I can’t get Wicked out of my head. It’s the type of movie that lingers long after the credits roll, an unexpected residency in my mind that I never saw coming. As someone who has spent a lot of my life trying to fight my destiny as a theatre kid—too much anxiety to audition for school plays, too much self-doubt to explore the stage—I’ve often kept my love for musicals at arm’s length. I’d watch movie musicals here and there, classics like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers when I was younger, and later obsessing over the Hamilton soundtrack like it was a lifeline. But I had never fully immersed myself in the world of theatre, and I didn’t realize how much I was avoiding something I truly loved.

And then Wicked came into my life. I never thought it would have such a profound impact, but here I am, waking up with its songs in my head and constantly thinking about how its characters are portrayed. The story, the performances, and the themes have seeped into my soul, taking up permanent residence in a place I didn’t know existed. It wasn’t just a film I watched; it became something I lived with.

The film’s deep emotional pull is something I never anticipated. There’s a rawness to the way Elphaba and Glinda are portrayed, especially in the face of their internal struggles. Watching Elphaba’s journey—her desire to defy the odds, to be seen for who she truly is—struck a chord with me. It felt so familiar, like a reflection of my own inner conflict. For years, I resisted embracing the "theatre kid" inside me, holding onto the fear that I wasn’t good enough, that my love for musicals was just a childish fantasy. But Wicked challenged that. Elphaba’s journey, her fight to break free from the labels society had placed on her, was a mirror for my own struggles with self-doubt. Watching her face the world with a sense of defiance felt like a wake-up call to stop holding myself back.

But what’s just as compelling as Elphaba’s transformation is Glinda’s. Her desire to be loved, to be seen as the "good" one, is something I didn’t expect to resonate with me so deeply. Glinda spends so much of the story trying to fit into an image of perfection, constantly seeking approval and affection, whether it’s from her peers, from the Wizard, or even from Elphaba. Her obsession with being adored, with being the one everyone turns to for support and admiration, is something many of us can understand, even if we don’t always want to admit it. I’ve found myself in moments, just like Glinda, craving validation, needing to be loved and accepted in a way that feels like an external measure of my worth.

One of the songs that has been stuck in my head since I watched the film is The Wizard and I. There’s something deeply personal about Elphaba’s yearning for approval, for recognition, and for a place where she truly belongs. The way she imagines the future, the way she clings to the hope of being seen for who she truly is, resonates with me more than I expected. As someone who has struggled with self-doubt and the fear of not being enough, Elphaba’s dreams of being recognized and valued by the Wizard became a mirror for my own longing to be seen and appreciated for my passions—especially accepted by myself. That moment in the song, where she envisions a world where she is finally celebrated, feels like the embodiment of that quiet desire I’ve carried for years.

Perhaps what stands out most about Wicked, though, is how it made me finally embrace something I’d been hesitant to acknowledge: my love for the theatre. Even though I’ve never seen the Broadway show in person, this film has made me realize that musicals aren’t just an escape—they’re a way to process emotions and connect with the world in a deeper way. The cinematic version of Wicked felt like the perfect introduction to that world. The way the story unfolded visually, combined with the powerful performances, made the characters and their struggles feel so real. The larger-than-life sets, the brilliant music, and the emotional depth of the performances made it all impossible to ignore.

I find myself reflecting more on my own life now, questioning where I’ve been holding myself back or letting fear dictate my choices. I wake up with the melodies, replaying lines in my head, and thinking about how Wicked has awakened something inside of me I didn’t know I was yearning for. It’s more than just a catchy tune here and there—it’s the kind of emotional connection that demands to be felt in the quiet moments. And I realize now that Wicked didn’t just remind me of the music I love, but also of the person I’ve been running from: the theatre kid, the dreamer, the one who’s been waiting for permission to embrace all that I am.

So yes, Wicked is stuck in my head—and I don’t think I want it to leave anytime soon. Because in a way, it feels like the beginning of a new chapter for me, one where I finally stop running from the things I love, and embrace the person I’ve always been meant to be.