In this, I believe

This I Believe


The fat old lady in the third row yawned loudly, certain that I was going to bore. I took a deep breath and looked in front of me, assessing the sheer beauty of the crowd and of the situation I was in. It was the fifth month of my Study abroad in Italy, studying in a school and city where anyone barely spoke English. I was facing a hall of students and officials from over 90 schools of the country, about to present one of the last acts of the National Summit. For weeks I tried convincing my class to enact a play with me, but English scared the Italians, and Shakespearean English, more so. When I walked into the President’s office to ask if I could perform alone, he laughed and told me in his heavily gesticulated Italian, that no one’s going to help me, but yes, I could. I smiled.

I was given one of the last slots, not because they expected it to be great, but because they expected most people to have left. But they hadn’t, and I was not going to disappoint. As I stared at an utterly distracted audience of about 800, I shouted, “Friends, Romans and Countrymen, lend me your ears”! The fat old lady gasped, as if hushing the hall that now filled with an eager silence. It was a gathering of strangers, from a strange land, speaking a strange tongue. But Shakespeare is not so much about the words as it is about the emotions. In the moment, I was Mark Anthony, a Roman, speaking to the men and women of my native land, pouring my heart to a crowd that didn’t care, but only wondered.

“I’m here to bury Ceaser, not to praise him”, I said, feeling within me that this was my biggest theatrical test. It was time to put behind my past theatrical endeavors and see if I could actually connect with an audience without the power of my words. It was time to see if they would cry, as I cried or hold their heads in frustration while I did. When I paused to sob over my friend’s misfortune, I felt them hold their breath. It was time to drive the nail home. I looked at an audience that once did not believe in me, a crowd that questioned the power of a monologue and the abilities of a foreign amateur. As we held our breath together, I heard the echoes of my own doubts, in preparing an act by myself, for an elite crowd of strangers. But as my final words echoed against those fears, the hall erupted in a roar of cheer from an audience that stood in applause. In the midst of “bravo’s” and congratulatory kisses, I realized…

I believe I can, because I have the will.

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