the lack of gratification from my Magikarp-splashed (i.e “NOTHING HAPPENED”) haircut had me re-dye-ing, just to fill the dearth that is expectation of change.
the results.
i know right.
so yesterday i had five un-related people asking me: “YOU VERY FREE AH?”/”ARE YOU VERY BORED?”
yes. yes i am.
but it is also out of this boredom that genius is nurtured. let me show you.
it started when he was raisin hell
all throughout that one Sundae;
we’ve beancurd since then, and after awhile
we went on our seperate wheys.
“things will get butter from here”, they said
“you have to let the mango.”
still, i mustard-mit his absence bread
a sweet-and-sour sorrow.
i know, i know. bow down to me if you wish.
thing is, everyone assumes i’m bored. and in a way i am – because i have nothing i NEED to do (besides uni apps which, yknw, i pretend do not exist).
but there’s so much i WANT to do, it’s like i don’t have enough time every day to finish them all. there’s never a moment where i go: damn i wish i had something to do. there’s just always something to keep my occupied.
…like Hitler genealogy. which (frankly) is what i would much rather do than attend a party.
this is also why i think i’m destined to live as an unemployed friendless gypsy hobo.
AND AND AND!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEBBIE! YOU ARE FINALLY NINE(TEEN)!
today, finally, after nightmares (serious) and consults and rumination, i decided to get a hair cut. this is the first time since a year ago. and hair cuts have a nasty way of not ending well for me unless i do it myself.
as you can tell, it is like when i get Magikarp to use splash.
nothing happened.
i’m not sure whether to feel relief, or annoyed that i spent dessert money to look absolutely no different. and no, this is not an excuse to post up boob shots. there’s nothing much to show.
Gloria is working at The Theatre Practice, and was a guide for TTP’s Kuo Pao Kun Festival. So the bunch of us went to watch last week.
we did KPK’s Silly Little Girl & the Funny Old Tree (fondly initialized to SLGFOT) for our O Level Drama piece, and hell that process makes up about half of our mugger’s mine of inside jokes. (i inexplicably typed indian jokes)
our group decided to do site-specific, at the outdoors playground/gym of the SN basketball courtyard, with a huge tree and all.
we spent most of our time sleeping on the grass/monkey bars like hobokids actually, because the group was basically the chillest (read: lazy) people of the class put together (Lorraine, Xin, Rei and Cat), and also because it being in the courtyard meant no Mr Wong supervision/pressure from other groups.
so it was month long drowsy afternoons under the sun feeding the mosquitoes and occasional bursts of energy which we invested in — puddling. i actually have photographic evidence:
YES. complete with bad haircuts and white sports shoes (besides those, we’re pretty much the same – t-shirts and shorts for rehearsals and being-hyper/not-doing-work). couldn’t find the one where we were actually on the site though. :-(
we finished about ten scenes in the last week, then retreated back to lethargy and dozed under the sun right before the filming, to the utter horror of the other groups as they spied on us from the MPR level. GOOD TIMES, M’FRIENDS. <3
so i was pretty excited when i got to watch a professional site-specific inspired by KPK.
it was at the Stamford Arts Center (or rather, TAMFORD Arts Center. it’s over a 100 years old and the S fell off). beautiful place, really. old, rustic, quaint structure, and it has a very occident-orient hybrid feel to it.
we were brought all over the area and i loved that (mostly because i hate sitting still) – the roof, corridors, rooms, backyards.
i liked the spatial-visual/audio usage: sometimes we got to watch a scene taking place in a balcony some floors down, with the cast’s voices echoing all over the building. sometimes we looked up and a someone’s just there teetering on the building’s beam. sometimes they mingled right among us.
it was inevitable that transitions (moving around) and the dispersed space took away some of the performance impact though. i could tell they were strong actors, but it’s impractical to expect that full-on energy and focus you get from the other contained-space theater spaces. given that constraint, it was otherwise great.
