A while ago, Mian recommended a Japanese film (Departures/Okuribito) to me, because she thought I'd like it like she did. She didn't elaborate much on the film, except for the fact that it won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film at the 2009 Oscars, so I went to google it myself. After realising that a large part of the film is on funerals, I avoided watching it.

I'm not good at dealing with departures and funerals scare me. I went for my uncle's service in Malacca a few years ago, but I ran away the night before the actual ceremony. I still have memories of hearing the nails being hammered into the coffin, my brother crying, thinking that we would never get to see her face again and the finality of reality setting in. I can deal with the memories, but I can't deal with reality.

I'm so tired of running away.

After some contemplation, I wanted to know what made this film worthy of an Academy Award, so I watched it anyway. The pace of the film is slow, so much so that I got distracted a couple of times. Because of that, however, there was a calm sense of strength underlying the development of the plot, flowing serenely with the deep, soothing notes of the cello, played by the protagonist. It is definitely different from all the Hollywood Blockbusters with its notable quiet charm, but I shall reserve my judgment on whether it really deserves an Academy Award.

I saw it though - the beauty of death.

No matter if you are tired of loving or tired of hating; whether you are suffering or in pain; whether you are crying and feel your heart breaking; whether you are depressed or disappointed, angry or upset - such is life and it ends with death, but so do joy and the happiness of living. To know that there is an end to all our pain and happiness, is life comforting or cruel?

Death may be inevitable, but it doesn't mean we don't have to live. In fact, all the more we should live till it drains us, love till it hurts, try till we fail, because someday, this too shall pass.

I am finally done with my last TOS assignment for a while (unless I decide to pitch some stories of my own), except for some loose strings to tie up. I realise that once I get caught up with work, I lose all sense of time and perspective, rejecting a couple of job assignments I ought to have taken up, like helping out with 360's translation of a project I was a part of and interviewing Vanness Wu for his new movie. So before I start tackling my mountainous schoolwork and get myself immersed in it, I thought I should get this out of my system or in the blink of an eye, I might just miss my chance to do so.

Thanks to Lyn's msn nick, I am now aware of the fact that in less than six weeks' time, assuming everything goes smoothly, I will be out of this great binding institution I call school. I don't really know how to make sense of that but in retrospect, I do think I've gained a lot from it.

You, my dear friends, make the most of it.

I won't pretend that jumping out of my safety net and going into the real world doesn't scare me, but more than that, this is the first time in my life that I feel like I have a choice because I don't have a plan. It is not like having a choice over which school to go to, but having a choice not to go to school at all, which I, of course, didn't dare to venture. I'm not saying that I have a choice not to work either, it's just that now, I have the whole world to choose from.

I know I'm being a little too optimistic, especially when the world is in such dire state, but it's not as if I'm not prepared for setbacks, rejections and failures along the way. I just don't want to give up without fighting hard enough.

I might be a little slow on the uptake, but Come Dance With Me, the dance programme I had been researching on, during my internship at 360, is airing every Friday night, 8pm, on Channel U! Three episodes have been aired, but there are ten more!

It feels good to see the final work, knowing that you have played a part in it. :)

When Dr. Mika Toyota recommended the local film(s), Diminishing Memories I & II, to us during our Urban Anthropology class on Friday (190908), I jolted out of my sleepy trance.


I almost forgot all about it.

I wasn't able to provide Yee Peng, my research upper charge in 360, also the director-cum-producer of the films, much help, since school was beginning to take its toll on me. However, with much media publicity and rave reviews (from my Japanese professor, no less!), it didn't seem like she needed any of my help either.


I'm so happy for her, because for someone who has poured her heart and soul into making and promoting these, not just physically, but also mentally challenging films, she deserves all the applause she can get.

Today is my last day of work, but I’m going to talk about a book I just finished reading recently.


