Why In The Long Run, Those People Doesnt Matter Anymore
Life this month has certainly been enlightening. I didnt know that meditation would bring about this sense of inner knowing about myself and other people. I’ve also began to realise that there are certain trends that people exhibit and there’s usually a pattern in how they behave. But yeah, there’s a bunch of illusions about myself and friends that I’ve released and I think I finally realise what I wanna do in life, what I want for myself and sorta have a little glimpse who my true authentic self is. There’s no hurry in learning who I am and what I want, I just got to keep working at it.
Sigh… Talking with Meiyi if taught me anything, it’s that life isnt about winning or grabbing awards (even though those are always fun.) And this is where I truly think we neighbourhood kids have it better than the elites. In ten years down the road, no one’s going to care what school you come from or how many As you scored. We have tasted the bitterness of falling down, being stepped on, abused, laughed at with our faces walloped in mud. And then there’s that sourness of relationships gone wrong and the occasional bout of sweetness when something finally went right. We are able to talk to cleaners, plumbers, gangsters and realise that they had some of the strongest, noblest heroes we had ever met. We may not be executives, lawyers or politicians when we grow up, but damn we are a lot more happier than many of them.
Dun ever let them tell you are not as smart, intelligent or anything less than you are. We have learnt that life is not about how many times we achieve, but rather how many times we pick ourselves up. Life is not about having as many friends as you can, but rather having friends that allow you to be who you truly want to be. When everything crumbles in ashes right before your eyes, we are able to stand proud and declare that we are going to build our lives again, somehow. That’s because we’re not bred for success, we’re bred for greatness. And hence we laugh at the hollowness of the petty paper chase, the insecure elitism that plagued so many that stepped on us.
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Singapore Writers Festival; What Works and What Doesnt.
This is one of the few posts that I’ll be publishing in the public domain. I’ve went to most of the panel talks and discussions, had a pyjama party in the national library and observed the crazy fan-girls hoo-haing over neil gaiman in a red jumpsuit so I can tell you what works, and what doesnt from my point of view if you plan to go for future writers fests. (Especially the upcoming one in two years time.)
1) Be selective when attending talks.
What astounds me was the varied quality of the discussions throughout the writers fest. There seems to be some fervent attempt to fill up the festival with as much clamour and chatter and panel discussions as they possibly could. Some discussions were on topics that few cared about, (The Singapore Literature Prize has made me so much confident as a writer…) awkward questions were asked by moderators, (So do you have fan mail? No. Okay, next question….) and of course, many writers arn’t neccessary good speakers at all.
Go for the ones that are interesting, such as the portrayal of women and scorn by the indomitable Australian poet, Maree Dawes. Horror novelist John Adjveist was absolutely hilarious but my absolute favourite would have to be Turkish writer Perihan Magden. Think of a witty Catherine Lim who actually critiques without political correctness.
2) Volunteers
I was pleasantly surprised at the friendliness and hospitality displayed by the SWF volunteers and the BooksActually cashiers. They were extremely accomodating and helpful in guiding the participants around. Some of them lingered around the stairs where we bitched about Adam Lambert’s new album cover and discussed Neil Gaiman’s schedule.
3)International Writers
The SWF committee has done a great job in inviting international writers, both obscure and well-known. Panel discussions on Turkish and Australian writings are extremely liberating(and witty) especially when placed in juxtaposition with the Spore writer panel discussions. Go for the talks by obscure writers; they usually are interesting.
4)Yay, Neil Gaiman.
I didn’t go for Neil Gaiman talks though I saw him signing autographs for 2 hours or so. I’m not a fan girl so I’ll give my ticket to someone who desperately wanna meet him more than I do. I thought that SWF has been extremely accomodating in increasing the audience size from a few hundred to 700 members by finding an alternate venue. It’s amazing that they invited Neil Gaiman; more literary heavyweights please. (Daniel Handler, Ian McEwan perhaps? Not Salman Rushdie of course.)
5)Most events are free. Please continue to keep it free.
6) Supper Club hosted by NLB.
I possess mixed feelings about this. There were some highlights such as the mp3 night walk trail and the emotive crayon drawings that puts the experiential elements in the into the literature symposium. There’s still a number of lecturing components present though, which demoralises quite a number of us. I doubt half of us can remember Ng Yi-Sheng’s historical musings on Bras Basah or even his name. I love bonding with all the RI, AC and HCI boys though. And the aunties who invited me to join a spontaneous writing club. More bonding with strangers, less talking.
7)Proleteriat Poetry Factory.
Was my first time churning out doggerel for random passer-bys and it was a blast. What we do is, you give us a word for inspiration and we churn out personalised poetry for you on the spot. Payment is on a donation basis. Earned 10 bucks which was great considering I wrote about 10 poems. This is one memorable poem that I wrote:
Word: Beauty
Walt Disney should suck a really big dick.
It’s always the beauty who reveals the beauty within the beast.
For once I’ll like to see the beast reveals
the beast
Within the beauty.
So in conclusion, do I think the Writers Fest is well-organised? From an outsider’s point of view, yes it is. Great hospitality and lively international writers saved the festival from becoming a literary disaster. Singaporean writers should stop being so stiff though.
Personal Note: Why do people keep thinking I’m from HCI? Is my face all that transparent? It’s not a bad thing now that i think about it but somehow it irritates me how Singaporeans tend to judge you based on the school you come from.
On Last Boy and Singapore Poetry
I’ve noticed that my posts has been fixated on the theme on literature and poetry for the past few weeks and somehow I’m unable to break off this persistent literary shadow. I’ve been reading up on Singapore literature (yes, cue the orchestra and the B/C chords) and I’m considering signing up for the Mentor Access Project, unless of course my mentor is Ng Yi-Sheng and MOE decides to step in haha. Or Alfian Saat for that matter but I digress. I’m glad that there’s some active programs present that supports the growth of the local literary scene but somehow, I’m dubious about this program. You don’t need to go for some creative writing course or have a Masters in Eng Lit to become the world’s greatest writer. You just gotta be the world’s greatest writer to become the world’s greatest writer.
Perhaps it’s just me, but somehow Singapore literature just doesnt hit the mark. You have all the local poets self-praising each other works (see below) and I’m disappointed at the quality of the literary works produced by Singaporeans. Felix Cheong’s poetry tend to be loaded with incoherent, dissimilar imagery, Gibert Koh’s poems ain’t poems, merely political diatribes arranged ingrammatically and in funny shapes. And Ng Yi-Sheng is just like T.S Eliot, only he’s being obscure for the sake of being obscure. His last boy collection is overridden with Greek, Chinese and ??? mythology that in his appendix he apologetically refers his readers to a tiresome long list of mythic references if they find his poems opaque and “obscure”. This is a perfect example of the rising aesthetic elitism present in the Singapore arts community. I’m not the only one who feels that most Singapore artists are pompous, hollow art-farts of course, but there is a reason why most Singaporeans cant list a single local writer asides from Catherine Lim; and no. Singaporeans are more well-read than you think.
http://www.qlrs.com/critique.asp?id=600
I’ve just told Aaron that his review on last boy is indulging and unnecessary kind. I’ve really tried to read last boy because Yi-Sheng seems like a sweet guy and he won the Singapore Literature Prize. He claims to be a voice for the heartlanders (Kanye West anyone?) and write poems that the layman would understand so you would notice how ironic the end result is. His use of imagery is original and occasionally appropriate at times but he becomes hypnotised by the language he uses and his message becomes garbled and unfocussed. Which was sad because I was planning to buy the book that day.
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