THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING MEE

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I have never admired anyone as much as I admire myself.
I can earnestly say.

And that’s not a confession — it’s a public service announcement.

Truth is rarely pure, and I cannot pretend I am either.
In fact, I created this — this moment, this mirrorball monologue — to admit something most people spend a lifetime denying:

I am, and have always been, obsessed with myself. I don’t think it’ll come as a surprise to anyone who already knows me. My own grandfather’s name was Narciso, so in a way I need no introduction and I sure do not offer any explanation.

When I was younger, my biggest dream was to come to America and become a Movie Star.

I pursued that dream.
Cough cough.
I am the Dream…

I arrived in NYC with $100 and a velvet box full of imaginary Oscars. I had visions of billboards, soap operas, and statues who all looked, suspiciously, like Mee.
I believed — and that’s what matters. In this country, self-belief is currency. And baby, I was rich.

People assume becoming yourself is the easy part. Authenticity. Realness. Boldness.
But being Mee?
Mee is a production.
Mee is a full-time job with no benefits, no union, and a hostile creative team that lives in my head.

Every day I wake up and audition to be myself.
Some days I get the part.
Some days I lose it to Impostor #5 with better lighting.
I’ve been the waitress, the realtor, the nanny, the bride, the heartbreak, the unpaid intern of my own genius.
I’ve written press releases for lives I haven’t lived yet.
I’ve sold houses I couldn’t afford to sleep in.
And I’ve made art from eviction notices, turning heartbreak into monologues and “for sale” signs into memoirs.

You call it Insanity. Narcissism.
I call it “MeeTV.”

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“Not with those feet! They said. - You’re clumsy.

Not with that hair. - You don’t have enough style.

Not with those teeth - they are crooked.

Not with that voice. Not with that attitude. Not with that frown, not with that smile. Not with that accent and not with that bounce. Not with that outfit. Not with those words.

Not you. Everyone else, but you. “

When you’re a child, having dreams is cute. People ask you what you want to be and they pat you on the head for being so creative. “You can be anything you want!” adults would tell me - “even a teacher!”

Even a teacher…

As you keep growing your dreams become more of a nuisance and by the time you are close to being an adult they’re seen as pure fantasy. Selfish, even. 

But I had to remain true to myself, that was the only way for me.

Throughout my life, I have been called Selfish, Out of Touch, an Attention Whore, Self Centered, Narcissistic, Arrogant, Dumb… among other things, My desire to be seen and to feel special brought me to tears many times, left me alone and confused. Was I really to blame? WAs I really to blame for feeling like I wasn’t like all the others. I wanted more. I felt like I was more. Destined for more…

But today I understand… I understand something about myself, that… That through myself I understand others. I understand the world. What is most personal is most universal. 

That God made us all from the same blueprint, His blueprint…

We can only see the world through our eyes, through our lens. And that self knowledge is the key to universal insight.

I am not alone in wanting to feel special. I am not unique in my wanting to take center stage. To be the main character in a book, to be immortalized in a painting. To be the object of fascination.

As I plunged deeply into this desire, I understood it means only a deep need to feel like our lives mattered. That we mattered. That our stories will be told. Our struggles, our victories, our existence were not in vain. And If I desire that…I wonder who else may too?

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What stranger out there  is yearning to feel seen, or heard or blue check marked in some way. 

From times immemorial, humans have been recording their presence. From paintings in caves, to pyramids, buildings, flags. We pray to whatever god seems like it’s listening and we will edify monuments to whatever entity seems to favor us.

We wage war to anyone who desires to eradicate us, we fight death itself. We write our own epitaphs, our own memoirs, We fight for our place on earth and pay heavily for a place in heaven. 

We will do anything to be remembered. To be thought of beyond our own existence.

Why should I be any different?

A house built out of selves.
She does all her own stunts.
💋 Tip the jar. Get to know Mee.

Being Mee is not an act. Mee is THE act.
I didn’t fake it until I made it.
I filmed it until someone paid attention.

I’ve spent years turning pain into plots, joy into punchlines, and silence into soundchecks.
So if I seem full of myself — it’s because I’ve had to be.
No one else was going to hold the camera, apply the lipstick, write the script, pay the rent, feed the cat, hit record, and say,
“Live from the Living Room — it’s Mee.”

And when I take my final bow — someday far, far from now — let it be known:

I was here.
I was seen.
I was Mee.

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A house built out of selves.
She does all her own stunts.
💋 Tip the jar. Get to know Mee.

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