the Lines that got Cancelled

From time to time memories pop up, and when they do, we start the entire journey of reminiscence.

For some of us, we take it step by step. We move forward and backward in our memories as if we were replaying a VHS tape and watching the scenes take place backwards. For some of us, we operate our memories as we would a DVD player where we choose the section that we wish to see and jump straight to it. And there are those of us who factor our memories as online streaming where the past and present are merged into an ongoing download with no buffering but we leap to the very second that we wish to see. 

Today I'm suddenly remembering my very first press release. 

I didn't know how to write one. I didn't know the right way. Thank goodness there were lovely colleagues who guided me on the essentials and straightaway I plunged into writing out a single paragraph. (It's usually a page but the boss said a paragraph would do)

Now, I knew it wasn't good. It was, like, sub-par of the sub-par. In other words, I had no frigging' idea what the frak I was writing. No style, no composure whatsoever, but still, there was this wee little bit of hope that there would be at least one thing right, wouldn't it? 

Ha!

It came back to me cancelled from top to bottom. Line by line by line, the boss had rewritten and restructured. She had given it a new voice. She had inserted new vocabulary. She had turned the grammar inside out. She had shifted it from a passive voice to an active one. There were additions, subtractions, replacements, words of engagement, words of action, words of description, words of the present, words that would make a very busy person stop and do a double-take.

Ten lines, every single one of them crossed out neatly, and I can see the black lines of the pen she used.

But I learnt what it meant to have a seller's voice from her.

Because that's what a press release really is. More than the product or service that our clients are offering- they can well do that with marketing, no- we're selling an angle, a story, a perspective.

One that with Media and what the potential is, we'll get that perspective going somewhere.

looking at the Set

At this very moment, right here, right now,  I'm (technically) not supposed to be writing about the set.  

Not because of an NDA or anything, instead what I'm supposed to be doing is to throw my faculties on plot development and storyline. 

But there are times that you do have some parts down pat whereas the others are drifting mists in the wind, and there are times when in some sort of irony, you find yourself looking at the very neighborhood that inspired your characters.

Very often we find ourselves having to visualize what the actual scene looks like; very often we find ourselves having to put our mind to the layout and everything and visualize them as they 'live' out their universe. Few are the times when we're actually in the midst of the neighborhood where they're meant to dwell in and you realize, with a stunner, that oh man, they're REAL people. 

I mean they could be around me right now. They could be hovering over my shoulder watching what I bang out on my MS Word. They could be walking along the pavements in the hot sun, hurrying their way to their destinations. They could be in their cubbyholes right now, plugging through another day at work.

They could be this person I see strolling in front of me, clutching plastic bags from the supermarket.
They could be this person hunched over the table as he munches on a piece of toast.
They could be this person who is now dashing across the road with an umbrella over her head.
It could be anyone.
It could be the person standing at the front of the convenience store waiting for another.
It could be the one who is staring at the menu placed in front of the little diner.

There are two, if not more, worlds that exist in what we do, and frequently, depending on the medium and style that we choose, the two worlds don't merge.

But today, for the first time I realize that sometimes it doesn't necessarily have to be a particular style that plops you in the center of the action. You don't have to have a particular style in order to plop yourself in the center of the action. You just need to plop yourself there first, spin the camera around, and there, you have a theme that speaks not of your voice, but their voice. You cease to be a storyteller. You cease to provide an opinion or direct the flow of thought.

Instead, you become an observer who simply reverses the position of the camera, give them the mike and seek out the thread that binds them together. Is that also a storyteller? Does an observer become a storyteller? Or is the observer simply an editor?

We'll have to see.

But for now, the skies are getting grey. There's a curtain shade of sorts in front of me which makes the world before me look like it had vertical stripes dangling from something up above. The offices are there, the rows of shop houses and cafes are there and I'm seeing time and people stream comfortably, easily about and around me.

three Granite quarries

He suggested that we go take a ride on Pulau Ubin.

I said, fine. let's go. That's what we wanted to do for over a week or so already, and since we didn't have our bikes and we had to rent, might as well go to a place where you feel is somewhat worth renting a bike. So, over to the eastern seaboard we went, hopped onto the bumboat for $2.50 a person and sailed onto the waters, the diesel engine making  bup-bup-bup sounds along the way.

