Premonition

I’m not a big believer in anything superstitious. I try not to be. My western education in India, especially my science teachers did an exceptionally good job in beating the superstitions out of me that I rarely believe in any of the occult. I do sometimes profess in believing in the paranormal but I do that mostly to fit in here. I mean, nothing is a bigger killjoy when families and friends start swapping ghost stories and the occult and then you proceed to lecture then in science. So when it comes to gatherings, I tend to nod and smile but for the most part – I no longer believe in the paranormal.

Except.

I do believe in signs though. I try not to. What could be perceived as a sign could just be an event of pure coincidence so taking it as a sign is just illogical. So when I dropped chicken in soy sauce on my favourite scarf at my cousin’s baby shower, my spidey senses began to tingle. This was a sign. Something bad was going to happen to my favourite silk scarf.

As it turns out, the something bad was War Horse.

Coming back from the course in London has turned me into a pretentious, wannabe film-maker. I hear what you’re saying. You were already pretentious before you came back to Malaysia, so how is this any different? Aha. Let me explain. While before I would grit my teeth and have no say in a purely democratic vote to watch a crap movie (see: Bride Wars), now, having gained street cred as a director (ahem), I have the final say on what movie to watch. So when the choice for our monthly movie meet came up between The Phantom Menace 3D and War Horse, the pretentious film-maker in me insisted that we had to watch War Horse, despite the geek inside me sobbing at the lost opportunity of re-watching Star Wars for the fifth time.

But you know, it’s a Spielberg movie…and, you know, it was nominated for an Oscar…and stuff.

Never mind it’s about horses fighting in one of the worst wars ever to grace our planet.

As it turns out, my earlier premonition about the scarf was right. My spidey tingly senses sensed that the scarf was not safe that something bad was going to happen to the scarf. And the something bad was me. The thing is, my mother brought me up an animal lover. I love animals and an entire movie of a horse separating from it’s owner, before plenty of horses running straight into machine guns, and horses starving to death, pushed to work till they die from exhaustion. Add to me feeling particularly hormonal, you know, that time of the month left me more than pushed to the brink of tears.Let’s just say, I was sobbing. Not the Hollywood style of crying, a single teardrop rolling down my cheek. No, we’re talking the Korean drama style of sobbing, where my eyes were read, and my nose was stuffed. The only way to hide my face and quell the sounds of sniffling was unfortunately, my beautiful scarf which, I really had to try my hardest to stop using it as a large handkerchief to wipe my eyes.

I rarely cry during movies, the only time I did cry properly was when Rose was separated from the Doctor in Season 2, Doctor Who. The rest of the time, it’s just sniffles and pretending that I’m too macho for these sort of thing. I was after all, a child of the finance industry. As the events of 2008 has show, financiers lack a beating heart. Don’t believe me, run an investment banker down – cut into their chest cavity. You’re going to find nothing in there.

My other two movie partners are both children of the finance industry and they took to my outward display of emotions the best they could. One just pretended it never happened. The other, awkwardly patted me on the back and asked me if I were okay and changed the topic before even hearing my response.

It’s okay though. I’m alright. The scarf on the other hand…

The Sappy Wedding Entry

So, I attended a wedding yesterday, one of the two weddings that I will attend before my own (!!) and had a lot of fun. The number of weddings I’ve attended over the years have dwindled somewhat – most of my friends are now married with kids and their life is all about chasing little versions of themselves – so I’m trying to do the mature thing and enjoy the remaining weddings that I’ve left.

I’m a little surprised at myself for feeling a little sad that the number of weddings I would attend would dwindle. I used to spend a lot of time being sarky at weddings, after all I was (and probably still am) a wannabe emo-novelist but I found that as I approach my own wedding date, I embarrass myself by being a lot more emotional these days at weddings. Yes, so I teared up at Edwin McCain’s “I Couldn’t Ask for More” as I held Eizwan’s hand. And everyone at the table probably felt a tad nauseated by our public display of affection – but hey, just give me this once. I’ll be back to normal at end June.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes a perfect wedding. Everyone has a different idea on what makes a dream wedding, be it the dress by a particular designer, the most expensive decor, the food etc. Yesterday, was certainly one of the best weddings I’ve attended by far. Not that this entry is to review the wedding, I think it’s silly to review weddings – it’s not an event that requires assessments me think, there shouldn’t be a report card to a wedding but I could not help think that there are some weddings that are more special than others.

Stephanie and Adrian’s wedding certainly came across that way for me. From the silly MC speeches, to the jokey and meaningful speech by the bride’s father and the especially touching speech by the bride and groom themselves, I found myself frequently tearing up. If I look back to the myriads of weddings I’ve attended, I rarely remember the details like the favours, the cards, the flowers. Well, that’s not true. I remember almost every detail of everyone’s wedding – but that’s because I’m an odd duck with an almost photographic memory, so it’s not quite intentional.

Ahem.

What I mean to say is that, it’s true, every wedding has something special about it. Every wedding has a beautiful detail, a little something special about it that I’ll probably never forget. But my fondest memories are never reserved for the most beautiful weddings, the most extravagant or the most detailed. It tends to be reserved for the couple with the most sincere and relaxed atmosphere. Yesterday, at the risk of sounding hokey, you could feel the love and warmth radiating from the family and couple, and from the well-wishers in the room. There were so many smiles, so much feeling that you don’t notice the details like the flowers, the dress, the absentminded waiters – the details that Martha Stewart say should count. Because honestly, they don’t.

I think, at the end of the day, that is my fondest wish for my own wedding. That people come with much love and happiness. It’s sappy, but nothing beats your friends and family being with you, and sharing in the joy for your wedding and wishing you the best, sincerely from the heart.

Man do I sound hokey. Mid-June, people. Mid-June. It’ll be back to bitching about everything else.

But congratulations Stephanie and Adrian! May you be blessed with happiness, joy and lots of love for the rest of your lives together.

Baptism by Fire

Each time I take a deep breath, my back starts creaking. There are permanent knots in my shoulder muscles and if I don’t take a break and smile in the mirror every so often, I’d have a perpetual frown etched onto my face.

I am nervous, worried and plagued with doubt and guilt. Suddenly I question on whether the show is funny enough, if I’m doing enough publicity, if I’m not working hard enough? What if the show is pretentious, what if the show sucks and what if I get trashed on kakiseni? (which is a midly amusing prospect)

But at the same time, through this project I’m learning one more time to find that mad confidence that I had in myself before my stint as a government servant. Pre the SC, I was madly confident, madly passionate and I had beliefs and passions that I would fight to the death for. Post the SC, I was a mouse and I worked by the rules.

It took two years to destroy the confidence and the passion my parents and my family had spent 20 plus cultivating. But it’s taken about 8 weeks for the same confidence to return with this play, the same crazy kamikaze passion, confidence and passion that I knew that I had deep down somewhere.

There’s so many people I’m deeply grateful to. From the my entire cast and crew of the COOC to my Warwick Uni mates who have rallied around the production, dragging their friends and family by the coat tails to watch the show. And then there’s my family who have held an unwavering faith in me whilst I do something completely untraditional and mad. My closest friends near and far who lent me an ear whilst I bitched and complained till kingdom come.

It’s not all back. I still am indifferent to many things in life, but one day, one step at a time, I’ll be able to care once more.

For now, I’m glad to be me again.