I didn't expect it to be a hit

At the end of our street was a slaughterhouse, and sheep on their way to slaughter often passed our door. Once, I remember, a sheep escaped and ran down the street to the delight of all who watched. Some ran to catch it, others fell to the ground themselves. When I saw the fun and the chaos around me, I laughed with joy and thought it was hilarious. But when the sheep were captured and returned to the slaughterhouse, the reality of tragedy took hold of me, and I ran into the house, crying to my mother, "They're going to kill it! They're going to kill it!" Many days later, the lonely spring afternoon, the comical chase scene, everything remained in my memory; I have often wondered if the themes of my subsequent films -- the mixture of tragedy and comedy -- were inspired by that one incident.

Then school opened my eyes: I studied history, poetry, and science. But I found some courses tedious, especially arithmetic, whose addition and subtraction suggested only a clerk and a cash register, which was useful, at best, for avoiding mischance. History is a record of evil and atrocity, a series of subjects murdering Kings, and emperors killing wives, brothers, nephews, and children; Geography is simply a map; Poetry is simply an exercise in memory.

Unless someone was performed to hawk goods of that kind of technology, not is call I erected to remember facts but to give each read the preface of a fascinating subject, add to my pleasure, enrich my imagination, or is the magic to digital interesting, at the same time to put those maps to romanticize, made me have a view of history, to teach me how to appreciate poetry musicality, in that way, I might have become a scholar.

Since mother came back to us, she has begun to pique my interest in the theatre again. Thanks to her inspiration, I felt I had a talent. But it wasn't until a few weeks before Christmas, when the school put on a chorus of Cinderella, that I felt the urge to act out everything my mother had taught me. I don't know why I was not selected to perform in the class, I envy those who were selected, but think I can perform in the chorus better than them. I'm not satisfied with those boys because they have no imagination and just recite their lyrics like that. The two ugly sisters lacked enthusiasm and could not act in the spirit of comedy. They spoke with a pedantic air, with a schoolboy's tone, and with an embarrassing affectation. How I hope to play an ugly sister, the mother taught me all the skills to perform ah! But the girl who played Cinderella caught my eye. She was about fourteen years old, beautiful and gentle, and I was secretly fond of her. To me, however, she was out of my league in rank or age.

I felt that the chorus would have been dull if it had not been for the pretty girl, and yet her beauty made me feel a little melancholy. Little did I know that a fortnight later I would be called upon to recite Miss Priscilla's Cat in every class to my surprise. It was a comic verse that my mother had seen outside a newspaper shop window and thought was so funny that she copied it and brought it home. During a break, I recited it to a classmate. Our teacher, Mr. Reed, who was preparing a lesson, saw it and was very amused, and when the pupils arrived, he asked me to recite it to them, and they burst into laughter. So my fame spread, and the next day I was taken to every classroom in the school to recite the lyrics in front of boys and girls.

Although I had been performing in front of audiences in my mother's place since I was five years old, this was the first time I experienced the power of performance. The school became a stimulating place. From an unknown and shy child, I was catapulted to the attention of teachers and classmates. It even improved my grades at school.