sublime moments used the element of surprise. a suitcase front-center, a scene going on behind. when the scene behind finishes, someone stretches out of the case. man dreaming of giving birth had his water bag burst. you get sent into a live demonstration of prostitution in a brothel with low-q music in the background. i liked the surreal.
but my favorites were the unplanned and spontaneous. one part had a character straddling a gate, yelling absurd questions out of the SAC compound a la KPK style: “YOU MEI YOU KAN JIAN DA NIAO?”. a random man on a bike actually yelled back an answer “DA NIAO MEI YOU, XIAO NIAO JIU YOU!”, it was just brilliant.
also the SAC cat roving around (it was very tame and had a strange majestic air about it, like it knew it was the actual boss of the area). it got caught right at the start of a scene: red lights on, incense, a door with steps leading down to the corridor where we were at, and there standing a woman about to begin her monologue – and the cat just there at the steps. it was so simple and meaningless and random, but it was the image that stuck with me after the play.
oh and YES, all in Chinese! the language may be slightly hard to follow, but my advice is to just stop trying to follow and go along with whatever you get – it’s enough. just listen to intonation, the pitch, the tone, they way they are said.
the site-specific work is over but there’s a whole series of other shows by TTP and they should be checked out, regardless of Chinese Language proficiency level.
i confess i’ve been a slubberdegullion (yes, i just had to use an recently learnt archaic word because i am annoying) with fiction recently. after a month of heavy non-fic and a few carelessly chosen novels, there came an insane need for good fiction. therefore: prowling about dusty second-hand bookstores.
it’s quite a good haul.. but i was very select with what i got, after disappointing half-reads that are strewn all over the house at this very moment. i hate not finishing what i start out reading.. but i hate having to trudge through bad fiction more than, so.
ANYWAY.
three picks in the fiction haul.
i read a chunk of this in the book store and got a terrible neck ache. slick narrative (which i slipped in so easily i forgot to stop). there were none of those bright moments of word/idea lust YET, i can’t be too quick in my judgement. i suspect it will go into post-colonialism (dislike) and hit a dry patch near middle. then again, i have a penchant for African waif-child with special abilities after Life of Pi so maybe this won’t disappoint.
by God, HER FEARFUL SYMMETRY. guilt wants me to tell you i picked this one out purely because its title is so sublime. so on the cover we have the Hilton sisters decked out in the hot threads of Christmas ’99. despite that, instincts tell me it’ll be good. twins unnaturally codependent (i love weird twin stories), neighbor with OCD, gothic house and the cemetery (symmetry.. geddit?). i’m very excited about this. although i wish i got the plain cover instead of the Christmas Hilton ’99 one for selfish aesthetic reasons.
oh right, and yes. same author as The Time Traveler’s Wife which made me cry, but this one seems stranger and less ideal a la Nicholas Sparks (meh) – YAY. next on the to-get list: Three Incestuous Sisters by her, illustrated!
i’m not sure what this is yet, read the first page and immediately knew i had to have it. it’s in a multiple column format, each a tiny excerpt that seemed more like a poem-monologue hybrid. it’s strangely reminiscent of those monologues we did back in Sec 4, and they are really, really pretty. i felt, slightly, that it’s so good i need to stop for a while thing. flipped through a little and there’s something about Keanu Reeves, and it uses a lot of gimmicks a la Jonathan Safran Foer.. i’m betting it’s good but not consistently. we’ll see.
and also got The Lovely Bones which i’ve read half of in the school library once so thought i’d finish it.
okay that’s all. non-fiction includes Douglas Adam’s really old works, some Mao Ze Dong nonsense (this bookstore is dedicated to Mao, i swear. this woman came in complaining about being sold over-priced Mao propaganda paintings and wanted a refund [yes i was eavesdropping]. apparently she paid a thousand for three pieces. the hell, woman!?) history nonsense that i probably will never read, economics nonsense that looks interesting but i probably will never read because it reminds me of my ungotten A, a Stephen Fry collection of his nonsense, and one about crime.
although nothing will beat John E. Douglas’ works on profiling (HIS WORKS ARE SO ELUSIVE. only ever available in reference libraries and pop-up heartland book carts). the only one i’ve got from him is Obsession, which i’ve read twice over and also referenced for my..
