All the World's a Stage

The stage was empty except for me. The house lights dimmed, leaving the vast darkness of the theatre to envelop me entirely. The spotlight blazed down, illuminating my every move as the lighting team adjusted their settings. At that moment, standing at the centre of the stage with no audience in sight, the world felt far away. I could hear voices in my headset—technical instructions, murmurs from the crew—but it was as though I had been transported to another dimension.

This was the first time I truly understood how performers could pour themselves into their craft, unaffected by the rows of unseen eyes beyond the glare of the lights. It was disorienting, magical, and strangely grounding all at once.

That surreal moment was just one of many during my first time as an Assistant Stage Manager (ASM) for a theatre production. My journey into this role began through my friend Sufiyan, who is my boss at The Stage Collab, a theatre company specialising in talent management and school shows.

Initially, I imagined the role would be straightforward—managing cast and crew, ticking off lists, and ensuring everything ran smoothly. Little did I know that the role required much more than logistical precision; it demanded emotional intelligence, adaptability, and a knack for navigating the intense dynamics of a large, spirited team.

I felt unprepared as I stepped into the first rehearsal space in RP. The SM and the other ASM were absent, leaving me to navigate my responsibilities on my own. I didn’t have my laptop or the script, and I was unsure where to begin. But the Production Manager quickly became my anchor, guiding me through the expectations of the role.

My primary responsibilities as an ASM were ensuring the cast’s entrances and exits were perfectly timed, managing props, and maintaining the overall flow of the play. Each task tested my ability to juggle priorities while keeping a cool head, especially before showtime, when adrenaline and nerves heightened.

In between the chaos, there were moments of quiet connection. Over meals or shared cab rides home, I got to know the cast and crew beyond their roles on stage. They were a mix of students, newcomers to theatre, seasoned professionals, and even a couple of TV veterans. Some were performing for the first time, while others were returning to the stage after years away. The youngest were still in school, bursting with enthusiasm, while the older ones brought wisdom and stories from years of community productions. Watching the more experienced performers mentor the novices was heartwarming—a testament to the collaborative spirit that theatre inspires.

Backstage during rehearsals, energy often flagged as we repeated scenes to ensure every transition was seamless. But the entire team surged with purpose and excitement when it came to live performances. The camaraderie was palpable, as cast and crew worked together to create a flawless show. As the final number of the final performance played, I found myself dancing with the crew and the director backstage, a spontaneous celebration of months of effort.

After the curtain call, the director invited the cast and crew to join the ex-president of the nation on stage for photos. Standing there, surrounded by the team, I felt a profound sense of accomplishment. We had created something together—an ephemeral moment of magic that would linger in the memories of the audience and ourselves.

Theatre, I realised, is a symphony of unseen effort. While the spotlight shines on the actors, it’s the invisible hands behind the scenes—stage managers, ASMs, tech crews—that orchestrate the magic. Creativity isn’t reserved for the limelight; it thrives in the quiet problem-solving and collaboration that bring a story to life.

This experience wasn’t just about stage management; it was a lesson in teamwork, humility, and the extraordinary beauty of shared passion.

In the stillness of the cab, on my way home after the final performance, the quiet stories of the cast and crew played in my mind like the echoes of the songs we had rehearsed a hundred times. Life would return to normal soon—no more weekend rehearsals, no more hurried prop fixes or whispered (screaming) cues. But I knew the magic of this production would stay with me, etched in the moments we shared and the lessons we learned together.

Theatre doesn’t just reflect life; it transforms the people who create it. We had poured our hearts into telling a story for others, and in doing so, we became part of one ourselves—a story of perseverance, connection, and the quiet magic of collaboration.