Why is rejection so painful? Goodness knows I should be well versed it by now. With each competition I enter, I am so hopeful, so sure that this time I will win! I am getting closer — runner-up isn’t bad — but it’s never good enough. When it was the Sunday Star Times short story prize-giving (a big event with champagne and media, even lovely Helen C) and I won third prize, the runners-up crowded around me with congratulations. I was determined to keep smiling graciously even if it killed me, but all I wanted to do was burst into noisy, heart-broken sobs. One nice lady exclaimed, ‘Oh, you must be delighted!’ It took a super-human effort to stop myself from snorting, ‘Delighted? I’m devastated!’
There’s a scene in Fame (remember that ’80s programme?!) where the beautiful swan-like dancing teacher throws a girl out of her class for not having passion. ‘But I only want to dance in the third chorus line!’ the poor girl pleads. ‘That’s the problem,’ the teacher says, ‘just to get to the back of the stage, you have to want to be the star.’
Four rejections in one week — it was rather harsh, and I was a bit blue for that week. But never mind, it just makes me even more determined for next time. As Liza Minelli sings, so earnestly hopeful, in Cabaret, ‘Maybe this time I’ll be lucky, maybe this time I’ll win’. It’s all about the taking part — what utter nonsense. Don’t be so soft. It’s all about the winning.
Pourquoi ça fait si mal d’être rejetée? Je devrais être habituée. A chaque fois, je suis absolument certaine de gagner. Cette fois-çi, ça va marcher, ça ne peux pas rater! Quatre concours ratés en huit jours: aïe! Mais il faut toujours re-essayer: il faut gagner.
