Being 21.

every season has it's time and place. and this is a season of change, of hope and of new life. There's always that little pull backwards, the little girl in me perhaps afraid to move on beyond 21. Because i've never really dreamt of being 21. and now at the threshold of things to be and things to happen, there is excitement mixed with a constant low level trepidation. perhaps a little afraid that i'll let it all pass without seizing the day. of not being young whilst i am young.

It seems so far away, those groans of "oh dear we're already 21 and still single!!" from K. Since i stopped hanging around her for a while, her negativity had no surface to rub off me. and away from that constant chatter about the same-old same-old, i am liberated from that self imposed box. it's as if walls suddenly collapse all around me and i see a whole new horizon, seeing myself with completely new eyes. this is something that i've been praying for - to see myself through God's eyes, not the eyes of others or my own jittery self-introspection.

And there's a sense of being. of breathing this air this very instant, of doing what i can and want and love and knowing that it's more than permissible for me to enjoy all of it, but approved. Truly Living. I like being a "player", free in every sense of the word. being single and just enjoying myself, the "me" that was created with fear and wonder. As i step forward with every step, facing the road ahead alone, i start to see the strengths and weaknesses of myself with more clarity, and then, being clearer about who i am and what i want.

i sense myself getting stronger. gaining a kind of strength and boldness that wouldn't have happened if i'd loved another before learning to love myself. a kindness of "zen-ness", or should i say, realization?

remember joan?

maybe it's coz i decided to use this blogskin again. perhaps it's coz i've been digging in my archives and events i've seem to have forgotten. i've been thinking about joan this couple of weeks. i just feel the need to post up my letter to her after her wake. for people to know her, for people to remember her.

it was written about her, and yet for those who missed her:

"it was a surreal experience, going to your wake, then your funeral today. maybe i should start with the night, 24 May, Yun called me at 10pm to tell me the news? With a calm and steady voice, Yun said "She passed away at 920pm. it was peaceful. We're all happy for her." In my heart, i thanked God for calling you back to Him. Quietly i smsed the class and whoever i knew who want to know. a torrent of replies came back, to thank me for informing, to ask for details, to ask if i was going to the wake. the smses came coming and i couldn't reply them all, so i sought Lisa's help to sms everyone the time to meet for Joan's wake.

the following night, we went for your wake and without a word Lisa and i hugged your mother. She was smiling but she lost so much weight from when i last saw her. She's so strong. i know where your strength comes from. then we sat at your wake, not quite knowing the standard protocol for a Catholic wake. your pals were all dressed up beautifully with makeup on; i knew that must have been your wish. that it would be a celebration, not a mourning. there were so many tables of juniors in RJ uniform. hmm, which reminds me, we're j4s now! (eh or is it j5? )Mr Yeo was there too you know. He's still the same old chemistry tutor, not forgetting to inquire about the courses we're taking in uni. i didn't have much to report, except to tell him i'm taking Political Science. "Wah what a big change!" was the only comment he gave me. i was promptly ignored. haha. what would he say if you told him you would have been in Architecture? same reaction perhaps?

We went to take a look at your face in your pretty white casket; what a pretty summer dress your pals got for you. You were asleep, we were silent and our eyes grew red. i didn't cry and there was no sadness in my heart, because i knew exactly where you were. not in that small white casket, but in Heaven, where you're happy, blissful and carefree. a much much better place than this fallen world.

today, we went for the Mass. somehow i chose to go in orange. orange! i dunno why but as i stood in front of my wardrobe, i knew that you would want all of us to wear sth bright and cheery. colours of celebration. meiqi and amanda later told me that you DID say that you wouldn't want us to wear dark and dull colors to your funeral. sure enough, there were so many colours in the chapel! girls wearing pastel, bright, happy colours. your pals were all beautiful in matching flowery sundresses and heels.

again all felt very surreal when Mass started, until the priest talked about your last days. how you wished to go for one proper Mass in church. How one day in church you heard God's voice; He comforted you. I burst into tears at that point in time, because i knew how much God loved you and i knew how you felt when God Himself spoke to you, words of comfort, words of assurance. How warm your heart must have been. How you must have cried and thanked Him. How the waves of peace and joy washed over your tired heart and you were tired no more.

it was heartbreaking, when they sang the song for you, Joan's Song. Yun and the rest sobbed so badly at the pulpit that they nearly couldn't mouth the words. but they continued to sing and finished the song with steady voices, Joan. because your pals are as strong as you are. You have inspired and strengthened them so.

they then brought you in your casket, past RJC and to RGS. a big big detour just so you could visit the repositories of memories again. we all stopped at RGS and Yun, with the rest, carried your photo round RGS. it's still the same little palace isn't it? and we're all little princesses in that beloved compound. nothing has changed, nothing has changed. the amphitheatre was as welcoming as ever. days spent there having assembly, days spent there sitting around, days spent there taking CCA photos. they then rushed to send you back on your way to the crematorium, to make it just in time for the cremation. what crazy friends you have ;)

we all took a last look at you in the service hall 2. your mum cried, as she looked at you through the glass of the casket. she cried so hard. you must have been pained to see her so sad. we grieve, not because of your departure to heaven, but because we knew how hard it is for those you have left behind. You'll always be in our hearts and you have indeed left behind a legacy, with your spirit of acceptance and perseverance. we'll all soldier on, because you have showed us how to. See ya in heaven someday.

Love,

Weiting."

this is for Joan, as well as everyone else who wanted to walk the last part of her journey with her but couldn't.

3 Iron

A moving film that grips your attention at just the right pace; not too insistently, just achingly poetic, enough to keep you flowing with the film.

Poems don't have to be chronological; they rarely are. This poem flows and intertwines with itself like a well connected web, leaving you with enough stamina to go through the different layers of meaning and connections. At no point did i want to pause or stop the film - something i was prepared to do at the start of the film, if it proved too artistic- by the time the credits rolled, i was grateful for having even thought of watching this 2004 film by Kim Ki-Duk.

It has surprisingly little dialogue; the male lead (acted by Jae Hee) never speaks at all - little wonder that no names sticks with you even after the film ends. Yet the little dialogue that surfaces bring illumination into the intentions of the main characters, giving dimensions to the mute character in a deeper way than i suspect mere dialogue can deliver.

