We recently connected with Nina Naval and have shared our conversation below.

Nina, appreciate you joining us today. We’d love to hear about when you first realized that you wanted to pursue a creative path professionally.

The arts have always been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I used to play the violin as a kid (before I quit because I was frustrated over not being able to play well), and after that I danced ballet before I started getting injured due to my hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. I loved to sing, to act, to play dress up and play pretend.

That being said, I didn’t know I wanted to do it professional until my senior year of high school. I was applying to colleges and I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I didn’t know if I should do pre-med because I loved Grey’s Anatomy, or archaeology because I loved House of Anubis as a kid, or forensic anthropology because I loved Bones since second grade. That all changed one day.

I had been taking a short break from acting: just for one year my junior year. I focused on my studies, on studying for the SAT, on my AP classes. I had just switched schools, so I just wanted to find my footing. Then, I found out my old acting teacher Joonee Garcia, who had introduced me to the craft through the school musical in fourth grade, had been teaching classes ten minutes away from my new school. So, after a year-long break I came back, and it felt like coming home.

Though I hadn’t been in the room with Ms. Joonee since doing Little Shop of Horrors in my fifth grade, I walked into the room in Tuloy Sa Don Bosco and I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. It was like having a cup of hot chocolate during a cold rainy night, cuddled up next to a book. I put on a character mask for the first time in a year, and I could lose myself in the here-and-now of acting. I went home that day and told my mom I wanted to keep acting again.

Shortly after, the touring cast of Mamma Mia! had been in Manila, performing in Solaire theater, and as part of a workshop series, they invited the class to go to the theater and not only watch the show, but learn the closing number and dance it with them onstage. As I stared into the empty seats of Solaire theater, I felt like, for the first time in my life, that the universe had aligned itself for that moment: that I was meant to be there, that, just like that acting studio, it was home despite me never being on that stage before. I knew then that this was it. It was gonna be acting and creating work forever.

Nina, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I was born and raised in Metro Manila in the Philippines. I danced, I sang, I played a few instruments here and there, but the most important thing I did for this story was that I was an actor. Acting was my version of fresh air. It was one of the only things I could do that let me live in the moment, feel emotions honestly without judgement, and it eventually got me to New York when I applied to NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts’s Drama program. That’s the short version, though, so let me tell you the long one.

I moved to New York City my own. My mom came with me to help me move, to buy things for my dorm, and then she went back home. I have extended family here, particularly in New Jersey, who are important to me, but I don’t visit them as often as I’d like because life tends to get in the way. I found a different, new family, who I love very dearly, and I found collaborators I’m constantly blown away by. It wasn’t easy, and if I’m pretty sure if I told myself four years ago how things have panned out, she’d be both ecstatic and extremely stressed.

I lived my life like any other Asian international student did. I went to class, I went home, I did homework. I lived off of kraft mac & cheese and questionable dining hall food. That is until October 2019.

I dislocated my ankle crossing the street. I didn’t fall. It just fell out and then popped back in a moment later after I shook it around (I do not recommend shaking dislocated joints around, but the light was about to turn and I was in the middle of traffic). I’ve dislocated joints before, but those were usually my knees, so my ankle was unusual to say the least. After one night of researching, a pair of crutches leaning against my bed, I found out that dislocating joints, being hypermobile, and a whole flurry of other issues that I had were not only abnormal, but there was a name for it: hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (hEDS).

I was eighteen when I got my hEDS diagnosis, which was a whole other journey in of itself. I was nineteen when I got my Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS) diagnosis because, as it turns out dear readers, fainting or coming close to fainting every time you stand up is not normal. I’ve had to sit out of my fair share of movement classes, and I was sometimes threatened with failing classes not because I didn’t do the work, but because they couldn’t find a way to accommodate me past me sitting on the sidelines and jotting down notes, doodling the movements with quickly-drawn stick figures. I was about to get a wheelchair when the pandemic hit.

When COVID burst into everyone’s lives and everything shut down, I stayed in New Jersey with my extended relatives before returning to New York for Sophomore year. As of writing this, I haven’t gone back to the Philippines since the Christmas before COVID for a variety of reasons: one being COVID, another being scared that grumpy immigration officers wouldn’t let me come back into the country despite my valid F-1 status. I’ve heard stories of people being denied entry for a variety reasons, especially with the Trump administration and even more so with COVID being at the forefront of everyone’s minds, and I didn’t want that to be me. So, I stayed put and I worked, and I continue to do so.

