How to be a TV star

I’ve always had a fascination for stages, bright lights and big audiences. My friends say I’m an attention hog. I’d like to say I’m a people person. I took one of those online tests that tell you what kind of personality type you have. It said, "You are a Performer! Personable, self-assured, and excellent under pressure. You have formidable creative talents. You are extroverted and strong-willed, which means you are good with people and aren’t willing to let opportunity pass you by."

It’s true – a camera flash anywhere within a hundred-yard radius of me will send me rushing into the frame with a grin a mile wide. Not that I’m particularly photogenic. There are people who look great no matter what angle you take them. Me? Shot head-on, my nose resembles that of the Wicked Witch of the West.

Being suddenly shoved into the limelight in a country that loves celebrities takes some getting used to. When you’re a slacker by nature, it’s a little crazy trying to balance school, debate, work and friends. I think I’ve been particularly lucky in the last few months. For someone whose articles never used to get accepted in magazines, landing a column in a national newspaper came as something of a shock. So was getting a weekly job hosting Breakfast on Studio 23.

I figured that it would be the beginning of my brilliant career in broadcasting. I bloom before cameras. I thrive on pressure. I sparkle under stage lights. I am never without words. I can rise to any occasion. I am witty, charming, and delightful.

At least, that’s what my mother says.

It’s just too bad that her extraordinary belief in my powers didn’t stop me from making a fool of myself. On my first day on the job, I voluntarily spoke a grand total of six words in an hour-and-a-half hosting gig. It didn’t help either that I was dressed in a yellow floral skirt outfit that made me look like Little Bo Peep with hepatitis. Asked to announce the prize for the best text-in comment, I gleefully claimed we were giving away free Hoostabank tickets. Hoostabank, when the cue card had Hoobastank clearly printed out. At least I got a laugh – too bad it was aimed at me.

After the show they had us doing plugs for the next episode. It’s easy, actually. You just smile at the camera and chirp out, "See you tomorrow at Studio 23, 6:30 to 8 here at Breakfast, masarap kabarkada sa umaga."

Yep, easy. Deep breath.

"See you tomorrow at Breakfast, 6:30 to 8 here at, uh, Breakfast!"

Okay, one more try.

"See you tomorrow at Studio 23, 6:30 to 8 here at – at – Studio 23 –"

Oops, let me do that again.

"See you at – uh – what was it?"

The director smiled patiently. Let’s just say my whole I’m-going-to-be-glamorous-on-TV fantasies went to pot.

The fact that people I used to get a glimpse at on magazine covers now shake my hand is strange – especially since they’re the same people my cousin Rina and I spend hours poking fun at. They’re all so horribly perfect that it’s the only way we poor imperfect people can feel better. We have an endless list of criticisms: Ditzy-looking, snobbish, even that the models’ eyes were too close together. Name the insult, and we have it down pat. Whenever we come upon someone impossibly perfect, we state authoritatively that she is in all probability gay – therefore not competition. Unfortunately for my ego, my co-hosts all seem to be nice, down-to-earth, and smart. Not to mention straight.

I try not to ogle at them – not exactly poised behavior – but it’s hard to keep from looking like a first-timer in showbiz when you’re a first-timer in showbiz.

Of course, that didn’t stop me from believing I was dazzling, if a little confused sometimes. A week later, CHALK magazine had the Studio 23 kids come in for a photo shoot. They were planning to do it yearbook style: class pictures, group shots, the whole works. We were the Class of ’23. I was looking forward to it; I mean hey, how often do I get into a spread beside Toni Gonzaga? They grouped us into the "appropriate" high school cliques for the shoot: they had the crush ng bayan crowd, the mean girls, the jocks, the preppy kids, the class clowns, the activists – did I miss anyone?

Oh yeah. The nerds. That’s where I, uh, belong. Rachel Leigh Cook in She’s All That. The pretty ugly girl. Too bad I couldn’t find a Freddie Prinze to transform me.

I can give a million reasons why I didn’t cause studio executives to kneel at my feet and beg for a ten-year contract. I can easily say that the sight of Ryan Agoncillo live and in person momentarily had me star-struck. I can argue that getting to the studio at 6:27 leaves less than three minutes to cover eye bags and get glammed up.

Or I can simply say that I feel the same way Alice in Wonderland felt when she fell through the rabbit hole. I just stepped into a world that I can barely understand. I’m not complaining. I like my new world.

I just hope it ends up liking me one of these days.

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E-mail me at triciaevangelista@fastmail.fm