(spoilers ahead. go watch the film before i spoil it for you.)

More accurately, there was monologue, not dialogue in the film.

(a) when there was direct confrontation of other people with the leads, always dotted with violence, by/to the male lead.

These sparing lines gave me the reassurance that i was reading the film correctly, but more importantly, i feel they broke up the peace and serenity penetrating throughout the film and defined the violence and turbulence against the backdrop of Zen Romance (coined by David) The violence didn't exist however to break up the momentum or to add variety to the mood; it was a vital part of the film, a vital part of the character's existence.

(b) Tae-suk's golf accident which implicated an innocent female rider and the male rider calls out to her, attempting to revive her.

(c) when the female speaks her only line in the entire film, indirectly to Tae-suk.

The simple 'Breakfast is ready" was a call of liberation, ringing out into the bright hope of a new morning. Liberation from the oppression of her husband as she realises that Tae-suk, love, has come back into her life. Her wait had been worth it. Honestly throughout the film i was half expecting Tae-suk to be a spirit or ghost or whatever- something a figment of a woman's imagination. Yet the very fact that he existed physically accentuated the surreality of the romance. Kim is a masterful storyteller.

The Prison cell scenes of Tae-suk mastering the art of disappearing was mastery in and of itself - removing his identity (shoes), inching towards the shadows, blind spots, ceiling and finally, metaphorically slipping under the skin of someone else (by imitating and anticipating the movements of the person he trails, making use of the blind area that our 180degrees vision bestows) Monologue comes into the picture as shouts of the warden as he confronts Tae-suk with the latter's intent to practice disappearing and not be found.

This metaphorical representation of Tae-suk taking on the persona of the people he comes across, starts right at the start of the film as he breaks into the first house with the family away on a vacation; taking photos with the family photos, bathing, changing into the clothes of the owner, making himself food, watching TV. The comfortness with which Tae-suk slips under the owner(s) skin is vaguely unsettling and brings to mind 2 questions - (a) are the lives of the owners that easily stolen in that few moments that Tae-suk becomes them (b) does not Tae-suk have an identity that is his core at all?

The ending waltzes in with an elegance as the 2 characters steps up on the symbolic weighing machine, but the director relents during the last few secs of the film and asks the question verbosely (awkwardly): Are we living a dream or a reality? The film's attempt to explain itself spoiled an otherwise perfect wordless poem for me. The few words appeared to be one too many. , perhaps giving us an inkling that words are really not the most comfortable language for the director.

He was asking the right question using the wrong words, in my humble opinion. The real tension was not simply reality vs dream, but lies in existentialism vs essence - do we exist to create our essence or does our essence define our existence?

Tae-suk appears to have no personality, apart from his helpful habit of repairing whatever was broken in the homes. He existed in the empty houses of strangers day by day, washing their clothes, watching the cable channels they subscribe to, looking at their family photos, (or photos the photographer took), eating what they ate. Yet did he have an essence of his own as he went about these mundane tasks that we're so accustomed to do without questioning the meaning, or lackthereof?

The prevalence of photos in every house he visited, including Tae-suk's own obsession with taking photos with the owners of the house symbolised our attempt to verify our existence by taking photos. The female lead had an essence that was abused and broken by an apparently bipolar husband , yet she didn't exist - staying the shadows and remaining undetected even by Tae-suk, the intruder in her own home. Her move to cut up her photo in the photographer's house and re-arranging it beyond recognition was another attempt to nullify her existence.

When the 2 characters meet however, existence met essence and they began to live. Tae-suk's eventual removal of the woman's photo in the photographer's house was liberation of the woman's painful existence in an abusive marriage. It set the pace for a more hopeful turn of events to the end. i liked the last scene especially - with the blurring of camera focus on the weighing machine set at zero with the 2 characters standing on it. Both characters had fixed the weighing machine twice in the whole film, a symbol of setting their world to an objective scale. When the needle returned to zero at the end of the film, there is a sense of completion and wholeness, that finally the weighing machine ain't broken no more.

This film proves that a good film does not have to be aided by flowery words; in fact, it was enhanced with the lackthereof, proving that silence speaks louder than words. A real cliche to any self respecting movie reviewer, but i would still say it's a real masterpiece.

Random rants:
It's kinda spooky when he starts re-entering the houses he broke into and everyone went "I feel weird, there's someone in the house". Somehow i thought it was a disjunct with the entire mood of the movie, a little too haunting for my taste.

I'd give it a 4 stars out of 5.

Other Reviewers of the same film:
KFCCinema
Canadian Cinephile
Reeling Reviews
Thoughts on Stuffs
Smart Popcorn
Qwipster

Winning into Freedom

If the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed —John 8:36

If there is even a trace of individual self-satisfaction left in us, it always says, "I can’t surrender," or "I can’t be free." But the spiritual part of our being never says "I can’t"; it simply soaks up everything around it. Our spirit hungers for more and more. It is the way we are built. We are designed with a great capacity for God, but sin, our own individuality, and wrong thinking keep us from getting to Him. God delivers us from sin— we have to deliver ourselves from our individuality. This means offering our natural life to God and sacrificing it to Him, so He may transform it into spiritual life through our obedience.

God pays no attention to our natural individuality in the development of our spiritual life. His plan runs right through our natural life. We must see to it that we aid and assist God, and not stand against Him by saying, "I can’t do that." God will not discipline us; we must discipline ourselves. God will not bring our "arguments . . . and every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ" (2 Corinthians 10:5 )— we have to do it. Don’t say, "Oh, Lord, I suffer from wandering thoughts." Don’t suffer from wandering thoughts. Stop listening to the tyranny of your individual natural life and win freedom into the spiritual life.

"If the Son makes you free . . . ." Do not substitute Savior for Son in this passage. The Savior has set us free from sin, but this is the freedom that comes from being set free from myself by the Son. It is what Paul meant in Galatians 2:20 when he said, "I have been crucified with Christ . . . ." His individuality had been broken and his spirit had been united with his Lord; not just merged into Him, but made one with Him. ". . . you shall be free indeed"— free to the very core of your being; free from the inside to the outside. We tend to rely on our own energy, instead of being energized by the power that comes from identification with Jesus.