I made many friends along the way. Sydney was one of the first: she was my freshman year suitemate’s friend first, but we got along whenever she came over and she’s now like a sister to me. Through her, I met Alex. We bonded with a Taylor Swift dance night, and stuck together ever since. We check each other’s photographs before we send them to clients, and sometimes we take each other’s photos (she took most of the ones you see of me!). I met Natalie in freshman year because we went to the same studio at NYU, and I met Sophie at a meeting for disabled students at Tisch Drama (and there aren’t a lot of people at meetings like those), and the three of us are forming a production company together.

With the pandemic, I started to feel burnt out the same way everyone else did, so I started to dabble in more than just acting. I started to write and direct, and then I started to get comfortable behind a camera for both films and photography. I wanted to see all the ways I could tell a story: through picture, through words, especially since the pandemic hadn’t been kind to the world of performing arts. I did them all both in and out of my wheelchair (her name is Cecelia; she’s red and very throne-looking).

I came to New York with a dream. I wanted to tell stories with my acting, and I’ve gotten so much more. I’ve found many different homes to run to for when I couldn’t access a stage. I’ve found the one behind my camera, or on my computer with a keyboard. I’ve found the one in front of the camera, or in a coffee shop brainstorming film ideas. I found home in an archery range, when I can handle standing up for a bit longer, and it’s my makeshift form of physical therapy and meditation. Now, I tell stories five hundred thousand different ways and sometimes people actually see them. My short films are shown at festivals, people read my scripts, and people want my photographs. That being said, my journey’s just beginning and I’m excited to see where it’ll take me next.

How about pivoting – can you share the story of a time you’ve had to pivot?

When I first started my Optional Practical Training, which is the one year post-graduation where international students are allowed to work, I felt like there was a huge weight on my shoulders. Starting your OPT as an artist who wishes to stay in the country after that one year, is an huge task because it means that after that one year, you’re likely going to try to apply for an O-1 visa. The o-1 or Artist Visa is notorious as one of the most difficult visas to get. One of the basic requirements you have to meet to get such a visa, for example, is winning an Academy Award for your field. There are other requirements that you could use, of course, but the Academy Award is what people tend to focus on.

So, I entered this one year thinking, “oh my god, I have to win an academy award”, and let me tell you right now: if you think like that, you’ll burn out quicker than you can say the phrase “academy award”.

I had to shift my mindset probably a million times this past year alone. I had to break it down into to-do lists. If I couldn’t win an academy award (which, you know, I’m probably not winning an academy award one year after graduating college), what could I do? Well, I could get recommendation letters. I could win different awards and make different achievements. I could let people know who I am and do what I always do: tell my story. So, that’s what I did. That’s what I’m doing.

Now success isn’t whether or not I’m winning an Oscar, Tony, or Emmy. It’s “I wrote a script” or “I made a friend”. It’s “oh my god this festival liked my film and now it’s nominated for an award!” and it’s not the Academy, but it’s a start. Success became, “I made a self-tape that I’m really proud of”. It doesn’t matter if I got the part, but that I was proud of it. I couldn’t let that weight turn my successes into failures simply because an arbitrary system decided it wasn’t “notable” enough. A win is a win.

By the way, if anyone reading this is in a similar position, I recommend keeping a journal with your wins. I have a leather notebook I got off amazon for $20 that I put pictures in from funny self-tapes, scripts I wrote, films I produced, photoshoots I loved, etc. It forces you to sit down and relish in the pride that comes from a win. It’s important to remind yourself that you’re more than your inadequacies. You’ll hear a lot of people tell you that you aren’t enough. Don’t make it easier for them by dismissing yourself. Celebrate.

What do you find most rewarding about being a creative?

I find it the most fulfilling when I can tell a story and people can tell me after that it engaged them. They don’t have to relate to it, they don’t even have to like it. If they felt something, anything, because of it, then I did my job. I told a story and I got them to listen. In a world where it can feel like nobody’s listening to you, it’s a huge achievement to be able to tell a story and have someone feel something because of it.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://www.ninanaval.com/
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/zebra.nina/

Image Credits
Alexandra O’Sullivan and Nina Naval