounding community. But how? “What if we try to sell handcrafted goods and paintings?” Emma asked. “But like, not all of us are artists,” Kevin responded with a laugh. “Oh right, good point,” She muttered. “What if we hold a fundraiser?” Fiona contributed. Again, Kevin chimed in, “Ok, but doing what? We need to have a purpose and reason for getting people to come out and spend money, no?” Afraid that my idea would also be shot down, I took a small sip of water, cleared my throat, and said, “Hey guys, a fundraiser event could be a solution - what if we put on a drama production and all ticket sales go to charity?” The silence was deafening followed by shifting stares across the table. Just as I put my head down to spare myself of any further embarrassment, Kevin unsurprisingly added more of his thoughts. “Yeah, Xyza’s on to something. I agree. But do any of us even know how to act and what it takes to make a play happen?” 

It was only a month prior that we had all met for the first time by attending a local college fair in our hometown of Guangzhou, yet we all shared a strange, common bond. Though we were Chinese students, we were all enrolled in American schools. However, due to the pandemic, we were summoned back to our respective homes to study remotely. One by one, we began airing out our frustrations of how we missed our lives halfway around the world to the point of deciding to exchange numbers and WeChat contacts. In this way, we could keep in touch and attempt to socialize when possible. 

Some time had passed and I was caught up in my routine of attending rigorous classes with a twelve-hour time difference while volunteering weekly at a local school for children with autism. Needless to say, I wanted to feel like a normal fifteen-year-old and figured I had nothing to lose when reaching out to my new acquaintances since our group chat had gone silent. 

Me: hey guys, yall free for lunch on monday? we can go to that new japanese restaurant. thoughts? ☺ 

Hanson: im down…i love sushi

Linda: yeah, what time?!

The messages started to roll in and what felt like a never-ending autumn in isolation gave me a sense of hope and warmth for I had missed in-person connections. Since Zoom was the only way I could see my classmates and teachers back in New Jersey, I could not wait to rid myself of a screen, even if for just two hours. When Monday finally arrived, I soon found myself surrounded by laughter and delicious food. That was until we started to get serious and discuss some problems we noted in our community, leading us to act—literally. Once my idea of putting on a play for charity was accepted by all, we realized that this was our first step yet had no clue how to move forward. 

How to act? What play should we do? Where do we perform? What resources and people do we need for an actual performance? were the thoughts that flooded my mind, quickly rethinking what I had put forth until Emma delivered step two. “I know a girl in my neighborhood who’s a theater student at Stanford. She’s taking a gap year because of Covid. Maybe we can reach out to her for some help.” “Now that’s a plan!” Kevin exclaimed. Just as we were finishing up our lunch and getting to head out, I stopped everyone. “Wait, wait. Before we go, we need to come up with a name for our group since we’re a team now!” “Well since many of us love Latin, why don’t we call ourselves…’Alias’?” Wenshi suggested. “Yes, Alias!” We cheered and decided since we would do our work anonymously to help others.

Our acting workshops finally started in November and Gwendolyn, the theatre major that Emma connected us with, was at the helm. Every weekend we attended practice twice with each session lasting for three hours. Though we began in a lighthearted manner, laughing and joking around when trying to recite lines and make expressions, it soon became clear that what we wanted to accomplish was not going to be easy. Bright smiles turned into sleepy eyes. Tina, Helmut, and Linda were frequently absent and gave the same excuses over and over.