I had a prolonged session with God last night. on how to love people truly. esp when it comes to guys that either i have an interest in or have an interest in me. it's one tricky area where it's easy to stumble and like what therie says, it can be source of temptation whether or not i'm attached and the only way to fortify myself is with the truth of God. God and me have come up with 2 simple steps to love people (though i think it's more of God's idea and me agreeing. )

1. Pray for them continually.
for them to know Christ, to have salvation, to experience God's saving grace. Each name that i pray through, Lord i know you have ordained for me to intercede for.

2. Pray for myself continually
to guard my heart, as well as for the Holy Spirit to search my heart and motivations. I will not waltz towards any guy without being sure that i can love God more than him and him more than myself.

Love is patient, Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight with evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 1 Corinthians 13

Love is to protect the other party. Love is to trust that God will take care of everyone of us; i do not have to play "Messiah" to save anyone. Love is hope, that i look to God to make things right. Love will cause me to persevere in all of the above.

I'm a Cyborg but That's Ok

Is there necessarily a trade off between artistic value and understand-ability in a film? i wish i was enough of a film critic to appreciate "artistic films". Right now I'm just trying to make sense of films that seem to have alot more going beneath the surface.

The first time i got an intriguing feeling that a film is deeper than it seems is when i watched Big Fish by Tim Burton a couple of years ago. Instinctively i felt there was deep symbolism behind the vivid colours, breathtaking cinematography, vibrant characters, touching father-son thread and tall tales. yet as the few of us sat in Cine BK post-movie a few hours, talking about it, i just couldn't put a finger to my thoughts.

I just didn't have the mental capability to read into films. uber frustrating then. but till now it remains one of my favourite movies. it's "un-readability" just adds on to the fascination somehow. To me, that's the mark of a good movie. one that invites and entices, yet retaining a little of that elusiveness that keeps you wanting to revisit it time and time again. i still mull over the movie once in a while when we talk about good movies. (but no, i still haven't figured out the mystery of it yet.)

I'm a Cyborg but That's Ok is a different kind altogether. I'm one of those who watched it on a Sunday Night cooped up at home because it's Rain movie debut. bah. sue me. But it is a good watch. Although mildly disturbing for one (me) so unaccustomed to watching artistic films, especially when i didn't expect more than light fluffy cotton candy. i got a modified candy-eclair instead. (i never developed a liking for those modern candy-chocolate things anyhow. they're just plain weird to my taste buds.) I think one main reason why you can find so many bad reviews both online and by word of mouth is because the movie was marketed as a light-hearted romantic comedy and people who watch it will get the feeling they've been cheated by the time the credits roll. [hey Rain+mental asylum+girl who thinks she's a cyborg just doesn't instinctively equate to ARTISTIC film.]

You've been warned.

It just isn't light-hearted romantic fluff. although there are some parts that delivers that warm fluffy love-conquers-all theme, those scenes are promptly succeeded by emotionally driven scenes, flashbacks or discussions with the psychiatrist that shed a little more light into the darkness of the inner worlds of the characters. just when you thought you had the movie figured out, it leads you unsuspectingly down a winding path somewhere else. and then it oscillates back. yet it wasn't that confusing; not after you get used to suspending your logic and rationality for a while, to find that the logic and rationality behind the film is of a different kind.

One that doesn't communicate with you well, because it's said in a foreign language. you can instinctively figure out that its deeper than you can understand, but you're handicapped by that language barrier. so you remain an arm's length away from understanding it completely. some throw their hands up in the air and dismisses the conversation, some pretend to understand while they smile and nod, some others pick up a dictionary (ie. search for interpretations, reviews, dialogue with others)

That's my take on "artistic" films.

I choose the third category for this film.
This movie has to be deeper than what an average viewer can gather, i thought. So i was pretty glad to have my hopes confirmed in the "guide" posted at veoh.com. i appreciate the movie much more, now that i can at least join the dots. the digestion and reflection will have to come later. Nevertheless, without this contribution, i think i'll still be HUH?! hours after watching it:

Cyborg Girl is harder to understand for three reasons: it's setting, it's depth, and a poorly executed ending. The setting in a mental hospital will automatically make it harder to understand, since the pattern of thought from the people we get to know is different from ours. That is why the writer/director left us clear paths to follow so we can watch the pattern that they were creating. Understanding the patterns they show us is difficult, because they are more advanced. This movie is attempting to go where artistic works have gone before, such as, "The Truman Show" or "Sense and Sensibility". Like those movies, what lies beneath the surface is what really counts.

Movie Genre: Some people think that this movie is hard to categorize. I disagree. At its heart, the story is a romance. Along the way, however, the movie does explore several themes.

Movie Themes: Each character we encounter in the movie is developing a theme necessary to understand the messages that the director and writer are trying to show (tell) you. They are not there just to be "random". There is a purpose for each one of them. There are so many of them, but here are some of the more important ones ... 1. Cyborg Girl --- She sees her condition in life, being a cyborg girl, not as a choice, but something she cannot change. It is through her eyes that we see the director and writer wanting us to look at the working world as "robotlike". There is no personal identity. There is no personal expression. Instead, in this movie we find more of those in the mental hospital, than we do in the real (working) world. Instead of working to get money so she can eat so she can work, she desperately wants purpose in her machine-like life.

2. Bi (Rain) Character --- He knows that he has a problem. When he believes that it is for the best, he checks himself into the mental hospital for help. He knows that some things can change, but has only a little hope that it really will. His character is focused on something close to Cyborg Girl's. She wants purpose. He doesn't want to be forgotten. He wants to be noticed and valued. The rejection, as he sees it, by his father and especially his mother proves to him that he is insignificant, or as he puts it, "invisible". The judge at his trial simply reinforces this idea when he says that he will vanish away into a dot. To be a speck, is to be invisible, unnoticed, and unvalued. We know that he is able to overcome this to some degree, because he later buries the item he carries around that holds himself under his mother.

3. Elastic Pants Man --- He appears here and there throughout the movie. He always emphasizes that life endings are really just beginnings. Life goes into full circle. The Elastic Band stretches to its fullest length = end of life. The Elastic Band snapping back to its beginning point = beginning of life. We are supposed to recognize this theme in the lives of Cyborg Girl and Bi (Rain) character at the end of the movie.