Forgive Me by Amanda Eyre Ward

"The circular room was lit with a soft glow. This had once been the place where a woman would sit and watch the horizon for her husband’s – or son’s – ship to sail home after years at sea. As a child, Nadine dreamed of being the one on a boat, heading toward adventure and away from her lonely house." (p. 40)

Is it possible, for a book to change your life forever?

When I picked up this book in the library, I was first intrigued by its title, before its protagonist – a journalist – appealed to me. However, it wasn’t on top of my reading list and I wasn’t even prepared to read it, let alone be inspired by it. The truth is, I only read during bedtime, because reading makes me sleepy. That is why, even though I always borrow four books from the library, I will only be able to finish one when the time’s up. Good enough for me, I thought.

I just finished one trashy book, when I started reading Forgive Me. I only had a few days left before I had to return the books, but after reading the first two chapters, I knew I had to finish it. Nevertheless, I returned the books when it was due time. A few days later, when I went to borrow the book again, it was already on loan. I settled for the classic Animal Farm and Virginia Woolf’s The Waves, but those were no good for me (I didn’t finish reading them). I couldn’t keep my mind off Forgive Me. I never thought I would be so obsessed with a book, or perhaps, it was the character.

"The summer she flew from JFK to Cape Town International Airport, Nadine was twenty-five, her hair in a long braid down her back. On her face, Nadine wore only sunscreen and ChapStick, and she was often mistaken for a student. But the lines in her forehead and the coldness in her eyes, her angry cynicism, betrayed her experience. By twenty-five, Nadine had been to Bhopal, India, where she had seen and reported on hundreds of dead bodies, victims of a slow, lethal leak in a Liberty Union methyl-isocyanate plant. She had comforted dying children in an emergency feeding center on the edge of Ethiopia’s Danakil Desert, filing detailed accounts for the Boston Tribune. Her articles about the torture wrought in Haiti by the Tonton Macoutes won her a five-hundred-dollar award, which she put toward credit card bills. She didn’t shy away from the gruesome details. In fact, as her Tribune editor, Eugenia, said, Nadine was ‘hot for gore.’" (p. 28)

I was narrating the story excitedly to a couple of my friends and family, expressing my fascination with the protagonist, when I realised they were casting me worried looks. "What?" I would ask. While some smiled knowingly, others shook their heads. "You'd better not be inspired," they seemed to tell me, though the words never came out.

To be frank, I don’t even dare to dream about it. Not now, not yet, I would tell myself. But if not now, when?

"Nadine loved talking to her subjects for hours, drinking tea and picking the locks of their minds. She was always amazed at how much people would tell her, a stranger, even as she held a pen in her hand. They seemed so eager to be seen, to be recognized. But Nadine had to listen carefully for the narrative beneath the facades they constructed for themselves." (p. 53)

As I read on, I saw myself in Nadine. It was such an alarming revelation, to know that all along, I’ve been preparing myself for this, whether knowingly or unknowingly.

"What you do is good. You rush in, detail the facts. You’re courageous. But to get better, to become a great reporter, you’re going to have to learn what it is you’re doing. You need to take it apart and put it back together with thought. You need to go to graduate school, and then stay in one place for a while. Your work needs perspective. Yes, horrible things are happening, and thank you for telling us. But why, Nadine? And what can we do about it?" (p. 29)

I have always wanted to be a journalist, not a reporter. Reporting facts does not appeal to me, because no matter how hard you try, the facts you report on, no doubt genuine, are always partial and will never be objective. Since that is the case, I would rather write a transparently opinionated article, supported by factual evidence and knowledge (thanks to Sociology). More than just informing, I would want my readers to think about what I wrote.

"Nadine was ready to stare the worst in the face. But a steady paycheck still eluded her. It was part of the job: stringers paid their own way, hoping to sell enough stories to cover plane tickets, hotels (or crummy apartments), meals. Sometimes Nadine was forced to share a room with a more established reporter. Eugenia often bought Nadine’s stories, but Nadine dreamed of a steady position. Or the ultimate prize: paid expenses." (p. 28)

I was often reminded of how tough it is to be a journalist, especially when the pay hardly measures up to the effort required to do the job well.

