There are many things going on in my mind when I perform on stage.

For starters, If you were in the audience, you’d immediately notice. Because I am almost always cast as a female. Characters on stage are so different from what I am. I am a boy, and Asian.

To portray a female, my theatre teacher always instructs me, “you should postulate the intention behind every single movement in order to ‘become a woman.’”

I “become” different characters with different methods. Sometimes I’d use camp and irony and sometimes I’d study mannerism and mimicry.

My British nanny is flirtatious, purposely showing her curve which is created by stacking towels onto my chest. Heavy makeup and extravagant gown. But she is also caring and spontaneous.

Ophelia, a little girl, vulnerable, in need of guidance, but unafraid to pursue her dreams.

Viola, quite a character, brave and resourceful.

I have also portrayed more difficult characters that require extra commitment and empathy — survivors, stigmatized, angry, and misunderstood.

As soon as the lights dim, I retreat backstage and slowly sink back into reality. Facing the mirror, I meticulously remove the makeup from the right side of my face, revealing the boy that I was before.

The official reason that justifies my being a woman on stage is that it is the definition of theatre. It intrinsically assumes a performative element and grants agency to the actor who portrays a character. He or she is not bound by the secular understanding of gender, which becomes an expression, not a definition.

The unofficial reason however is that up there and under the spotlight I would have a safe place to “come out.” Because theatre might be the only space for me to live authentically, perhaps with a tinge of irony. On stage, I find the momentary reprieve. In outlandish outfits and makeup for my characters, I feel empowered to explore and express my feminine side safely and freely.

To perform as the opposite sex also leads me to question the consistencies of sex, gender, desire and so much more. Shakespeare for example in his comedies provides ample examples of gender swaps for me to contemplate.

When I strongly identify with a role, the experience is enriching. I could channel my character in my everyday life. I believe my performance is a celebration of femininity, not a mockery of it. At the same time, I always have to bear in mind the immense pressure to “pass” off convincingly, to project a complete illusion (or delusion?) of belonging to another gender. A failure to do so would elicit consequences.

Sometimes I do fail. I am clumsy or exaggerate too much, acting in a way that I daresay no one in real life does. Precisely because of it, the audience would laugh. Theatre gives them a safe space to relieve tension as well.

Some other times, I fail miserably. As I perform, I am always walking on a fine line of challenging or perpetuating gender stereotypes and norms. I myself can be both part of the solution and part of the problem.

In turn, some laughter from the audience is not so kind-hearted. Me, in a crop top and smoky makeup, attempting to pose as Marilyn Monroe onstage during one of the performances became a meme and was soon on every screen of everyone I know. In blocky fonts, the caption read “Go back to normal.”

Yet the road to change lies within the courage to fail, the resilience to try again, and the humility to fail better.

So, what if I should fail?

I fail? But screw my courage to the sticking-place. I would proudly put on my lipstick, look into the mirror, and say, “Welcome to my new normal.”