4. The Wacko Policeman --- He is another example of the writer and director pointing a critical finger at the working world. In the movie, the policeman has changed because his job took over his life.

5. The Bandaid of Strength --- Throughout the movie, several characters give each other a bandaid that they claim gives strength and protection. Where they put the bandaid on themselves doesn't seem to be really important, except for at the end of the movie.

6. Love, Romantic --- The writer and director made a bold leap by exploring the idea of romance in an unusual place: the mental hospital. Where nothing can seem to break through the real world, or the girl's private cyborg world, or Bi's (Rain's) world of insignificance, love does. If you understand this, then the ending is quite powerful.

7. Love, Family --- This theme is explored in almost every Korean Movie. Guaranteed. Love and loyalty for one's family is important, but it must be doubly important to Koreans since it is emphasized so much. Here, we see the love and loyalty that Cyborg Girl has for her grandmother. We also see the lack of love and loyalty from her own mother. Bi (Rain) does not have love or loyalty from his parents either, especially, from his mother.

8. The Overpolite Man --- I'm not 100% sure, but the writer and director seem be using this character to point a finger at "politeness" in Korean society. While manners are good, excessive rules combined with the improper "humble" attitude obviously can lead to ... useless insignificance. To blame yourself for everyone's troubles does not solve problems. In this sense, "manners" are paying lipservice to what is really needed.

9. The Fat, Pretty Lady --- She seems to be used as a character to point at some of today's over-emphasis on being beautiful on the outside. But meanwhile she cannot discipline her own desires. They control her. She does not control them. (Food and flying)

10. Buried Items -- Both the Cyborg Girl and Bi (Rain) character bury an object in the ground that symbolizes the problem that is holding their life. But the act of burying that object shows us that a change has begun in both their lives. And so on. There are more themes, like with the doctors, the mice, lack of communication, etc.

The Ending: The end of the movie was not well done, because the viewers (you and I) are expecting something to be said directly about the bomb, lightning, and the end of the world. It's not your fault. The writer and director built up your expectations for that. They didn't deliver. Bad job on their part. Instead, they expect you to put your thinking cap on and tie all the themes together to understand the ending.

The ending is supposed to show us in a very quiet way the incredible power of love. Bi's (Rain's) character says that the pair of socks are not the only things that is wet. The long significant look between the two and the removal of the Bandaid of Strength/Protection from her mouth shows us that it's the kiss that he's referring to. In Cyborg Girl's world, the rules didn't allow her to love. In Bi (Rain's) character's world, he believed that he couldn't be loved. But to both of them, this love has now been allowed to enter their own worlds as something true. If we remember what the Elastic Pants man was always emphasizing, we can understand that the ending is not pointless, but full of hope. By burying their past (literally), and finding a trusting love from each other, they have a new beginning. Far from a nuclear bomb ending everything, love is really the power that signals the end of their old self and brings hope for a new beginning. Anyway, I hope this helps.

I think, therefore i am

a cool, refreshing day for thought and work. i'm halfway through with the US Foreign Policy analysis already. it's pretty amazing how much i can do in 2 hours, versus how much time i can sometimes waste by doing nothing at all. Yet i'm always grateful for this spurts of productivity; not just that i can finish the work on time, but also because it allows for my intellectualism to be organised and to be proven through the medium of words, sentences, paragraphs.

"For when you take up a pen and paper.. to commit your thoughts to the relative permanence of the tangible, your mind works to its fullest. Not merely exercising its function, you actually reveal its essence. The truth is, you never know so well what it is you think nad feel until you express it on the page. Make it live and breathe in words, sentences, paragraphs. in this way, writing is a uniquely human process of discovery."

from Lexean,
Issue 01.
a Singapore Publication with the creed:
"For the Man who believes in
The Power of the Words
The Merit of Morality
The Might of Virtue
One who is worldly in outlook
Asian at Heart & Proud to be Lexean"

Writing is a gift to me, because it unblocks arteries running through my soul.

it is a magical thing to unravel the mysteries of the individual self through the medium of writing, slowly peeling through the onion layers, slowly advancing in the maze of complexity, until you strip yourself of all pretense and ostentatiousness. Right at the core of it, i'm always delighted to realise how my existence can be represented through such sophisticated thinking and writing. The great philosopher said "I think, therefore I am" has packed more wisdom in these simple words that i had realised before.

The mystery of life is wonderous and well, mysterious. It's a curious sensation to know that one is alive, usually. It's not just the thinking-about-meself that unlocks who you are; it is the mere process of thinking and debating and writing that one realises how alive one is.

it is the same with good conversations. I always humbly admit that my oratory skills are not as developed as my writing skills. But times when i meet good conversationalists that i feel comfortable with, the demise of good conversation in Singapore's general climate becomes jarring and i become dissatisfied with the quality of conversations that i can have. I remember so vividly in the streets of Boston when an old man stopped Chris and me to talk about Heidegger and film. it shook me that it was a lazy regular day in summer at the crossroads of a quiet street, that a stranger would smile and stop to talk on a topic so different from the mundane and hurried conversation that i'm used to in sunny Singapore. The old man turned out to be a Philosophy major who graduated from Harvard years ago.

Consider the opening of a Lexean article from the same issue,

A conversation here is like a highway to a corner destination. The trip doesn't last long, the exits are clearly marked -- and taken quickly. From wedding dinner to corner coffeeshop, the tongue is now just another piece of cutlery, to work on food, but not for thought.

This is not the place to delve, to dally, to play and to probe, to dance and dart around an idea. You have a better chance of finding a white hair on the Chinese Politburo. When you call your friends, don't they ask you after 30s max:"what's up?"