According to Professor Randy Pausch (if you have yet to watch his Last Lecture, please do!), however, brick walls are there to prove how badly we want things. So you see, not anyone can become a journalist. It is not so much your ability to write, as it is your willingness to endure the hardships, be it physical or mental, and accept the fact that your incentive does not (usually) come in monetary form. It is the fire burning in your heart.

"Nadine relished the drive home with pages of scrawled notes. She would pour a glass of wine, play some jazz, and type on her antique Olivetti – she had bought it in a Station Street pawnshop – finding the arc of the story in the process. The hiss of the fax machine, the thrill of snapping open a paper to see her name, the way people lit up when they realized she had written an article they had read and thought about: Nadine loved it all."

And so do I.

I guess now, I know what my calling is. Perhaps I always knew. Forgive Me might have helped me see it, but my stint in 360 affirmed it. ;)

P.S. In case you are wondering, Forgive Me, as its title suggests, is actually about forgiveness. Many people think that forgiveness is all about pardoning those who have wronged you, freeing them from guilt. What they usually fail to see is that it is really about letting go and freeing yourself from pain, in order to move on. As Nadine travels to South Africa to relinquish the ghost of her past, Ward’s clever writing subtly brings her readers through different dimensions of time, allowing us to learn, along with Nadine, more about the past Apartheid regime in South Africa, which was filled with tragedies, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission following the end of Apartheid, where your ability to forgive would truly be tested, as well as your own life, to reflect upon. For me, it was an enlightening journey of self-discovery. :)

I was watching the last episode of My World My Blog (the off-line version) in the office the other day, since William was in it. Soon, I was drawn into the plot, almost forgetting that I was watching it for William (though I did chuckle when I saw the scene).

I have watched a couple of episodes thus far and there was always this lingering thought at the back of my head - why is it so dark? I don't just mean the dark hue perpetually clouding each episode (which I know is also a way to synchronise all the episodes by various producers), but also the dark, gloomy content.

I have been wondering for a while now, are youths these days simply indulging in pain? Self-mutilation, depression, rebellion and self-destruction - it is no wonder adults tend to think that youths nowadays are weak. True enough, from years of eavesdropping (not that I can help it, since I can't close my ears) on the bus, train, or even on the streets, I've gathered that these youngsters are no longer comparing who has a better life, but who has got it worse. No, contrary to popular belief, victimizing themselves is not a way to gain sympathy, but to glorify their toughness, having withstood such misery. But have they, really?

I've said this before and I will say it again: We don't have to follow a scripted life. Having a tragic past is no excuse to be weak and all the more does not justify your selfish, wayward behaviour. You don't have to be rebellious, just because you come from a broken family, and neither do you have to be self-destructive, just because you have been hurt. If you are able to indulge in such pain, obviously you haven't been hurt enough. Because if you had, you would be struggling to crawl out of it. Courage is not the absence of fear, it is knowing that there is something more important than that. Optimism is true strength.

As if I've always been optimistic. :P

"Youth can not know how age thinks and feels, but old men are guilty, if they forget what it was to be young." - Albus Dumbledore

If I were to look back at my embarrassing past, I probably wouldn't dare to call myself optimistic at all. How could I, when I had been indulging in my own pain? But that is youth, isn't it? So filled with angst, frustration and dissatisfaction, yet so helpless and aimless, this is the only period of time that you are allowed to vent your emotions freely, without the baggage of maturity to weigh you down. Being immature is youth's right, but adults often forget that, as they force these youngsters to grow up more quickly than they are prepared to.

Isn't it funny how I contradict myself so readily? Is that why youths and adults can never resolve their conflicts?

