A little more

The sky was a steely cold shade of grey. As if unsure if it would let out an angry downpour or an endless drizzle.

The air was still, and lifeless. The wind didn't blow, the leaves didn't sway to a cool breeze.

I glanced at the group of men playing cricket - unwilling to leave their game even as a few droplets of rain were begining to fall.

Two boys were standing in my path, laughing like as if they heard the happiest thing in the world.

The younger one, who looked about three years old, saw me approaching, looked into my eyes, and laughed.

As if I, a complete stranger, knew his laughter. As if I shared his laughter.

At the studio on Saturday

Somehow, it feels rather therapeutic being here all alone, without the rest going on and on about upcoming projects, clients, and about each other.

Halia at the Botantic Gardens

I ordered a trout dish, and when I took my first bite... woah, I felt woozy. The slight burst of flavour, the perfect texture.

And then you discover the variety of textures, flavours and colors on a single plate. Subtle, surprising, satisfying.

Guilty expensive indulgence. Totally makes me want to work harder, earn more money, just to buy food that will take me near heaven. Haha.

Thanks!!!

The white piano

Corrinne May's "Fly away".

How?

They belong to the same puzzle.

But the pieces aren't fitting in.

Like parellel lines,

They run alongside,

Similar, but never intersecting.

There is a great gulf in between.

I saw a dead bird

You must've seen a dead bird before.

A pile of feathers lying on the ground.

Its wings once cut through still air,

It once saw our world from far above.

It once flew weightless and free,

It once perched itself high on a branch.

But when it ends...

To return to dust when death darkly calls.

That experience, how humbling it must be.

"Glenn"

Since Glenn started interning at my workplace, this song starts to play in my head whenever I call him.

Visual Poetry

I love the words.

I like the way the music, sound effects, and pictures work with the words.

Sweet sorrow

Dei came back from Russia two days ago (He said work trip, for 3 months. Wow. Sounds fun doesn't it?). I told him about Ishi.

I thought I should just let him know since he would be meeting his schoolmates during convocation, and it would have been terrible if he heard it from some random CS person. I sent an email. He replied saying he was shocked, because Ishi's a cheerful, and a very very nice person.

As I was replying the email, I remembered the time in Batam that Ishi was lazying in bed, saying he didn't want to go out and shoot, saying he wasn't feeling well. Whiny. We all had flu or cough. I bought Ribena Vitamin C pastilles for everyone to eat. Pling kept asking us to drink enough water and tried buying cough syrup without knowing how to speak Bahasa Indonesia fluently. We had to try to supress our coughing during interviews. I remember Ishi coughing when we where shooting Mami Lisa. How he lights up at the hotel corridor even though our hotel room was already filled with the smell of horrid Indonesian cigarettes. I also remember we waited so many days for a non-cloudy/rainy day to do our sunset shot, and he moved the camera towards the end of our sunset shot (argh!), and we had to fade to black instead because the sky didn't turn totally dark. I remember Dei and him eating so much at Pizza Hut. Dei drinking his cherry fanta with condensed milk, his love for mushrooms, and ayam penyet. Ishi and his KFC. How ishi always ordered teh, and pH teh-O. And how we met up at The Ricetable without pH, because he was away in Ohio. Ishi saying how he disliked the music he composed for my FYP, and then told Yeo and me about a year later that he listened to it again, and it really wasn't as bad as he thought. Mr. Perfectionist. Just little snippets here and there flashing by.

The memories have become sweeter, and yet more painful. I smile. The tears come back, without bidding. I still feel the loss.

Something new everyday

Salvador Dali designed it. Wah.

Forever feels too long, but goodbye anyway

I couldn't talk about this for the past two days because I didn't know what to say.

Sometimes, I get the feeling that if I leave a message on my blog, or on friendster, that you would be able to read it.

Knowing you, you probably picked the National Stadium as the place to die because it might be easier for you. You thought it would be easier for everyone to forget you when the stadium is torn down. Its sentimental, poetic even. Maybe it would help. I wouldn't know.

