I love Bjork. I realise most people think she's a tad odd, if not completely off her rocker, but I love her for it! She is true to her art and has a style that is inimitable and completely her own. But I had pegged her as that artiste with the weird videoclips and haunting voice and certainly did not expect her to be able to act at all, much less in an emotionally demanding drama like the ones Lars von Trier is so renowned for.
If you can't read this, you need an eye test. For reals.
She was able to capture the innocence and simpleness of Selma Jezkova. In fact, she was the embodiment of cute -- I wanted to cup her in my hands and put her in my pocket!
I bet Catherine Deneuve was thinking of the EXACT SAME THING.
I won't spoil the story for you -- I hope you'll find out for yourself. Be warned though, this is: 1) a musical; and 2) one of those movies which people either love or hate; no middle ground.
And now if you excuse me, I have to find the soundtrack to the movie.
Today is Sunday, the 4th of January, 2009. I realise I could have read that from the dateline above; I only mention it because the days are drawing ever closer to D-Day.
As schools nationwide open tomorrow, I am forced to face the overwhelming weight of my decision. On the one hand, I am certain this is the right move—I do not have the heart for the vocation offered, nor am I prepared to mediate a system I do not believe in. On the other hand, these are tough times; to turn my back on the promise and security of a consistent pay packet seems like snubbing a divine privilege that have till now intervened in providing me with comfort. I fully expect some form of karmic retribution later in life; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I was smote upon on this sofa right this very moment for sheer impertinence.
…
Phew! Nothing. (Yet).
I have 7 days before I am asked to report for employment.
My future hangs on my decision—I could either be gainfully employed or go against the grain and forge my own path in life.
The last time I had to make a decision, I faltered and let others decide for me. Had I strengthened my resolve and insisted on a different education, I would not be in this precarious position. The fault is entirely mine; I have to own up. Besides, wasn’t it J.K. Rowling who said “…there is an expiry date for blaming parents”?
And here I am again—at crossroads. ‘Overwhelmed’ does not provide an adequate descriptor for my emotional state. ‘Hysterical, nauseated and disoriented’ is a little closer to home, though still not quite apt. My body feels like it is collapsing upon itself, crushing my lungs and constricting airflow, while unbidden tears spring to my eyes (yet again!). Unfortunately, this isn’t an isolated incident—every time I think/talk about a future in this profession not my calling, this happens. During practicum, it occurred with such alarming regularity, I feared I had sunk into a depression so deep I would never be able to see light again. My body itself showed its rejection through numerous ailments, with the result that I had to go back to school for an extra week (when everyone else was done) in order to complete my practicum.
In all honesty, I think my reaction has less to do with my default vocation than it is about the fear that my life is no longer my own. Ever since I put down my signature some six-odd years ago on a piece of contract, I had not been able to make a decision which was entirely my own. I don’t mean those daily choices like choosing a bowl of tomyam over a plate of kuey teow—but decisions like university placement, courses I’d like to take and a major of my own choosing. When I put down my signature, it was like I had sealed my soul with it.
I had put up with this for six years. I hated every single day of it, and hated myself even more for having brought it upon myself. I am not prepared to lose a decade of my life (I am bonded for a minimum of 4 years). I don’t want to regret anything anymore. Regret is possibly the worst feeling in the world—worse still than grief or bereavement. Its that question: What if…; a referent to an alternate outcome had we carved a different path—a path that could have lead to happiness.
I don’t think I can put myself through that again.
And so I’ve decided.
But with this decision comes serious implications. Having never really learnt how to swim, I am now thrown into the deep end, without support, without a lifeline; awash in a sea of uncertainty. I think they call it unemployment. Or maybe it was recession? I am one among many—just another individual seeking employment in a time where jobs are scarce.
I am terrified—and at the same time, exhilarated. The world seems a brighter place; there’s so much to do! so much to see! I could spend my days catching up on Sartre, reading Michio Kaku’s Physics of the Impossible, relearning Japanese, painting, writing (!) while sending out queries about jobs. I will have to intrude on the kindness of my parents for a while longer, but surely they’d prefer their own daughter to the empty shell of one?
Though some people view my decision as a death sentence for my future (oh, ye faithless ones!), I see it as the kiss of life for my dying soul.
Worry not, I will be fine. I am free. I am alive.
The only obligation you have in this life is to be true to yourself.
I've been bestowed with several titles throughout my years, the most popular of which are variations on the theme 'Ice Queen' or 'Emotional Zombie'.
True, I've never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve—years of being a girl taught me how dangerous it was—but of course I had feelings! Thanks to several traumatic high school dramas, I learnt to bottle up those things called feelings, which was really more nuisance than I’d care to bother with. Besides, I would not allow myself to be associated with something resembling an after-school special during those years full of pubescent angst.
Now however, several years later and free from all that adolescent rage and anguish, I find myself having trouble with these things called feelings. Perhaps I’ve bottled too much of it those 7-odd years that now it’s threatening to explode. In fact, every time I try to suppress an emotion it seems to make things worse. Having no other outlet, the feeling I tried to restrain has nowhere to go except out of my eyeballs.
Thus ends my reign as the notorious Ice-Queen.
I feel so much nowadays, it takes next to nothing to make me cry. I explode into hot angry tears when I’m tired, tear up with rage, shed sympathetic/emphatic tears in movies, and even snivel at songs. Though, it has to be said that those songs…they are very emotional songs. Seriously. For example, who doesn’t cry at Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite? Or to the Schindler’s List theme song performed by fiddler-maestro Itzhak Perlman? Really? You don’t? Are you an EMOTIONAL ZOMBIE?!
I am still proud that I am able to hold a decent conversation without bawling. That has to be commended.
I blame my emotional anarchy on my lineage, particularly my maternal roots. Legend has it my mother once bawled at a commercial. It’s no secret though that she cries at every movie she watches, even crying her eyes out for three hours straight once the credits rolled in that first LotR movie, not stopping even when fixing us Bolognese sauce to go with our spaghetti.
At a family reunion (probably Hari Raya), someone popped in a Hindi movie, and all the women in my family (on my mother’s side) wept together for a good solid two hours plus—all! My aunts, my girl cousins, even my grandma—they were all united in their blubbering solidarity, in the camaraderie of passing the tissue-box around and snivelling together. I have never been a part of that—this emotional rampage is something I gained recently—but now, I too can join in the sniffing and tissue-box pass-the-parcel!
So, pop in that Kabhi Kuchi Kabhi Gham I say, and bring that tub of keropok. Oh yes, and don’t forget that tissue box.
Post-script: See if YOU don’t cry to this song! Per Te. Performed by Josh Groban.
If you can't read this, you need an eye test. For reals.
I bet Catherine Deneuve was thinking of the EXACT SAME THING.
Selmasongs: The soundtrack to Dancer in the Dark