So what about me? I guess I'm a masochistic adult (essentially, still a kid), who is trying so hard not to succumb to the temptation of pain by constantly reminding herself that life is too beautiful to waste it on misery. :)

Trivia:

• The office has been awfully quiet recently. Other than having free pizza for lunch today (thanks to the bowling winners!) and being asked for opinion on some translating issues, nothing out of the ordinary has happened. But I could get used to this. :)


• Yee Peng just emailed me and told me there might be some problems with the liaisons for the two US dances, which I had spent more time researching on (particularly Hip Hop, since it's one of my interests as well). I'm worried. :(


• I saw Agnes a couple of times around my workplace and I finally asked her where exactly she was working at. No prizes for guessing where. Yes, it's exactly the same building as mine! ;)

That was a little awkward.

A while ago, I was busy trying to apply for internships. After slacking away all of my holidays previously, doing nothing substantial and feeling a tad useless, I decided that I had to be more active in the search this time. Screwing up my Mediacorp and SPH chances during one of these holidays didn't help at all.

You see, I didn't want to apply to just any job. I wanted to do something I like and might want to pursue in the future. I mean, that is the whole point of an internship, right? To be willing to work at a meager pay, because really, what they are paying you is not the money, but the experience and your own burning passion (which incidentally means suffering etymologically, as one of my 360 colleagues pointed out recently).

However, I broadened my scope this time around. I used to apply to publications only, thinking rigidly that it would probably be what I would (and could) do in the future - writing. But there are so many forms of writing. I could be writing for scripts in 360; I could be writing for press releases in a marketing firm; I could even be writing a book as an author! Well, I should consider every possibility, no? :P

I think it paid off.

Securing a freelancing job with Time Out Singapore, interning in 360 and now, having Red Dawn Communications contact me for an internship offer, even willing to wait for me till my November/December holidays, after I told them I'm already interning in a production company, each was a dream come true.

The thing about Red Dawn Communications is that I've liaised with them before, on behalf of HOOKED, when they emailed me to collaborate on a couple of their events, which they had hoped to market to the tertiary crowd. Before I agreed, I went to their website and checked out their credits, before deciding if HOOKED should work with them. Yes, for privatized companies to work with HOOKED, the event must be at least mildly interesting enough to engage our readers and/or the company must be credible enough for us to work together on a long term basis. Plus, of course, there must be incentives for HOOKED, either in monetary form (sponsorship) or simply the invites for movies or events. I was pleasantly surprised when I visited their website, where their creativity shone through, which was also why I agreed to promote their events for them on HOOKED, as well as my application for an internship there later on.

I had a missed call from an unfamiliar number recently, but I have this annoying habit of not returning calls, as I believe they will either call again or text me if it was something urgent. Out of curiosity, I googled the number (mind you, it doesn't always work) and realised it came from Red Dawn Communications. I thought they wanted to collaborate with HOOKED on a certain event again and was waiting for their email. Well, they emailed me alright, but it was regarding my application for an internship quite some time ago. The PR director, who was also the one liaising with me for their events, emailed me saying that her colleague told her about me and she thought my name sounded familiar. I guess that was how she found me via email. But I felt a little awkward. It was precisely because I didn't want to go through HOOKED as a channel that I emailed my application to her colleague, instead of her. It was nice of her though, to contact me directly. After politely telling her that I'm currently interning, but was still grateful for her reply, she offered me an internship for my next holiday.

I know, when opportunities present itself, I should grab it with both hands (and legs), but I need to think it through, because once I'm into something, I don't (and I won't) give up.

Since this is a year of first(s) for me, it only means that I've got to get used to being a rookie at everything. Well, almost. And I don't just mean being a rookie at work, though that pretty much makes up the reason why I'm writing this entry.

As a typical Taurus, I used to abhor changes in life. No, let me rephrase that. I was afraid of changes, because it meant that I had to get out of my comfort zone, away from everything that I was familiar with and start afresh - as a rookie.