Linda: hey guys, can’t make it today…family stuff 

Helmut: same. math project and a big test, sorry

Tina: must meet with my tutor – maybe the next time ☹  

The weather had gotten colder, and our schoolwork became more demanding. Though the rest of us continued to meet, we were physically present with minds drifted far away. Clearly, our theater event was no longer a priority and we were just going through the motions, not even realizing why. Just when I was questioning whether it was time to give up, something strangely changed one Saturday night. Not only were all ten of us present but Gwendolyn told us that we were about to do something that would really make us venture outside of our comfort zones. Our indifference quickly turned into curiosity. “Ok guys, so I’m breaking you up into pairs your job is to stare into your partner’s eyes without saying a word. You need to communicate only with emotions by looking at one another. Any questions?” When I stood in front of Kevin, we could not help but laugh at first. I felt uncomfortable since our eyes had never locked for more than three seconds yet Gwendolyn quickly came to us and sternly said,  “Don’t laugh. Calm down. Try to focus on each other’s eyes.” We did our best to compose ourselves and after five minutes, my eyes became dry. Though I could hear some laughter in the background of some pairs that had failed, I just kept telling myself: don’t move your eyes away. I know this is something uncomfortable, but that’s  exactly what we need to overcome. After all, Gwendolyn was just trying to get us to be open with our own emotions, not ashamed to express them. By the end of that activity, Kevin and I arrived at twenty-five minutes without saying a word and keeping our gazes fixed on one another. We uncovered ourselves and the invisible walls broke down. Soon it became clear that behind all his quick comments and laughter was a person whose eyes revealed something more: ambition, determination, tenderness and a sense of vulnerability. After that workshop, our commitment not only to our cause but to one another continued to grow and beyond our goal of giving back to those in need, we were giving something to ourselves—a new and unexpected bond of friendship in a time when the world felt dim. 

After a four more months of practice,  Gwendolyn told us that we were now ready to begin working on the play itself. As we all brainstormed on selecting a script, it seemed like our ideas were going nowhere until Kevin said, “Well, as you know, Xyza volunteers at a school where the children are autistic, and I often go to visit kids in rural areas who don’t have a good education. If we want to follow the theme of helping others, why don’t we go with The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime? It’s a story about the relationship between an autistic boy and his parents and his school mentor.” Everyone quickly agreed and we all began our independent reading assignment since we would all be assigned a character from the book during our next meeting. Things ended up working out perfectly as each and every one of us was happy with the role Gwendolyn doled out.   

Helmut was cast as the child, Christopher and Fiona and Hanson were cast as his parents. Linda was Voice One, Wenshi was Voice Two, Kevin was Voice Three, Emma was Voice Four, and Amber was Voice Five. As for me, I was given the role of Siobhan, Christopher’s mentor. Since we all had to work on our unique characters, I really focused on what I had to do. Knowing that Siobhan was a patient and caring adult who guides Christopher forward, I reasoned I had to find inner traits to match hers while seeking outward inspiration. For instance, on my commute to our weekend sessions, I would take note of mothers and their children around me—how some were more attentive and kind than others. How they walked, how they talked, and how they interacted with their sons and daughters. However, it soon became clear these observations were not of much help. Whereas Helmut was doing a great job playing Christopher, my confidence was continually eroding with all the criticism and corrections thrown my way by our director. Though I tried to hide my distress, Gwendolyn took notice one afternoon in April and asked me to stay back: “Think of yourself, Xyza. Don’t think about how you should act and what tips you should use, think about you—Siobhan. When you are on the stage, you are Siobhan.” After that, she left. “I am Siobhan,” I repeated to myself. “But how?” 

Desperate for an answer, I kept envisioning the scenes in which Siobhan and Christopher interacted in my free time. And as I focused on memorizing my lines, I also tried to imagine Siobhan’s interior world when trying to support the little boy. She understands Christopher and knows that he needs some help; but she also knows that Christopher is able to grow and eventually be independent enough to make his own decisions. Yet it was not until later that week did something click. When visiting the children at the school I volunteered at, that Friday happened to be a dance performance in which the older  kids put on for their parents. The music was loud and the classroom was noisy. Since the only two teachers were busy with the production, no one seemed to notice a younger boy tumble while running toward the performing children. After letting out a scream of frustration, I realized that he wanted to dance, too. Therefore, I got up and quickly ran to him, wondering how I could help. Knowing that he could not understand long sentences, I squatted next to him and moved my hands gently with a comforting smile. “Dance!” I whispered and though he initially gave me a blank stare, I repeated, “Dance!” and gestured again with my hands. He suddenly smiled and began to copy my movements. It was then did I make the connection that I too was acting like Siobhan when doing my best to help the little boy. After receiving words of gratitude from his mother that I made him feel included, I muttered to myself.

“I am Siobhan.” 

As April was coming to an end, it meant that we were heading into our final month of preparation before our group’s performance fundraiser would happen. Beyond having to rehearse our scenes, we also spent long hours building the set and locating props along with transferring them to the local theatre we rented out. With the passing of each day, the curtain was about to rise yet at the same time, it seemed as if things began to spin out of control. It was not until one of our final practices did, we hit rock bottom. 