You said you knew exactly how you wanted to die, and its only now we know what you mean. I saw a picture of your mom in Wanbao on my way home yesterday. Someone was reading it in the train. You made frontpage news on a stupid tabloid. If only you could see the picture of your mom. Maybe you would have chosen otherwise.

I want to tell you that you are selfish. But I guess you probably knew what we were going to say since you always said everyhing we wanted to tell you. Maybe thats why you never left any messages, never called. Maybe that's why you didn't celebrate my birthday, and chose to go the day before we met up. It would have been bad for the four of us if we met up before you chose to go. I regret deleting our pictures off my old phone, thinking we can always take them again.

You had so much. You said you knew. You were so talented, so intelligent. You are the only person I know with a audio engineering diploma, can sing, write, compose music, play the guitar and piano, was a double maths double science student, did a chinese minor, have a comms. degree, was a professional choreographer and dance instructor. But you shouldn't be so big headed. You really did a bad job as DP for our FYP you know. I let you be the DP because you always did sound for our projects, and for almost every other project you were in. I thought it would make you happy to let you try something you wanted to do. The footage you recorded.. it had rhythm, but half the time, I really didn't know what you were framing. So I guess you knew not to be a DP.

I loved your songs. They were always so poetic. I loved your smile, how your face lights up the way it does. But I have always disliked your hairstyle =P. I don't know how to see a dog tag and not thing of you. Or an addidas bag. Or Viceroy cigarettes. Or the way you walk and how incredibly bad posture you have for a dancer. Or the way you close your eyes when you are trying to choreograph dance moves. Or sit by the esplanade, or at vivocity, without thinking about you. Or even walk along the beach in Sentosa without thinking of you dashing into the sea with the freshies, muah-cheeing people, or the time you and Yeo buried my feet in the sand, and drew a duck web for my feet instead. It was funny. Or think about cats without remembering what your mom said when we were at your house. Or Macdonald's breakfast. Or think of you when I see KFC and chickee club. Or many other mama drama silly comments you like to make. Or the 28 of June.

But I am glad I remember the happy stuff. I think we all miss you. But I think its your choice, and its too late to argue if you were right.

Rosy messaged us this morning:

O joy that seeks me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee,
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
and feel the promise is not in vain,
that morn shall tearless be.




Goodbye my friend.

I just wish you had waited. After every cold biting winter comes spring.

It was nice

Someone was feeling a million bucks after a $190 haircut. There was this elated feeling in the air that generally lifted our spirits. I am looking forward to her next haircut already.

Boss and CD said they appreciated my work, and gave such a positive work appraisal. CD said my head was turning big and he should stop already. Then he went on.

I've got two pens to fill up all the blank notebooks I've been getting, especially in a pen scarce office.

It was nice.

All about P

Yeo: Hey, I wanna pee. You want to pee?

Me: Yeah, I want to go pee.

Yeo: You go pee first.

And when I came back from the ladies, Yeo said he ordered dessert. And the brownie had a yellow candle on it. It was such a pleasant yummy surprise.




Yeo, you said I must blog about how you are the sweetest person I know rite? There you go. It a lot more than the 1 column 10cm space you were paid for selling yourself. Are you satisfied with such a fantastic bargain?

All this talk of pee reminds me of Basic Audio Video (BAV) class. The first assignment we did together involved recording audio. We had to do toilet sounds and you took the MD recorder into the men's room to record the sound of you peeing. So that was how we kinda got to know each other isn't it?

The Mind

I walk through the corridors
In search of an exit.
The doors are opening.
They reveal my thoughts, my emotions, my memories.
I try to shut each door that opens...
Shut them out.
And pretend they don't exist.
But the doors keep opening
Much faster than I can shut them.
I'm running past
Corridor after corridor
Where? where is the exit?

There's no where to run.
There is no exit.
Not when the corridors are inside me.

All things are one

"To realize one's destiny is a person's only real obligation. All things are one.

And when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."

(The Alchemist, Paul Coelho)

I picked up The Alchemist at the library because I saw about ten of them stacked on the table. I must do my part and take up one right?

Doubt

I like this quote I saw on my dear old nephew's blog.

