#raw thoughts

The focus on love, unconditional, with no caveats, past and present is beautiful.

Their confessions to one another demonstrate a deep understanding of one another and it just feels like them so much that it made me cry in joy.

I know a lot of people are focused on the quotes from the People interview, but this quote from their interview with Variety sums up what I think is the most obvious writing choice here: Jonathan and Nancy need to separate themselves from their shared trauma to have any of hope of a relationship in the future.

To me, this makes it obvious that the plan is for them to chase their dreams after the final battle while loving and supporting each other in the way they can by doing what they need to on their own before coming back to one another, knowing what who they are and what they want without the pressure of shared trauma feeling like it’s forcing their hand, and then having a “I know what I want now, I want us, I choose us.” Moment.

Because that was the most in love, hopeful break up I’ve ever witnessed. And that’s not for nothing.

I don’t think I’m the easiest audience for musicals. I grew up listening to South Asian music, and to me, it almost always sounds richer, more textured than typical Broadway or West End styles. And with Western music in general, I usually need time (multiple listens) before it really clicks. So I walked into this with excitement, but also a bit of fear.

And yet… something worked immediately for me ! The gospel, jazz, and folk influences in the production created an atmosphere that felt alive and immersive. There was something raw and grounded about the music that made it easier for me to connect, even without that usual “familiarity” I tend to need.

Also, I come from a theatre background in Belgium, so I’m used to more text-based, interpretive performances. And I think that’s why Hadestown really spoke to me, not just as a musical, but as a piece of political storytelling.

What struck me the most is how the myth is used to critique capitalism. Hadestown is a world where industrialization, forced labor, and obedience are normalized — even glorified. People stop questioning, stop feeling, stop imagining. And in contrast, everything Persephone represents (spring, joy, nature, movement) is slowly erased. It’s not surprising that she ends up deeply unhappy. She feels like the embodiment of a world that is being suffocated.

I also really loved the contrast between Eurydice and Orpheus. Eurydice is grounded in material needs : survival, food, safety. Orpheus is a dreamer, almost disconnected from reality at times. Their love feels unexpected but also, opposite attracts.

The London casting added another layer that I found incredibly powerful. As of March 2026, the cast featured Marley Fenton as Orpheus, Bethany Antonia as Eurydice, Rachel Adedeji as Persephone, Alastair Parker as Hades, and Clive Rowe as Hermes, with the Fates played by Spike Maxwell, Melanie Bright, and Lauran Rae.

In the version I saw, most of the characters were Black, except Hades, who was played by a white actor. I don’t know if this was an intentional political choice, but visually, it created a striking dynamic. A system of labor and control embodied by racialized bodies, with power concentrated in a white figure. It added a whole new reading of the story, tying capitalism and racial structures together.

And Orpheus turning back… To me, it felt like something very intimate: self-doubt, fragile mental health, the inability to fully trust that you’re safe, that the person you love will be there, that things can actually work out. It’s that moment where fear wins over hope.

The ending's message that the story repeats itself again and again felt like a kind of infernal cycle. Domething that’s very hard to escape. It made me think of capitalism not just as a system, but as something we keep reproducing, even when we know it’s hurting us.

Endless, however, is my baby. It was the first album I had ever heard that had lines with a man loving another man. I wouldn't say my mind was blown at first, but I remember thinking—being uncomfortable. It was like I was at church being talked about, but my name was never mentioned.

It's not the gayest album ever, but me being in the closet and hearing someone be bisexual—how I always wanted to be—did something to me.

I remember hating how I couldn't fully connect with an artist ’cause they weren't queer. Frank was such an easy cop-out for me, but in return, he helped me find so much of myself.

Thank you, Frank, for helping me confirm something in myself and helping me feel.

there’s this moment when it clicks. when you realize you’ve been pouring way too much into a friendship that never really pours back. you’re the one checking in even though they seldom check in on you; trying to plan a trip but no one in the group chat actually responds; remembering the little details, and making sure they feel seen by listening to their rants. and at first, you convince yourself it’s fine, it’s just who you are. you’re the “caring” friend. but after a while, it starts to get tiring.

it’s a weird kind of loneliness—being surrounded by people you call friends, but still feeling like the effort is like a one-way street. it’s not supposed to feel like you’re auditioning for a role in someone’s life, right? and yet, there you are—burning your energy, your time, your heart—just to keep a connection alive that maybe they wouldn’t even notice if it drifted away. it’s like, when it’s their turn… it’s never quite the same…

and it’s not anger that hits you, not even bitterness, not really. it’s more like a quiet disappointment. a slow, steady ache when you realize they don’t chat back the way you chat them, they don’t show up the way you show up, they don’t think of you the way you think of them. it makes you wonder if maybe the love you carried in your heart for them was never equal to what they carried for you.

it’s funny… how giving so much can make you feel invisible at the same time.