Good conversation, as any dictionary will tell you, involves an exchange of ideas, even some debate. Or try this on for size, from James Hillman in We've had a Hundred Years of Psychotherapy and The World is Getting Worse:

"Not just any talk is conversation; not any talk raises consciousness. Good conversation has an edge: it opens your eyes to something, quickens your ears. And good conversation reverberates... the next day, you find yourself still conversing with what was said. Your mind's been moved. You are at another level with your reflections "

Recently I'd been tired of listening to people mindlessly bashing the ruling party, Bush administration wrt to Iraq War etc with hearsay and what "everyone else knows"without making the effort to remunerate and critically think for oneself the issue in question. In such conversations i always sense an unwillingness, if not inability, to delve into the more difficult underlying tensions. The elusive and unsubstantiated bashings really serve more as small talk then conversation.

As i flipped through the issues of Lexean that i grabbed from outside the Central Library yesterday, my heart actually surged with a flicker of hope that the intellectual climate in Singapore would grow and even flourish in time to come. There are pretty neat articles on politics, economics, environment, gadgets and (gasp!) high end male fashion.

Obviously, the publication is sexist(read the creed again) and elitist (it costs a whooping $15.80) but it's good stuff. And i don't believe that only men are capable of thought, seriously. There are as many FHM spin-offs in newspaper stands as women gossip magazines. I will forgive the creed on basis that it's branding. And i will continue reading it.

Good Night and Good Luck

written and invested by George Clooney; he was actually paid $3 for it as a token amount. it's a black and white film set in the 1950s during the McCarthy era, made in 2004.Alas as the moment the first scenes of a dinner party start, strung together with soulful jazz music in the background, one quietly sinks in the black and white 1950s. Languid, lazy and musical. yet as Edward Murrow started his poignant speech on the state of media, of decadence, escapism and insulation, one is gripped by the incisive critique. Subconsciously, at the back of one's mind, the parallel is drawn to the present debate of freedom of the press and more importantly, the freedom of the mind. As it proceeds however, all eyes are fixated on Murrow (David Strathairn) as he embodies the civic mind and the staunch advocate for liberation of the public mind in an age plagued by a political climate of fear and terrorism, as McCarthyism penetrates the American society.

Good Night and Good Luck is one of the most brilliant films i have watched. I enjoyed it as much as Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors really. This film is of course very different from Crimes; Good night and Good Luck is a political critique and Crimes more of a philosophical musing. Yet both leave you thinking and pondering long after the credits roll.

Edward R. Murrow, the brilliant newsman who would not compromise the freedom of the press, who would not give up on the freedom to think, who brought down McCarthy and his terrorizing communist-witch-hunt in the 1950s. i was really gripped by the excerpts of Murrow's speech at the start and end of the film, cut and spliced in this Youtube video:

Synopsis
"Good Night, And Good Luck." takes place during the early days of broadcast journalism in 1950's America. It chronicles the real-life conflict between television newsman Edward R. Murrow and Senator Joseph McCarthy and the Permanent Sub-committee on Investigations (Government Operations Committee). With a desire to report the facts and enlighten the public, Murrow, and his dedicated staff - headed by his producer Fred Friendly and Joe Wershba in the CBS newsroom - defy corporate and sponsorship pressures to examine the lies and scaremongering tactics perpetrated by McCarthy during his communist 'witch-hunts'. A very public feud develops when the Senator responds by accusing the anchor of being a communist. In this climate of fear and reprisal, the CBS crew carries on and their tenacity will prove historic and monumental.

Once again, the issue of press freedom, the freedom to think and debate grips my attention. I believe so strongly in press freedom, because it's the only hope for freedom of the mind. to expand, correct and eventually to reach the stage of thinking. the majority of the society today is politically and socially apathetic, leaving an a microsm of the world we live in. What's wrong with that? so many ask. As long as i have my family, my career and my security who cares about political and civil liberties? Who cares about enviromental pollution? Who cares about Third World development?

i think it's a sign of ignorance because the mind has not been trained to think, extolled to contemplate on the bigger issues. it's like people who don't bother to know the fire evacuation plan because the risk of fire (or so they deem) is so remote. other people glance at the fire evacuation plan and rough know where the nearest fire escape is but never bothered about fire prevention. either way, we're missing out on something vital, and i say this for myself as well.

an indelible mark

In the deep recesses of my heart, there is a familiarity attached to a someone who was part of my life. It's funny how some people just rub off you during the period you related to them; unknowingly, they have left an indelible mark that you cannot erase from your memory or heart. And when the time comes when you realize that meeting the same person now evokes the same level of familiarity in your heart and yet a new, disconcerting surge of emotions you cannot hide, you inevitably choose to try to forget, to alleviate a little of that disturbing incongruence. try to, because it takes effort to do something that you can never choose to do, that is, to wholly forget. someone once asked me how it's possible to claim that you forgive without forgetting. the answer simply is that forgiving is a choice and forgetting is an instance of the waves of time washing it away when you weren't looking.

you inevitably try not to notice the smallest things about the person that you never knew you noticed in the first place. i think that was a point made by Celine in Before Sunset. it's one of my all-time favorite movies because they capture the inner process of thinking and feeling and trying all the time to reconcile the two. It's how i lead my life, it's how i handle my innermost thoughts and so the familiarity of the conversations between the protagonists grip my thoughts and engage my heart.
But it's been a long time since i re-watched it. Perhaps another time, another pensive occasion.

Does time move fast enough for the waves to come crashing in? Or does it have to happen when you aren't looking? i always play the game of "i'm-not-looking!" when i really am, in vain hope that by pretending that i'm not noticing, i will somehow speed up the process of forgetting.

Doesn't quite work that way, doesn't it. The waves aren't actually connected to your thought waves, though they may have properties that seem pretty similar. They oscillate between the peaks and troughs; you know it, but you can't get out of the hum-drum pattern. Your consciousness of the next inevitable movement doesn't get you to your destination any faster or make the journey any easier for you. You can only look to the larger whole, the prevailing pattern that extends beyond your momentarily troubles ahead.

i think that's called faith.

New York New York

Third day in New York and i'm only blogging about it now because it's a city that never sleeps and i haven't either, so that i can take it all in. i love it here. was miserable for a while because travelling in a group always results in people stepping others' toes. after i made the moral decision to go solo and do what my heart desires, everything seems alot better. able to say this after some good ol' retail therapy :D New York is the true shoppers' paradise ANYTIME. wheee.


One thing quirky is that there's been 4 instances of guys trying to hit on me in the span of 2 days. it's just curious.. is that part of the New York culture anyway?

