Okay, so a dramatic monologue simply put is a play of speech
that is performed by one person. I’ve seen one before, but I didn’t realise
that was a dramatic monologue. Haha. Anyway, I was surfing (yeah, I still use
that word) YouTube when I absent-mindedly clicked on this Australian short film
know as The Language of Love a.k.a. La Langue de L’amour, written and performed
by Kim Ho. The topic is more towards LGBT actually but I don’t mind that. I love
all good short films. And boy, The Language of Love is amazing. So, I decided
to write my own dramatic monologue. Well, probably I’m so not up to the
theatrical level of monologue writing but it won’t hurt to try right? Haha. Let
me present to you this one.
Football
By Mohd Afiq Bin Mat Razai
David is sitting quietly in the library while
reading thick books. Items such as notebooks, stationeries, and a water bottle
are on his desk. The other tables are filled with people doing their own work.
David:
Hey there.
So here I am in the
library. I thought it’s gonna be a bit quiet around here but, uh, not so much.
This place is supposed to a beacon for knowledge, not a place to heat up
romance. Look at that couple over there. Smooching and I-don’t-know-what.
Wonder if the guy’s going for sex books after this.
Anyway, at least
they’re here. Some people said “library is dead.” Bullshit. This institution will
stay alive until the next millennia… unless we humans annihilate each other
first. As a species, we are pretty dumb.
Well, I am talking
too loud. Some people are looking at me. Cranky because of my voice? I know I’m
not Morgan Freeman or Tom Hiddleston reading that erotic E. E. Cummings poem.
That one’s real good.
Anyway, here I am
alone, amidst all these pairs or groups. I guess I’m used to it… have always
been a friend to loneliness. Ugh that sounds terribly shitty.
Now that I think
about it, this seems like a typical Hollywood film scene. You know, a guy with
no friends, in the end he gets the most beautiful girlfriend. My life so far,
not that, uh, fanciful.
Honestly, I don’t have
lots of friends. Yes, I do have classmates, but that’s it. I don’t easily make
friends. People look at me differently. You know like this guy beside me. He is
looking at me as if I’m crazy.
But anyway, as I said,
they look at me differently because I am kinda peculiar. You know how we have
two genders? Male and female. Boy and girl. People see those two things as
wholly different concepts. No spectrum between those two dimensions. You are
either a boy or a girl. Me? For them I’m different. I’m a boy who has feminine-like
characteristics.
Truthfully, I don’t
really act that way, but, I am not that manly either. I know you’re confused
but that’s how it is.
I can’t be a girl
because I… I’m not one, but I can’t even play football.
Let girls be girls.
Let them play with dolls, or makeup, or kitchen knives. Let boys be boys. Let
them play football, or fight with each other because that’s what boys do.
Fuck. Boys don’t fight
because that’s what boys do. Boys fight because they don’t use their brains.
Just look at Bin Laden or Bush. Maybe I should lower my voice. A couple over
there is looking at me. I suspect they’re Americans.
Football. Fuck
football. God really, those Physical Education teachers, they never provide us
with proper education. They tell the girls to sit in class quietly and do their
work, while the boys, “All of you, football in the field now.”
I know the boys don’t
want me in their teams. I don’t know how to play football. I just can’t
comprehend the manly needs of boys to kick the object into the goals. I can’t
kick the ball strong enough. I duck when the ball flies towards me at 50
kilometres per hour. Although in the end, one of the teams still accepts me,
they pretend like I’m invisible.
Yeah, maybe some of
you think that I don’t try to participate, but honestly, I would rather do
other things. Drawing, writing English essays, read books. I love reading
books. I learnt all about the Ancient Greeks, planets, countries, et cetera.
I don’t really talk about
girls’ cleavage and boobs and stuff, so what? I’m weird because I don’t like to
talk about… girls? Come on! Not everything in life is about girls.
I would be okay with
that though if they leave me alone. But they don’t. They hurt me because I’m
not like them. I am not physically hurt so bad, but still, they hurt me.
And they won’t stop
calling me names. And they saw me crying.
I don’t know how to
fight back. I only know how to cry. They only know how to taunt me further.
“David’s a cry-baby!”
“David is a girl!” “David needs to change his gender” “David this!” “David
that!” “David this!” “David that!” fucking over and over and over and over
again.
People are
definitely looking at me now.
The boys and the
girls said I am girlish because I cried. A boy doesn’t cry, they said.
Is there a written
convention anywhere saying that? Why can’t boys cry? Because crying is not
macho shit? Because boys don’t deserve to feel emotions? Are boys expected to
go through anything silently even if they are in pain? No guidance, no advice,
nothing, just keep it all… in.
I’ve never told
anyone the things happening to me because I don’t want them to say that I’m
weak… but I cry. That means I am weak, right?
I still feel alone. I
can’t even play football.
