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