(okay this is where it gets freaky)
…notes on rapist. yeah, okay. i’m trying to keep records of rapists under the four major rapist-types (as propounded by Douglas). so far i’ve categorized the types and their victimology, personality, modus operandi and motive, but haven’t been weird/determined/free enough to catalogue known offenders. also, if i did – my web history will likely lead to my arrest on grounds of potential sex crime.
…potential sex criminal AND possible attempts to overthrow the incumbent cabinet to establish a dictatorship, because of my one-evening madness where i charted out Hitler’s genealogy as far back as autobiographies/the net would allow. it’s nothing that we don’t already know, but Hitler is so full of incest. as was his best buddy Nicholas II of Russia, a fellow anti-Semite. and look where it landed them – art-school rejection angst and suicide for one, an always bleeding son and Rasputin for another (well at least they got to be a Disney movie trolol).
INCEST AND JEW-HATING AIN’T GOOD, PEOPLE.
OH AND ALSO – would you guys be interested in buying metal Pokemon gym badge (Indigo League [Kanto region]) pins if i got them produced? how much are you willing to pay (single/full set)? this is the rough draft – it will be way more symmetrical and with more accurate/vibrant colors. wqingtan@gmail.com.
because that connotes it’s worth does not level or surpass it’s price.
worth is what you expect the commodity to give you – in this case pleasure (i mean – c’mon. ice cream, people.) ICE CREAM (except in the case of a foul tasting shitpile of Wasabi ice cream Celine forced me to buy [$3!]) HAS NEVER LET ME DOWN. the pleasure i derive from ice cream is roughly equivalent to $9.75/reasonably sized scoop sans topping/other wonderful edible accessories. and since ice cream in Singapore is mostly below that, i’ve always been eating cheap ice-cream. YES, hotdamn.
i just really want ice cream waffles now, so.
and yes i have been eating ice cream every day. without waffles.
there was Soft serve in plastic cups, mini-Magnums on stick, Venezia on cones, Baskin-Robbins in recyclables, Haagen-Dazs in tubs. BUT WAFFLES. WAFFLES. the ultimate combination.
yeah ok.
so if you’re one of those people, you’re here to check for mentions of my results. unfortunately i don’t and won’t post them up in full, but here are some tantalizing hints you nosy thing:
1. i’m grateful for them, because they make the cut for the few courses i’ve had in mind all along. all local.
2. they’re not fantastic though. not straight As if that’s what you’re thinking about.
3. they were better than i expected. although my expectations were warped after the nightmare i had of getting three Cs, one A, a B and a couple Us. it was very strange.
4. in fact i’m happy for everything except Econs. i really, really wanted that A. not for Lit, not for History, (and we can skip Math) but Econs. and after prelims i thought i could. i hate it when people get upset over a decent grade, but now i sort of-ish get why they feel that.
5. thank you God. no, really. not good enough to worry about the insane range of options, not bad enough to be limited in any way.
also i found that i don’t care much about grades as grades. it’s more of where i can go from here. so anyway, i’ll be going around to all University food places for taste tests.. i’ll have a good time with the one in town.
if i had no filial duties or expectations to fulfill, i will. WILL. drop school now, rent a caravan and travel everywhere doing just enough freelance to feed myself. this is a completely true story. but, you know. life.
oh! starting work at RWS in a few, with Rei and Celine. free entry to USS, wootz. kindly be torn up with jealousy.
From three days to show with all our barang, to backstage, to right now.
WE DID IT, GUYS.
Where do I even start?
Some of us have known each other since we were 7, most since we were 13. Have gone through Drama classes for four years together, if not at least watched each other grow in our performances.
Had dreams like any other group of friends – ambitious ones: “Let’s put up a play! A musical! Self-directed! Self-written!” Did I believe we’ll actually do it one day? I did. Did I expect it to be anything like this? No.
I’m sorry if at any point I get over indulgent with self-lauding, but right now, i’m just incredibly proud of us all.