(I mention this because there's a very distinct sound that diesel engines on these ferries make, and they remind me of islands, lighthouses, chalets and coconut trees.)

Two bikes we rented from one of the shops in the town center, and off we went, passing through the main road which has tree roots popping right up through the tarmac and then wound our way around here and there and then past some spanking new research center that looked weirdly out of place in the kampong atmosphere. Into this pathway of trees we headed next, and which I remembered, because there was one time I biked on it by night and that was the first time I had an inkling of what real darkness was and I didn't have a bike light with me then and it was so dark I couldn't see s***.

Anyway, we reached this place that once used to be a resort of sorts but which is now no more, and the State has posted one big sign on the main gate claiming its territory.

Up a couple of granite roads after that, and can I say that I'm terrified of granite paths when I'm biking, especially when I'm going uphill and down? I mean, I feel the BUMP when I'm going up, and there's this duk-duk-duk feeling when I'm going down. And I'm terrified to brake for fear of toppling over, and I know not to jam the brakes, and so for the entire friggin' time I was basically controlling my handlebars like mad, letting the momentum carry me along whilst attempting to keep my sense of balance and direction. 

Which, poor unadventurous rider who is scared of scrapes that I am, was not finding it very fun at all.

It was more than a bike ride. There was plenty of hopping up, hopping down, logical thoughts, making slope assessments on the ball and plenty of hiking, which I found wasn't really that bad after a while. And there were no crises, nor any bicycle jams, other than on a downslope when on my left, there were these ladies who had decided to brake for some reason, and on my right, one group had decided that yeah, we'll just gather here whilst we figure out where to go next, and riders behind had to control speed, control direction, and control gauge all at the same time- not the mention that behind each incoming rider rode another coming up right behind.

Each ride has its rewards.

This one, no less.

The cliffs are beautiful. The granite walls are high, solid, harsh, cold, impenetrable, but they're beautiful. From where I stood- when I safely arrived- there were trees on top of those cliffs, foliage surrounding them. There were beautiful creatures too. I saw a huge brown caterpillar trying to cross the road. I saw a flying fox. I saw a few critters hidden here and there amongst the leaves.

The colors of the waters in the quarry are breathtaking. At Ketam quarry it is a blue. Over at the other quarry, it is an emerald green, and over at the third quarry, there's a current of emerald green with a dark algae green current running through it.  

I think we went over all the passable roads. I've not explored Pulau Ubin long enough to know the ins and outs. Neither do I know where the hidden paths and the little roads are. There are little lanes that lead you to a temple, and there are little lanes that lead you to the Outward Bound Campsite. And there's a road that directs you to the Chek Jawa wetlands, on which you have to go on foot. 

Maybe one day I'll go look for the house on the other end on the island that they say is built in the Tudor style and which used to contain a really huge fireplace.

But for now, we were done, and we finished the ride off with coconuts and a diet coke. :)



chasing the Dime



I picked up this book again.

 

Partially because I'd not seen it on the shelf for such a long time, partially because there is always something intriguing about the Internet world of vice and porn, and partially because it really isn't always about the Internet world of vice and porn, but is really about people whom you know- or people whom you think you know.

 

If Henry Pierce knew- really, really knew- about Cody Zeller and what truly went on behind his hacking abilities... then there'd be no story in the first place. There'd be no story development at all. He's a chemist (of sorts), this Henry Pierce, and his world is about nanotechnology and proteus and building the biological electrical charges for molecular technology to work. His world is about patents and burning carbon and lab work. His world is about draft patents and investors and shares.

 

But his world grows beyond the familiar when a telephone number assigned to his new apartment turns out to be the same on a advertisement for sexual services belonging to one Lilly Quinlan, who has since gone missing. And so, from the website where an alluring, come-hither photograph and description lead to the offices cum studios where the girls can advertise, to the post office, to her f*** pad (her place of work), to her own home that she rents, to her mother's place in Florida, to another f*** place where there are smoothies to be sold across the road to Domino's Pizza because the girl she works with- Lucy LaPorte aka Robin- likes pizza but hates smoothies...

 

In LA this may happen to be, but perhaps, this IS everywhere.

 

And that makes this one story so compelling.