“Now, Christopher, up.” Silence. “Christopher?” Silence, again. Amber in the role of Mrs. Alexander was waiting with a confused look on her face. “Can you hear me? CHRISTOPHER?” She frowned. Just as Gwendolyn was about to instruct Amber off stage and move on to another scene, Helmut rushed in. “Sorry! I’m here!” With a sigh of frustration, Gwendolyn continued directing. Yet it became clear she was not happy with us. “Ed and Judy, louder. This is an argument between you.” Indeed, none of us who sat in the audience could hear until there was a roaring yell. 

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU! LOUDER!” Gwendolyn scoffed in disgust. She then went on a rampage. 

“And why are the chairs still onstage?!” Wenshi meekly replied, “Linda was supposed to move them, but she went to change for the next character of Voice One.” “Unacceptable. Guys, we only have ten people! No stage crew. If somebody is missing, whoever is still wearing black, just come up and move the chairs! What else do you expect to happen? God.” All of a sudden, I feared that Gwendolyn had it with us and seemed to be on the brink of quitting as our director. “Everyone, stop what you’re doing and come here now!” she demanded. As we all made our way up on stage and sat around in a circle formation, her in the middle, she posed a question. 

“Do you guys really want to do this?” 

Someone nodded. But nobody uttered a sound—maybe all of us were actually asking the same question to ourselves. “You guys can tell me the truth, I don’t care. I’m just here to help.” Silence. “So, do you guys really want to do this?” There was another long pulse until I responded. “Yes,” I said with a tone of slight uncertainty. “Xyza said yes. Do you have a specific reason why you want to continue?” She asked me. “I want to raise money and help those children—” I stopped, but there was something more. “Me too,” Fiona said. “Me too,” added Kevin and one by one everyone else followed. “Great. So, when we meet again tomorrow, I expect that you come ready to give this show your all.”

Thereafter, time really flew by and countless mistakes were corrected. Our bodies were tired, and our minds were also going numb since we repeated our movements and lines over and over again. We were now only two days away and in addition, we had even worked tirelessly to sell tickets and promote our event in the community and via social media. Our Alias club was about to do something that was more than acting out a play. Rather, we were going to demonstrate how a group of ten random kids were actually able to come together to create something from nothing and how they were able to trust one another after months of hard work, collaboration, and commitment. 

Then it was time. 

Though the moments leading up to the rising of the curtain are fuzzy in my mind due to a mix of emotion I had felt, it was the everlasting applause that I will never forget as we all took our final bow under the spotlight in the dim theater hall. I felt a sense of pride deep down in my heart, like a mother being proud of her child. We did this, together, from being perfect strangers to forming a second family of our own. Six months of compact memories went through my head as we were holding each other’s hands while looking out at the audience. Those difficulties we went through together and the deep talks we had after every workshop about our morals and values, goals and dreams, our personal lives, and about how we were so determined to help children that we did not even know. We demonstrated to each other who we are and we were brave enough to seek out better versions of ourselves through this process. At the heart of this all, it was all of our hearts collectively that wanted to make a difference in the lives of others yet at the same time, we had all made a difference within our very own circle. By the time we were backstage, I couldn’t help crying for I never wanted to forget this moment. 

That June night in 2021 marked a $4,000.00 contribution we had made to charity. Yet when reading Daniel James Brown’s The Boys in the Boat, I was once again brought back to that moment. The main character Joe Rantz grows up being continuously abandoned throughout his childhood, left to protect himself in solitude. Yet after winning the first significant race against UC Berkeley’s crew team when representing the University of Washington, he and his fellow teammates go back to Seattle as “the returning heroes” and are greeted by hundreds of people in a luxurious procession. As Joe stands there, “looking out over the scene before him,” he finds himself “struggling desperately to keep back tears.” (258) And later on, while standing at the front of the room receiving the wave of applause, he feels not only gratitude but more “a sudden surge of something unfamiliar—a sense of pride that [is] deeper and more heartfelt than any he [has] ever felt before.” (259) Upon reading about Joe’s experience, my heart was beating fast as I recalled standing on stage next to my very own ‘teammates’. Like Joe, along the way, I had found myself becoming “part of something larger,” (169) and forever will this experience be “golden” (13) within the depths of my being.