To Gloria and Cleo, for their insane courage and amazing ideals. Without which this play would either a) not have taken place or b) taken place in a void deck. For their leadership and vision and sometimes unbearable workouts.
To Naddy, whom half of us only just met a couple months ago but now love so incredibly much. Thank you for being so strong – physically, emotionally, holding the (often crazyass and uncontrollable) group together with your calm and your insight.
To Celine, for your broken tooth and fractured foot, but also for bringing what is an important sense of realness into the play.
To Xinyi, our baby – director turned actor for your ability to be carried around and manipulated like a rag doll. Also for your house, your food, your witty asides.
To Becky, for being such a powerful performer (and I don’t think you even realize how much so).
To Cathleen, Rei-En and Dhimas – the best three-man crew anyone can ask for: for their nimble fingers and fleet feet, and basically doing everything for us.
And to me, for being a bright spark of brilliance as always.
How many teenagers (and thank God, this is my last year as a -teen) can say they self-devised and performed in a play they can truly call their own? Every scene is so much a product of everyone’s that when someone asks, Oh, who came up with this? I truly cannot answer them. It’s that extreme sense of accomplishment, of having DONE something you’re always always be proud of, and it being fully yours – some people spend their lives waiting for this. We’re very lucky.
Better yet, how many of us can say we’ve done this not just alone – but with people you have already known and loved for years? And who share your passion strongly, and are capable and driven enough to take action? We’re lucky also because we have each other.
People. People. We put up a show. In a real theater. Left to our own devices entirely.
None of us are trained dancers, or have had much experience with physical theater. But we did it.
Two sold-out shows.
Happy audience.
Happy us.
Two months. (And now it’s over. The withdrawal symptoms will be terrifying.)
I’ll briefly describe our rehearsal process right up to the play, with lots of people to thanks throughout!
For this we have our producers G and Cleo to thank – they organized all the logistics before roping us in (a cast of seven: G, Cleo, Celine, Me, Becky, Cathleen, Naddy. And Xin as our director). About mid-December we met up to discuss, it’s still crazy thinking back. At Pastamania where we were literally directionless, had no idea what we’d be putting up.)
Our time at Hong Wen School’s dance studio (courtesy of Xinyi’s VP mom THANK YOU SO MUCH). In the beginning we were all track pants and seriousness, but later it degenerated to (honestly) pajamas and slippers. Hours and hours we spent in there devising, scraping, experimenting.
Xinyi was roped in after (and we all became directors), but Cathleen unfortunately had golf commitments and dropped out (but came often to shower us with food). Later on we also bumped into the Goodman Arts Center (with a FRIDGE – we were ecstatic).
The play went through so many stages, and had grown so much in just a month.
Come to think of it, some may see these past two months as tough. Rehearsals every other day for long hours, and rehearsals are non stop experimenting and practicing (which means we are constantly moving – by that I mean running, jumping, lifting). But I don’t think I’ve ever felt grudging or reluctant. Sure, there’s always that few seconds where you wake up at 8am and think “What the hell. I could have been sleeping.” But once we’re in it, it’s actually… fun.
It helps that we’ve been friends for awhile.
All the inside jokes, all the falling on the ground laughing until we’ve exhausted ourselves, the hobo-ing on the ground eating tuna crackers, appreciating each other’s ideas and that exhilaration where together we find a sequence which works. And of course our neh neh exercises involving lots of HTHT and tears (and fries. and farts).
It wasn’t without obstacles though.
Towards the last week (where we had one entire scene un-finished.. YES. scary), things happened. We were over-budget (by quite a bit) for unexpected costs and ticket sales were slow for 3pm (which meant more losses). To be frank I’m quite the worriers so I internally panicked about all the money and was thinking “Why the hell are we doing this WE ARE UNPAID UNEMPLOYED STARVING ARTISTS NOW. IN DEBT.” For this, we have people to thank, and I cannot stop thanking them.