"Hey miss, are you single?"

"nah" -smiles and walks on-

"oh really? you want to talk about it?"

"nah" - smiles and walk somemore-

"are you sure you don't want to talk to me about it?"

wah. not very exciting pickup lines. i think i should actually continue the conversation a while longer the next time it happens to see what New York men can come up with. they are rather direct though, during lunch when i was out at Sixth Avenue this bunch of men in uniform stopped their car at a bend, rolled down the windows and tried to strike up conversation.

in the middle of New York with the whole world bustling around, feels like straight out of a movie.

Chopin Opus 69 No.2 in Bminor

one of my favourites.

Ryuichi Sakamoto

The Other Side of Love

i decided i won't sleep, without playing this song on repeat before i drift off to sleep each night. It has a draw on me i cannot explain, just like how i fall in love with words and people i can never explain why or how. Such is love; nuanced, confusing yet full of conviction never to regret when it's all over.

Interview with Carl Pullen at Yale

I whisked into the Sterling Memorial Library at noon on a Wednesday afternoon and there was Carl Pullen sitting at the security desk, in his pristine security uniform. Same steady gaze. We moved to a small security room beside the entrance and started to talk about him over lunch. 66 year old Pullen is an African American, burly, full time security personnel at Sterling, clocking hours daily from 8.30am till 5pm. The pay is considered good, for easy work that required no manual labour or “exhausting of brain juices” to quote him. Compared to Pullen’s previous jobs, being a security guard to check if students were smuggling books out of Sterling Memorial Library and directing people to the right places was to him, more of leisure pastime than work.

Born in Virginia and moved to Connecticut when he was four years old, Pullen had spent time at different parts of the world, from Spain, Italy, France, Greece, Lebanon during his time with the Marine Corps. His career with the Marine Corps started at a party when he was 17. A group of Marine Corps in their uniforms walked into a party where his friends and him were at and “got the attention of the girls”. Believing that they could beat the Marine Corps at their trade, Pullen and friends decided that they would join the Marine Corps the very next day.

They did.

Pullen made the decision to give up his basketball scholarship to college and joined Marine Corps. Although he made no mention of girls and parties during his recount of those days, the formal military training that he received proved to be useful for his 13 year career with the New Haven State Police afterwards. There he learnt about weaponry, military discipline, marching and enjoyed the excitement of visiting each new country he was at. After he left the Marine Corps, he went on to a vocation which he describes as a job that “deals with people, help people” and makes him feel good as people respect him.

With pride he showed me his gold retirement badge from the New Haven State Police.

As a detective dealing with hard crime, Pullen didn’t think he was doing dangerous work; he always had his men with him. His time at the State Police saw him doing investigative work at the Fraud department, cracking down on fraud cases concerning welfare, medical issues and construction. He then rose to the rank of Sergeant and was in charge of Division of Special Revenue for a time. Pullen was involved in some of the most high profile cases in Connecticut in the 1960s and 1970s. He went to San Francisco to arrest Bobby Seale, the Co-founder of the Black Panthers, who was charged with the murder of Alex Rackley. Another assignment saw him arresting Philip and Daniel Berrigan; both brothers were priests and listed as FBI Ten Most Wanted Fugitives, charged for destroying military drafts in protest of the Vietnam War.

When asked about his most difficult assignment in his career as a detective, he paused as he recollected the case. After a brief period of silence, he recounted the case of a woman who had been stabbed 26 times. It was a case with no leads, but Pullen found a license plate key on the deceased which led him to track down the deceased’s previous address. Relying on his detective intuition, he interviewed people and tracked down the deceased’s old address and there he managed to find witnesses who heard the deceased shout out a name during an argument with her murderer. It turned out to be her boyfriend whom she had an affair with. With that very first lead, Pullen managed to crack the case.

Pullen is a man of brains and brawn. With a black belt in Taekwondo, Pullen taught the other police officers in the department the martial art. However, Pullen’s first loves remain to be basketball and baseball. He did not have to regret his decision to give up his basketball scholarship when he was 17, as he completed his Masters in History and Social Sciences and taught at University of Bridgeport even when he was with the State Police in 1991. After his retirement, he decided to join Library Security at Sterling Memorial to pass time. In his spare time now, he goes to the gym, church and occasional vacations with his family, to Poconos of Pennsylvania.

When 30 minutes was up, I bid farewell and thanked Pullen for his time. He gives a sturdy farewell handshake and held his gaze, just like how a detective does it.

my first interview assignment! It was a really good time, though i was nervous and Pullen was very aware of that. i thoroughly enjoyed the process of talking to him, and writing about him. I must admit that i was nearly paralyzed by fear, to just randomly go up to a stranger to request for an interview. My instructor Shapiro was really encouraging, and said that even a veteran human rights reporter like him sometimes feel the trepidation before an assignment too. No matter you're an extrovert or introvert (which i take that he can tell i'm an introvert), there is this internal barrier a journalist has to overcome to talk to people. This is especially so if you have to call up the family of the deceased to report on a death.

I guess, this is a good start for a rookie like me :)

update

i started to get really homesick this morning, waking up to a sore throat and being a state of sickness made me think of my mum who always give me medicine when i'm sick and i spiralled into this i-wanna-go-home-now feeling. doesn't help that Sam reminded me over MSN that i'm half the world away. after a period of getting myself together, i promptly decided that washing my face with tears in the morning is not too good so i decided to be conducive and spend the day reading in the sun with nette and jan.

Tips on how NOT to get homesick

1. Keep yourself busy and connected with the world around you. DO NOT mope in your single dorm no matter how tempting it is. DO NOT attempt to work on stressful work.

2. DO NOT fall sick. this is a hard one. but even if you do, PRETEND that you're not sick. you will soon overcome it.

3. Say Hi to people on the streets and around college instead of getting into the i-shall-pretend-i-haven't-seen-you mode. preferably a loud chirpy HELLOOOOO.

4. when faced with the option of Supper at Sam Adams and sleeping early and work, make your decisions in that order of priority.

Human interaction and lame jokes and laughter create a sense of (sometimes false) solidarity and it gives you a feeling that everything is alright and we're still in lovely Singapore (not that hard since there're a bunch of us).