If you had known me long (and well) enough, you would have known how lousy I was at adapting to a new environment, as you would have deduced from my silly attempt to transfer from St Nicks to Cedar, where my other primary school friends were; my traumatic experience in Hwa Chong; as well as my short stint staying in hall. The funny thing was, I always thought I was independent enough to survive alone in a jungle where every creature looked as strange as the next. Or perhaps, I was too independent, to the point where I became a little autistic.

I'm not someone who warms up to others easily. Usually, I will take my time to observe, understand and see how much we have in common, before I decide how much I should open up to a person. I'm never good with frivolous small talks (trust me, I've tried and failed), because I like to make friends, not acquaintances (unless absolutely necessary, like the fleeting tutorial mates!). I always believe that if you used your heart to talk to someone, you would hear the words coming from their heart as well.

It's the same, being a rookie at work. You observe, understand and make sense of whatever that is required of you to do, before you decide how much effort you should put into it. However, every ounce of effort should come straight from the heart, so that every reward that comes with it would go straight to your heart too.

As I gradually grow out of the phase of uncertainty and self-doubt, I finally see the benefits of changes. Now, changes excite me, because I know, very deep down in my heart, that each change brings about a new beginning, and with it, comes various opportunities and challenges that will only spur me on to work harder. Never mind if I still take a long time to get used to it.

Life is so full of possibilities, if only one is able to embrace it fully, for better or worse. I don't want to waste any chances. :)

P.S. Speaking of first(s), I just received the latest (browsing) copy of Time Out Singapore (July) with my short informative piece in it! I thought they were simply going to incorporate the information that I had gathered for them within their main feature article, but they gave me a column instead. Funny how they assumed Sinnie Lee (the nickname on my gmail) to be my real name though.

Believe it or not, English used to be the bane of my existence.

Growing up in a Mandarin-speaking family, I used to find comfort speaking in Chinese. Incidentally, excelling in Chinese language lessons further boosted my confidence in the language. However, when it comes to language, there seems to be a trade-off. It's either you are good in Chinese or you are good in English, never both.

So it seemed natural then that while I breezed through Chinese tests, I was always struggling with my English papers. I never used to be good in it, in fact, I was afraid of it.

When I was younger, I was constantly reminded by the teachers to brush up my English. "Sin Yee is a promising student, but she should read more English books to improve her language skills," they would note in my report book. Each time, though, I would brush it aside, thinking that if I were to improve on my English, it would mean I'd have to sacrifice Chinese. I didn't want to risk it. Besides, rather than using it as a form of motivation to work harder, the more these teachers harped on my lack of competence in English, the less confident I was in the subject.

The ultimate came when I was in primary six, when Mrs Alan Cheah, my then form teacher, requested for me to bring my parents to the Meet-and-Greet session. You see, it wouldn't have been a big deal, if not for the fact that only problematic kids had to do that. I believe I was a little more towards the obedient girl type in primary school and my results then were considered pretty decent, so I never expected myself to be called up. That day, Mum came.

I remember walking to school with her, arm in arm, telling her I had no idea why I had to bring her there, since I didn't remember doing anything wrong. She didn't say a word, but simply locked my arm tighter with hers.

When we arrived in school and sat in the room, along with the rest of my problematic classmates and their parents, my heart was racing and my mind was spinning. "What exactly did I do wrong?" I kept asking myself. When my Chinese teacher, Mr Teo, came into the room, he was shocked to see me. He asked me what I was doing here, while I shook my head and shrugged, since I had no idea either. When he saw my Mum sitting beside me, he started praising me and telling my Mum that she had nothing to worry about, especially for my Chinese language. His blunt compliments actually made me blush, but when I looked at my Mum, she didn't seem to have much expression on her face.

As Mrs Cheah walked into the room, she gathered everyone to sit around her, while she assessed our performance. When it was my turn, she glanced at me with an exasperated look on her face. My heart probably stopped for a fraction of a second when she turned to look at my Mum, her expression softened into a smile.