Most of all – the St. Nicholas community. Six of us were from SNGS, and we’ve always felt that whatever we are capable of now and who we are comes mostly from our time in St. Nicks. And we trusted that St. Nicks will be there for us when we needed them. It’s just a SN thing. We were not let down – in fact the response was astounding. We sent an email to the SN alumni describing our position, and in no time and all, many SN Jiejies had raised funds for us (from their own pockets) to partly sponsor our play. It’s with utmost willingness, without any doubt or expectation of returns, just with that distinctive St. Nicholas spirit to instinctively help each other.
The response we got from our donations jar and the spike in ticket sales after we sought help from friends (3PM SOLD OUT TOO), we credit wholly to the audience. Thanks to you guys we are NOT IN DEBT!
And then there was the problem of cast. Celine’s tooth got chipped for one of our later rehearsals during a particularly bad fall, and there was the fear of her leaving. A week before show. Imagine the angst. After we have calmed down (from bubble tea and stress-laughter and good news, tragedy struck again (the next day), where Celine slipped after rehearsals and apparently fractured her foot. Thank God it was a false report and it was just a tissue tear.
We also have to thank God, because I truly believe He helped us through all our obstacles. As a cast we were all pretty strong in our faith, and had prayed and prayed for everything that had gone wrong – and in the end everything was smoothed out for us in ways that’s nothing less of a miracle.
Bump in was surreal. The last time I had performed at the Black Box (with fancy bulb mirrors and dressing rooms and sign-in tags) was under Temple, where we were masked crocodile cheerleaders and part of an ensemble for a piece much greater than ourselves. This time, the play was ours. We were it.
Thank you G’s mom for the fantastic food and G’s uncle for the brillz photos (G BETTER UPLOAD SOON) throughout tech-run and recording.
AND THEN IT WAS SHOW DAY.
We met early at Xin’s house in varying shades of lethargy actually. Again I’m thankful for the dynamics of our friendship, because it calmed me down like nothing else. I KNEW we’ll always have each other’s back and until then we had our usual mocking thing going on to bring me back to the familiar. Make-up, taxi.
Stand-by. Warm-ups.
Neh neh exercises.
(One particularly got to me. I had trouble dealing with understanding loneliness to a deeper extent. The exercise required us to think of a moment where you felt a very real human connection. To hold on to it, want it forever. Naturally I thought of the Mugs, where we just loll around and be completely ourselves. Then G says, imagine you never, in your whole life, experienced this. How would life be for you. That was the part that broke me down really bad.)
So and then.
Show.
It’s a 50 minutes play but it feels like 10 when you’re doing it, seriously. Maybe because there is no backstage and you’re literally performing every freaking single second so there’s no time to stop and think: HELL. THIS IS IT.
The 3pm crowd was great in that they really GAVE energy. They were very tense (“Cannot breathe.”) in a good way and responded amazingly. 8pm crowd had many, many crying – that one was slightly more heartfelt than intense energy.
While some of us were concerned more with what important theater veteran guests thought about it, I was way more worried about whether my friends would enjoy it. My perspective is that we’re doing a show not only for ourselves, but to give the audience (my friends and family) a message in a way that’s extraordinary.
8pm for me had the greatest impact. Maybe because it was the last show, maybe because we’ve rid of nervous energy at the matinee, maybe because we had good feedback from theater people and kept in mind the minute details that called for a more nuanced performance.
The craziest thing is this: we actually had a few technical screw ups – basically sequences we’ve drilled for ages. Strangely, I’m happy they happened. The group dynamics was so strong, so focused, we picked ourselves up immediately and convincingly, no one could tell. I felt that made me grow so much more as a performer than a thoroughly perfect run could have.
The audience were too nice, really.
Even the ones we thought would be critical thought it was “damn good”. Friends I didn’t think would appreciate it, did. We had constructive feedback from professionals about theater techniques of course, which I learnt a lot from. Maybe they were being nice because after all we’re a fresh new group of young people, but they gave a lot more compliments than we deserve.