[i did my laundry today! and i finally mustered enough courage to walk up to a security guard, Pullen, at Sterling Memorial to ask him if i could interview him for my Investigative Journalism assignment. People here in United States are generally more friendly me thinks. i think it's because Asians are kinda exotic here (lol what a weird commentary but i think it's true) so people on the streets take a second look and they generally smile and say hi. i've learnt to cultivate the good habit of not averting my eyes, hold the gaze for an extra split second and say "How're u doin'" the problem is that it's quite a mouthful so "Hello" will suffice and "hi" will have to do when i'm losing my voice. thinking how i can bring this friendliness back to Sg. they always say that "change has to start from yourself". ramble ramble. ]

my prince

He is no fool. First he makes sure that this really is the content of his life, for his soul is too healthy and too proud to squander the least thing upon a mere inebriation. He is not cowardly, he is not afraid of letting love creep into his most secret, his most hidden thoughts, to let it twine in innumerable coils about every ligament of his consciousness; if the love becomes an unhappy love, he will never be able to tear himself loose from it. He feels a blissful rapture in letting love tingle through every nerve, and yet his soul is as solemn as that of the man who has drained the poisoned goblet and feels just how the juice permeates every drop of blood - for this instant is life and death.

- Excerpt from Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling

my prince, is to be a knight of Faith, someone who knows what he wants and where he's going, someone of courage and conviction, unafraid to love.

there's something about reading Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling in such a beautiful setting, a Sunday afternoon reading in the courtyard of Sterling memorial library.

The Library itself was magnificent.


on my way back from the library, passed by the Sterling Law building:
after dinner, Lucas and i went for evening service at Trinity Baptist Church. The congregation was small, but the Spirit of God was there, and a great worship band.

On our way back after detouring to the Green to check out the outdoor performance for tonight:

isn't it cute? the car from CARS! haha. i like how the headlights look like they're eyes with eyelashes. pretty.

the twelve

i find it a little amusing that there are 12 of us taking Evil at Yale this summer. ALMOST resonant with the story of the 12 disciples. except that if it were true it'll keep you guessing who'll be Judas.

Spike Lee came to New Haven today and i saw his work on Hurricane Katrina and the inefficiency of the Bush Administration in response to the disaster. and questions about Evil just flooded my head. i could instinctively say that it was disgusting how Bush ignored New Orleans to put his mind to greater matters like expand his oil empire in Iraq. Disgusting how the insurance companies refused to pay the victims because their insurance do not cover "flood insurance". disgusting because the underdog are the down and out. disgusting because the old and handicapped were trapped in Superdome to slowly die of heat and lack of food and water. Hurricane Katrina was in all ways a human disaster rather than a natural one, where human beings progressively butchered others through justifications and turning a blind eye on what has to be done. the fact that none of the officials stepped out to refute any detail in that 4 hour feature film just proved how accurate it was. not the complete picture (no story can ever be a full picture of what happens in an event) but enough to be testimony of how the top men (and women, counting Rice) in power today in the most powerful country have been corrupted by their self interest to see figures as living flesh and blood.

i can't help but grieve at the state of human existence.


i couldn't resist taking a close-up of the sculpted figures on the beam. i mean, sculpted figures that are so elaborate are everywhere; it never ceases to amaze me.
During the Q & A with Spike Lee, you could tell almost immediately he's cynical how anything can change within the government, and more generally, how the world can ever be a more equal place. the powerful stay in power to get more power to translate into economic gains. a vicious cycle that doesn't end. yet i think that the very act of directing such feature films, is something already.

We then headed down for the high-class BBQ for Writing and Film studies students. we thought it was a typical DIY BBQ singapore-style but in good ol' england fashion, waiters in tuxedos did the BBQing as we sat under the sky in the cold wind enjoying the good fare. i'm quite sure i'm turning fat fast but i'm trying not to think about it too much.

off to New Haven Green for some good Jazz music. it's the Festival of Arts and Ideas, so outdoor performances are held on the Green at night. People come with mats and fold-able chairs, just camping out on the lawn :

random fly on the wall

one thing that amanda got right is that she said it's probably very interesting to be a fly here on the wall at Yale. it's very apt and true. I'm actually happy not to say nothing at all sometimes, just to observe and listen closely to what people say.

greetings from Yale!

Payne Whitney Gym - indoor basketball courts

Payne Whitney Gym - indoor track

one thing that amanda got right is that she said it's probably very interesting to be a fly here on the wall at Yale. it's very apt and true. I'm actually happy not to say nothing at all sometimes, just to observe and listen closely to what people say. i've been wanting to blog everyday to show pictures of what i see and record what i hear but i've just been so busy experiencing it that i've found it hard to sit down and write about it. i'm not complaining. in fact, i think i should do myself justice by just soaking in it while i can. let me just say that the food here at Yale is fantastic, nothing like the crappy food in NUS halls. and trust me when i say the desserts are even better than those you find at NYDC and what not. the bestest and most alarming is that it's buffet style for all 3 meals. i'm going to be a fatso when i get back but it's ok i'm going to live my life to the fullest now. besides, the gym is really fantastic:

Payne Whitney Gym exterior

much more majestic that my phone camera can capture, but trust me, it feels like a castle standing in front of it. hard to imagine the modern equipment and large arrays of machines inside. didn't dare to take a picture of the actual gym - don't want to be such an overt suakoo haha.

