We Filmed Your First Audition

There were so many things I wanted to say to you today, Laon. Warmth, pride, and admiration kept rising from deep in my heart, and I kept thinking about you. After watching the audition videos you made today, I nearly cried. Even though you kept saying, “I’m not good at this, I don’t have confidence,” you practiced and filmed for five hours without giving up. That kind of perseverance was truly impressive.

Standing in front of a camera is much harder than it seems. Even when no one else is watching, that single lens can make your heart freeze. You forget your lines, stumble over your words, and worry that you might look awkward. But still—you did it. You kept filming take after take, broke the lines into pieces to try again, adjusted your voice, changed your tone, practiced laughing and getting angry in different ways. Watching you go through all of that, I felt nothing but love and pride.

One moment that especially touched me was when you quietly said you wanted to keep practicing your lines by yourself. You turned off the camera and repeated the lines softly, raising your tone a little, then lowering it, murmuring to yourself, “Would this be better? Or should I be more serious?” Watching you fine-tune your performance like that, all on your own—it was beautiful. No one told you to do it. You were simply trying to find the best way to express something real. That wasn’t just the effort of a child trying to do well; that was the heart of someone who truly loves acting and is beginning to learn what it means. In that moment, I thought, “Laon really knows in his heart that this path is his.” And that realization warmed me deeply.

The moment I’ll remember most is when, after filming the final take with Dad, you paused the video and let out a quiet sigh. You said, “That’s enough, right?” Not with a sense of giving up, but with the quiet strength of someone who had given it their all. That was when I knew—you’re already an actor.

When you first said you wanted to try acting last year, I was honestly surprised. You’ve always been quiet and a little shy in front of people. But you said, “I want to try.” At the time, you didn’t really know what acting meant yet. Still, you meant what you said—and you followed through. Today proved that you’re really doing it.

Watching you memorize your lines, shape your expressions, and think carefully about how to deliver your words, I realized something important: You’re not just copying what actors do in movies—you’re trying to bring a story to life in your own way. That’s more meaningful than any expensive acting class. That’s where real acting begins.

Laon, it’s okay to fail. It’s okay if no one picks you. It’s okay if your mind goes blank or you feel awkward in front of the camera. That just means you’re at the beginning. What matters is that you’re walking a path you chose for yourself. And I’m so incredibly proud of that.

Some people judge by results—whether you pass the audition, win awards, or how many people watch. But I don’t need any of that. Just knowing that you worked hard, that you were brave and persistent, makes you the best actor in my eyes.

You’ll discover more about yourself and your emotions through acting. And since you already know that real performance starts from real feelings, I know you’ll continue to grow and create even more amazing work.

If you ever feel stuck, it’s okay to pause. You can go back, or you can find another way forward. Wherever you are, I’ll be there, cheering you on.

Trust your own pace, your own way, your own voice. That’s your acting, your story.

And someday, when you read this letter again, I hope you’ll remember just how precious and brave you were today—and how deeply Dad and I cherished it all.

Today and always,

I’ll be your very first audience, and your biggest fan.

I believe in your dreams, Laon.

With all my love,

Mom