Reaction Paper About Ucb Diversity
Hello to the lovely UCB Diversity folk! I am a 22-year-old lady with a sexual identity that can be summarized with a shrug of the shoulders and an “ehhh, who’s to say”. I come from a Mexican/Salvadorean background and am originally from the Bay Area. I moved to LA to head to college while pursuing creative non-fiction writing and comedy. I have found and participated in a wonderful series of creative environments since moving down—mainly UCB and my indie all-latinx improv team, Gringos! Gringos has shown me what diversity can and should be within the improv and sketch community: supportive, loving, and challenging in the best way. We’re practicing weekly with Jiavani Linayao as our coach. We’ve performed in over 25+ indie shows in the past
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four months. This is also including our Inner Sanctum show Gringos Present: “¡Oh Snap!” where we pair up spoken word poets with improvisers for a night that could only be the product of three different instances where our group has fought over text about Spanish grammar and Gringos Present versus Gringo Present.
I feel as if I have come into my own within this community and embraced what it means to be a diversity performer. As a Latina, my presence on stage doesn’t always have to be defined by Pan Dulce jokes or my gender or my race. But it isn’t demonized if it emerges during a scene because it is still a part of me. Being a diversity performer gives me the permission to exist—a flawed, brown, queer person who refuses to hide any of it. And that’s what I would like to continue to promote and participate in within this awesome community.
Simply put—I would be able to take a class. I’m a struggling student who works too much for what often feels like too little money left over after bills, rent, and school. As a result, I feel like my improv progress feels like it has grown stagnant. I’m going to shows, practicing, and collaborating with people, but I haven’t had that UCB curriculum and I sometimes feel that foundational education lacking in my scenes. It would be amazing if I had the opportunity to continue the UCB program and continue working with immensely talented people whilst becoming a stronger performer and writer.
I personally feel as if mental health is never discussed as being within the same vein of “differently-abled persons,” but it is.
It is and yet it remains stigmatized. I have PTSD and it has changed the way I approach improv. I have my flashbacks under control for the most part, but it sometimes creeps up. I thought it would always hold me back and didn’t think I’d be able to seriously pursue improv until I had a pivotal moment with Will Hines. I was in his 201 Class and there was a player who made an overtly unnecessary and sexual move—I immediately became flustered and uncomfortable because I thought I had to say yes to it so I did. I soon after found myself holding back tears in a bathroom stall. But something about improv has always pushed me to do and be better and braver—so I asked Will after class if I always had to say “yes and” to the moves I wanted to physically manifest into a tangible object I could kick off that building in downtown LA with that stupid glass slide. But then he told me I didn’t have to say yes, but instead, change the direction of the scene while still being a good improviser. I swear I blacked out for a moment and felt young Joe Biden’s warm embrace. My PTSD sometimes finds the cracks and makes itself overwhelmingly known, but I know make a point to allow myself to know I can change the scene, the narrative, the fear into literally anything else I want it to be. Improv has taught me how to not just say “no,” but change the narrative for the
better. It has showed me how to be a stronger person and what life can be if I’m brave enough to do it.
four months. This is also including our Inner Sanctum show Gringos Present: “¡Oh Snap!” where we pair up spoken word poets with improvisers for a night that could only be the product of three different instances where our group has fought over text about Spanish grammar and Gringos Present versus Gringo Present.
I feel as if I have come into my own within this community and embraced what it means to be a diversity performer. As a Latina, my presence on stage doesn’t always have to be defined by Pan Dulce jokes or my gender or my race. But it isn’t demonized if it emerges during a scene because it is still a part of me. Being a diversity performer gives me the permission to exist—a flawed, brown, queer person who refuses to hide any of it. And that’s what I would like to continue to promote and participate in within this awesome community.
Simply put—I would be able to take a class. I’m a struggling student who works too much for what often feels like too little money left over after bills, rent, and school. As a result, I feel like my improv progress feels like it has grown stagnant. I’m going to shows, practicing, and collaborating with people, but I haven’t had that UCB curriculum and I sometimes feel that foundational education lacking in my scenes. It would be amazing if I had the opportunity to continue the UCB program and continue working with immensely talented people whilst becoming a stronger performer and writer.
I personally feel as if mental health is never discussed as being within the same vein of “differently-abled persons,” but it is.
It is and yet it remains stigmatized. I have PTSD and it has changed the way I approach improv. I have my flashbacks under control for the most part, but it sometimes creeps up. I thought it would always hold me back and didn’t think I’d be able to seriously pursue improv until I had a pivotal moment with Will Hines. I was in his 201 Class and there was a player who made an overtly unnecessary and sexual move—I immediately became flustered and uncomfortable because I thought I had to say yes to it so I did. I soon after found myself holding back tears in a bathroom stall. But something about improv has always pushed me to do and be better and braver—so I asked Will after class if I always had to say “yes and” to the moves I wanted to physically manifest into a tangible object I could kick off that building in downtown LA with that stupid glass slide. But then he told me I didn’t have to say yes, but instead, change the direction of the scene while still being a good improviser. I swear I blacked out for a moment and felt young Joe Biden’s warm embrace. My PTSD sometimes finds the cracks and makes itself overwhelmingly known, but I know make a point to allow myself to know I can change the scene, the narrative, the fear into literally anything else I want it to be. Improv has taught me how to not just say “no,” but change the narrative for the
better. It has showed me how to be a stronger person and what life can be if I’m brave enough to do it.