 

Because in every society there are layers which we don't see. Where on the external there are societal benchmarks and morally right behaviors, beneath the layers in the cities, suburbs, and communities, there can be opposing needles on the moral compass.  Where there can be brains, there is also brawn. Where there can be patents and research in cold, clinical labs on one end, there can be implants and leather masks with zippers at the mouth in dingy, dirty basements. Yet, they co-exist.

 

It's not as if the worlds don't merge. They do, which is why it is remarkably surprising when you find out that the upright character in your community turns out to have a hidden fetish for unbridled lust and power.

 

It's an unending debate- this problem of vice and pornography and plenty of thoughts abound regarding this. But the point it, it doesn't matter what you feel towards it. Whether you judge it, venture into in, like it, hate it, condemn it, accept it, support it or are already part of it, this place is there- and it isn't going away anytime soon. Whether or not you sympathise with the girls because they're just wanting to earn money and get out and go to school, or whether you think they entered with their eyes wide open and therefore knew what they were in for and they get what they deserve, these two worlds are just going to stay. 

 

What then do we do since we don't know whether it can be correctly identified as a problem and we don't know the appropriate solution? What then do we do since we can try as hard as we might, but still face the tsunami of overloading issues?

And what then do we do since no one's talking, and no one's saying anything and we don't know what is, or what is not, and how they are, and how they are?

Do we just leave things be?

Do we just let it happen on its own?

Do we intervene, or interfere?

Is this something that should be entirely eradicated? If yes, what happens thereafter? If no, how then should it exist?

 

These are hard questions, to which few, if not no one, can balance the answers. These are questions that rely on a set of beliefs, a directive for living, and given the complexity of the human character and personality, there is no way we can go please everyone.

 

In the meantime, there are human beings inside there. People who have stories they may want to tell. People who have stories that they don't want to tell. We won't know which is which, but given that not all of us have the opportunity to venture into the deepest unknowns, there are also some of us who do.

And I'm glad that for those who do, their avenues of expression and (fictional) information) offer us a little glimpse into their worlds.

a cup of Frozen Yogurt

I've made my first dessert round at The Line's lunch buffet and on my little plate I've had a slice of Earl Grey-infused cake, a slice of durian mousse cake, a slice of rich chocolate cake and a couple of profiteroles doused under a running chocolate fountain.

But I'm not done with dessert yet.

I'm standing in front of a frozen yogurt dispensing machine with a paper cup in hand, waiting impatiently for the fella in front of me to hurry up and go away.

I wonder how many twirls I can do before I lose balance of my cup. :)

It's not new; frozen yogurt. It's been there for a long time, but just like ice cream, it's one dessert that's impossible to grow tired of. 

It's a dessert that's there when you don't want ice cream or cake or a whole bar of chocolate. It's a dessert for the days when it's been much of a downer and you want to perk yourself up. It's a dessert for the days when you want to really, really, really stuff your face with a whole tub of hazelnut ice-cream but... can't.

Maybe it's the fact that the palate's all tart and sweet and sour at the same time. Maybe it's the fact that there's this part that melts into refreshing juice when you place the froyo on your tongue. Or maybe it's so versatile that you can place as many toppings as you want- fresh fruits, nuts, chocolate chips, smarties, cookies, oreo bits, wafers, meringues even, and sauces like caramel, chocolate and strawberry.  

 

This trend of froyo has caught on for a while now. There're new outlets and new brands popping up in our malls. At one time there was just Yami Yogurt with her plain, peach and macadamia nut flavors. Then one day there was Red Mango and Yoguru and now there's Llao Llao, which is like the hottest thing in town. They've opened quite a few outlets here and there and to date, there's a long, long queue at nearly every outlet. It's not hard to detect whether there's an outlet in the mall or not. Just look out for the people walking around with plastic cups and tall, green spoons reminiscent of the aloe vera leaf. 

I'm a lazy queue-r so I've gone to Yami Yogurt most of the time. I take the plain, and then I put toppings of chocolate chips and sunflower seeds that make me feel healthier but like a birdie nonetheless.  

This afternoon I had mine plain with zero toppings. Two cups, two twirls that I ate dine-in, and one that I sneaked out for the road.

Because I felt like it. :)




froyo shaped like a... um... ear

soft... and soothe...