"...it is necessary that at least once in your life, you doubt as far as possible, all things" - Rene Descartes

I dream of painting and then I paint my dream

(Inspired by Van Gogh's quote)

The pain comes again before it goes,
Memories past remain in throes.
Please dance to a different tune I entreat,
The feet moves to the same sombre beat.

From heart to head the distance grows,
Taking apart the mind torn from soul.
To dream a rainbow but wake to dark,
The flame extinguishes aft' a single spark.

Relentless whispers tell nothing will arrive
A spectre of hope I forcibly contrive
Take up that which was forsaken
Go on despite the odds that are taken.


“I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.” - Vincent van Gogh

Sisterly love

Hi, my lovely sweet sugar-coated lemon gumdrop!

She replied: "You're a puny pathetic peewee pion of a pushover!"

Conversations at work

(After a meeting with the client that felt like a war, we started talking in the car)

Colleague A:
Next time, in situations like that, don't sit with your back to the door. Like me, I sat facing the door. It's the "power position" and it allows you to have the final word in any meeting.


Colleague A:
No, I like all our people to sit in a row and fight together.

Me:
Sounds like carebears. Stand in a row and shine the rainbow to kill the evil guys.

Producer:
Yah, we want to fight like carebears.

--------------------------------------------------------

(On a day just like any other)

Boss:
Hey, do you have a stapler? Can I borrow it?

Me:
Yep.

Boss:
No I don't want to use that stapler. Its to cute for a macho guy like me.
(refering to my alligator/cicak stapler)

Me:
Haha. I wonder what S. would say to what you just said. Macho?

Boss:
That's it. Its over for your career, girl. No more prospects.

Me:
Can you give me another chance? What do you want to hear?

--------------------------------------------------------

A moment

I was in a car on the way home, peering out of the windows, once in awhile.

The sunset was gorgeous. Before the sun went down, the vanilla clouds were rimmed with soft golden hues. against a shade of pale sky blue that looks almost warm. (And blue is a cool colour. How do things like that happen in nature.) After some time, hues of pink were added in, much like an afterthought to an already brilliant painting.

Vanilla clouds rimmed with soft golden hues against the pastel pink. I felt like stopping. I felt like getting out of the car. I wanted so much to enjoy the light and colour.

But I reached my destination, got out of the car, and stepped into my home.

The Blank Answer

How do I articulate disappointment?

Thrust it to anger and let it burn.
Will it be consumed, will it turn to ashes?
Succumb to tears, will it ebb?
Wash it into hidden depths,
Hold it back.

Allow flighty distraction to be wind,
Lifting the spirit, take off in new direction.
Conjure contrived laughter, will it disappear?
Echoes fill the slient cave,
Sense empty space.

Paint a colourful mess spinning thoughts splash.
Almost unnoticeable, therein it lies quite hidden.
Let ink stain a sheet of white, will I arrive?
Yet there is no answer.
I crush paper.

The Way

Highs are really high, and lows are really quite low.

Today, it got low because some things are just done the same even though they look deceptively different. I suspect I can edit with half a brain now.

I pick shots because of similar visual continuity. It gets so methodical, I can just mark in and out a few times, dump the shots together, and somehow, it'll sync with the music or pace. I cut music the same way, even though soundtracks may be different. I do titles the same way. I animate stills the same way. My mood just sunk and I didn't feel like continuing anymore.

And things have to be done in this same way because its the way the director shoots, its the way the client expects, and its the way it has to be done because of time limitations.

In the end, the video looks different, but we know it reeks of the same thoughtless style, and we'll just ask each other why we always do it the same way. And we become sick of ourselves. I get so sick of myself.

300

As I was talking to my colleague about 300, It suddenly came to my mind that it was something Spartan, but was it baroque in style.

How ironic. How beautiful.

Never really

I closed my eyes,
Jumped the cliff,
Thinking I'll fly.
I was wrong.

Holding on to nothing,
In frantic grasp,
Its a sinking freefall,
In fearful silent regret.

But the arms of love caught me,
What a surprise.
Because now I know.
I never really wanted to fly.