She told my Mum that she probably had nothing to worry about me, but the reason why she asked my Mum to come down with me was because she had high hopes for me, hoping that I would be the girl scholar who would obtain 4A*s in my PSLE (and she would give me forty bucks as reward for the effort - that was outright bribery). She said that the only subject weighing me down was English and that my Mum should encourage me to read more English books. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief, since, well, it was nothing I had never heard before. But when I turned to look at my Mum, I could see her eyes welled up with tears. I was shocked and felt really guilty for disappointing her, but while we were walking home, she gave me a peck on my cheek, which made me realise that she wasn't disappointed, she was proud of me.

I've gotten 3A*s and 1A for my PSLE, and needless to say, the subject that costed me my forty bucks reward from Mrs Cheah was English.

When I first got into St Nicks, I was intimidated by the English-speaking environment, which was probably why I wanted to transfer out of it initially. Well, I'm glad I didn't, since St Nicks was a turning point in my life, making me realise that I could be proficient in both English and Chinese. It didn't come easy though.

As usual, I was never good in English. I was usually the one who was asked to stay back for remedial English classes. I was even afraid I wouldn't be promoted if I were to fail English. That was how bad I was. In fact, I started writing diaries because Mrs Sushilla (my daunting English teacher when I was in secondary one) said it would improve our English.

When the Sciences came into the picture, however, English was no longer my worst subject. In fact, while battling with the Sciences, my English was improving gradually. Nevertheless, I was still considered mediocre in English, which was why when I managed to get A2 for English during my preliminaries in secondary four, Mrs Sng, my then form teacher, also the one who taught us English, was surprised. Actually, me too. And as if to prove it wasn't a fluke, I've gotten A1 for 'O' Level English Language as well. But I didn't find out via the usual way of looking at the results transcript, I found out through Mrs Sng's aggressive reaction when she saw me, pointing and shouting "YOU!" at me, before giving me a gigantic hug, telling me I did well. It was all very sudden. No, I don't mean Mrs Sng, I mean my improvement in English.

One of the many reasons I've managed to get into Hwa Chong for my first three months in junior college, despite my lousy preliminary grades, was probably because I was doing well in my languages, as the teacher in charge of the table tennis team told me. It was then that I realised my languages have become my redemptive qualities.

So instead of continuing to feel inferior about English (even after many years of being told by the teachers that I was lousy in it), I felt that I should embrace the beauty of the language and use it to express the beauty in life. Perhaps I may not be as good as those who have a strong foundation in English, but by accepting that fact, I'm always willing to learn and I'm always receptive to criticisms.

When the teachers insisted on the fact that reading could improve my vocabulary, it didn't appeal to me. I'm never a fan of big words that would create nothing but distance between a story and its readers. Besides, they probably never thought that online thesaurus would come in handy. However, even though reading still makes me sleepy, I'm slowly picking it up, because I enjoy reading, not to memorise grand phrases, but to appreciate the beauty of the language through the various expressions used by different writers as they paint their stories with different brush strokes for their readers. Well, I always think of writing as an art.

Right now, I probably still have much room for improvement, but I thank each and everyone of you who has been encouraging me along the way, from friends to family, from professors to superiors, because each compliment makes me a little less inferior and a lot more motivated to become better in writing.

Ee Bing asked me last night, when we met up for our primary school gathering (another enjoyable catching up session with old mates!), if I would always think through what I'd write before writing these entries and I told her it would have been too tiring to do so. Come to think of it, I do.

I used to write freely when I was younger, without inhibitions (or grammar, for that matter). As much as I enjoy laughing at myself when I read my past entries, they don't seem to hold any memory for me. In that case, I feel like I wasn't doing justice to the language. No, to me, especially as someone who lacks the foundation, it's not about how well you write, but how well you express yourself through writing. I write, not to impress, but to share.

So yes, I do think about how to express myself aptly and adequately before writing, stringing every word together, hoping that it would express exactly the way the feelings are strung in my heart.

As I continue to strive to improve my English, I only hope my Chinese won't deteriorate. The effectively bilingual producers in 360 are my source of motivation. ;)