Linsly Chittenden - Classroom

Linsly Chittenden - interior

here's where my classes are held. the whole physical presence of the place awakens the intellectual in you; it becomes no longer an ostentious pursuit, but reminds you that knowledge and the spirit of inquiry and debate is the essence of being alive.

random street views on my way to school

(yes all the buildings are this breathtaking- even more so than what u see)

random street sights around the neighbourhood

just remember that no matter how deceivingly sunny it looks, it's really chilly. i'm getting used to it now and loving the weather. it's the best of both worlds with the sun reining in the audacity of the cold. same street, but the latter is actually a much colder day than the former:


way back to Morse

roomy comfy spacy Morse Library, taken from the second level.

haven't been to the heavenly Sterling Memorial Library, but i know that it's more breathtaking than any library you will see, just looking at the exterior. i promise photos soon! and yes, i walk past the Harkness Tower everyday and i take a photo everytime i walk past because her beauty never ceases to stop my feet from going further. i may not be an architect but as a living human being attuned to the notion of beauty, i can't help myself.

okay enough hard selling of Yale, time to dig into Plato's Gorgias for Evil class. can i add that Yale is really big on copyright laws that they charge you for copyright on top of printing services? the coursepack for Evil costs USD36.5 (without binding) and USD42 (with binding) on top of 4 books to buy and read. woolala. but i think the money is well spent. being here just convinces me that knowledge is worth the price to pay.

oh btw, we watched Woody Allen's Crimes and Misdemeanors last night for Evil too and i'm in love with that genius. this Saturday, the writing and film students (me included coz investigative journalism) are given tickets to go to the screening of "When the Levees broke" and to meet the director Spike Lee. the man himself. gosh. exciting.

sorry for the randomness. it's 1am here in New Haven and 1pm in Singapore.

oh can i re-enact this conversation i had with kristopher from my Investigative Journalism class?

me: you know i found it weird that sirens go off every hour without fail here in New Haven

Kris: (grins broadly) well, this is New Haven for you. I actually come from Middlefield where my neighbours are a mile away and the population of cows is equal to the human population. so what i hear all the time are not sirens but

Mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

i was hysterical. hahahahahahaaha

HELLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOo from New Haven!

Bet you a dime that you've started to miss me already ;)

the stopover at Frankfurt was literally a stop. this was all i saw of Germany:

Still a little jetlagged now but had a fabulous sleep. The weather here at New Haven is fantastic, you feel like you’re in an airconditioned place PERPETUALLY. Except that it had been raining lightly but steadily for the past 2 days. Much like the monsoon periods in Singapore.

Morse College-Dining Hall

interior of Harry Potter-ish Dining Hall
(i've come to fall in love with brick walls and buildings)

Woke up this morning and told my reflection in the mirror, no more making small talk when I don’t want to, but only when I genuinely want to be friendly. I’m too jetlagged, tired and grouchy to truly make friends with the other international students yet. I’ve been discovering some things about myself as well. never really thought about it that much but in Yale where most people are rather vocal and verbose, knowing how to maintain, lead and flow with conversation; my aura of silence and deep thinking stands in contrast. I’ve been learning to be more assertive, direct and basically stronger when expressing my opinion. It’s been a little uncomfortable somewhat, but I’m learning to externalize my thought process.

potted plants just outside my suite

my spacious and comfortable room

The Singapore bunch’s (10 of us) gelling quite well though. Such an irony that the intellectual stimulation thusfar has been mainly learning through conversations with the rest of the NUS people. Everyone is knowledgable about stuff ranging from philosophy,, history, art, film, politics that conversations are never dull and superficial. Not that we all know EVERYTHING, but learning from each other has proved to be so enriching. I must commend the boys for being rather chivalrous. Lucas walked me in the rain twice and helped me with my luggage when I first reached. Weilong gave up his umbrella for the girls when it rained. Yingting has proved to be quite promising shopping escort. Suresh’s been friendly and nice. I like the synergy in the group, although the bunch who traveled New York are a little closer to each other. Generally, friendly vibes I just wish that one of the girls will stop using American language. Referring to girls as “chicks” and boys as “dudes” and using "shit like that" in place of "etc" every conversation is reminiscent of too much American TV and sitcoms baby.

more of Morse College

view of The Green on my way to Yale.

(there was some sort of rather rowdy rally going along which involved the Hispanic community. it may be because of Freedom Writers, i have this strange affection for the Hispanics. )

I love being here here at Yale because everything from the campus to the people to the food even, stimulates you to think and debate. The environment is such that there is no academic pressure, only academic appreciation. the class on EVIL today was awesome. There were older seniors from Yale, graduate students and a return student who decided to come back to school after taking over his father’s automobile company. The diversity of people here is just amazing.

Safety seems to be a concern though, we’ve repeated been reminded that like every other city, there is crime and it pays to be vigilant. Think it sounds like Singapore rhetoric? A fellow student was mugged at gun point just outside my college (equivalent to hall in NUS) last night. From my room I’ve been hearing police sirens quite frequently for the past 2 days. there it goes again, even as i'm typing this at 8pm at night. The city given has police escort services and there are Yale transit buses to ferry you back to campus at night if you feel unsafe. Each student is given an electronic key to get pass the main gate of our college, a key to the entry way to your block, a third key to your suite (group of 4 rooms) and a 4^th, which is a room key. Great security there, but reveals the extent of danger that warrants such vigilance. Supper outside of the campus is rather unthinkable; at least we haven’t gotten brave enough to. But nothing about the physical space gives me bad vibes; I just love it here. It’s like a sleepy town waiting to be discovered. The architecture is amazing and speaks of intellectual diginity; from Yale to churches to historic buildings and town houses. I just wish that I could explore the town at night.

blogger.

i don't read alot of blogs. was googling around and i found this random blog
, apparently one of my juniors in school, whom i never had the chance to know. the thrill of reading familiar thoughts that once went through my mind, and current thoughts that preoccupy mine now. she loved Idealism too, a kindred spirit.

The soldiers that have trespassed on the ground of my mind the past week in no rank nor file:

Poetry is language symmetry, yinyang magic.

Lost in the music your heart will be mine.

mystress - tryst - mistrust

Ugly competition lurks around sentimental class reunions.

When I'm plugged in, the world becomes my mtv.

Everytime my eyes fall downward to my new scar, I feel human. My gaze clings to it the same way your mind lingers on the beauty of sadness. I feel resolved knowing that my skin communicates the constant agony in my head.

The people who have woken me up before are the ones I trust the most. There is something special in rousing me from my daily death. I trust you to bring me to life again.

I told Adeline: Happiness is not an achievement, it's a decision.

I poke fun at ugly couples because they dare to do what I don't.

The acute realisation that We are the Future hit me again.

Journalism is a mechanism for adding to the total amount of knowledge in the world.

I'll just be a companion. Grey. It will be a grand nothing day. Say yes. Say.

Stop doing things tomorrow.

I want to be able to hold your gaze when you ask about my history.

Everyone has got bets on each other.