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.


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…


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