My greatest fear was that people wouldn’t understand or enjoy it because it’s slightly less explicit (thus less accessible), but I under estimated the audience – they didn’t need to fully understand to enjoy it, they just needed to feel. Understanding comes later. In fact, by making it less explicit, many had original interpretations that applied to them personally, which probably makes it more relate-able than text-based. You can say we aimed to incite feelings/thoughts (viscerally), not to entertain.
Every time an audience tells me they could relate, they could feel, or that something made them cry (8pm had lots, for some reason), it makes me feel like everything, EVERYTHING is so worth it. THAT’S what I’ve been performing for.
My parents/relatives: “Now we know why you lost weight! Cause it’s like exercise the whole time! Climb here run there!” Which is their way of saying they liked it and that my time away from home was worth it.
Probably the most unexpected but common comment we’ve got from many, both professional and not: They want to see another show by us. Nad’s friend: “Please don’t let Pedestrian Productions die.” We were not planning to have another (didn’t even know if we could survive this one), so this came as quite a surprise.
Back in the dressing room Gee asked us seriously, Are you guys happy just letting this end here?
It was a unanimous no.
So, friends, we’ll see you again in the future. Maybe when we’re 60 and Celine with dentures and osteoporosis. But we’ll be there, and when we are please come back and show us the same support you have this time round.
To do something you love so much, with people you love so much. And for others to love the product so much (ok or at least not hate it).
YES. i have been trying to post. the past three hundred in my wordpress account are drafts, i just couldn’t get myself to complete them. (usually this means i have a life, as i am always very eager to reiterate.)
also i have lost all ability to write linearly. have been glossing over this with lists (see: past few posts) – an ill-disguised attempt to seem coherent and logical. i fail. this wouldn’t go on for long, i promise. i’ve sustained this place for seven years so it’s another three to hit a nice number. OCD asserts that i’ll not stop till 2016. so anyway, sporadic thoughts that are too long for twitter.
1.
rehearsals, rehearsals.
it’s been going pretty well actually, until last week where we stagnated slightly (slightly!). and then DUMDUMDUM tragedy struck: one of us fell while doing circus stunts and broke half her front tooth. if you know most of us you’d guess by now that it’s Celine. you’re right! so anyway, we were really lucky and Celine got fillings done and was dandy enough to go for rehearsals the very next day.
this very next day i mentioned? well yeah. someone fractured her foot. so by now you’re probably reorganizing other cast members in order of accident-proneness. save it, it was Celine again. YES, FOOL. it wasn’t even for rehearsals: i was waltzing with my bag across the corridor and she thought mimicry was witty. nein, she slipped on a puddle and fell. and you thought that only happened in cartoons (and you wouldn’t believe how incredibly fast i typed that last sentence wow?).
praise the Lord though, she’s fine (despite fracture scare, etc.)
2.
SAFRA for Beni and my birthday.
this year the plan was to kidnap (or abduct now that we’re no longer kids), blindfold, and somehow ferry Benita and I to SAFRA. SAFRA, by the way, a multi-storey hugeass jungle gym for all ages.. although mostly populated by kids and their atrophied parents. AND NOW US.
surprise of the day is: we didn’t get a single parental complain.
so we did the hugeass slides and screamed like babies and played hide and seek. AND THEN THE REAL FUN BEGAN: while hiding, Cel and I wandered into a whole column which Xaver and Amelia (sibling duo of everything Caucasian and adorable) had claimed as their dominion. we got them to be our lookouts against the other catchers. being politically incorrect, i kept yelling at them to find the big Chinese things and keep them as Asian slaves.
SO THEY DID.
but seriously, those kids were amazing. SAFRA wouldn’t have been half as fun without them. Amelia climbed over everyone and will grow up to be a diva.. who climbs around everyone. Xaver, on the other hand – is like Eminem but a lot less annoying. and also he loves shouting and fighting which is just hot.
Xaver’s rap: ‘i.. wenttothestore to buy some peanutbutter but they had NO peanutbutter so i wenttothestore and bought some JAMandBUTTER and i had it with toast and itwasgood.. OOHYEAH!’ meanwhile, Amelia just belly flops on everyone with complete confidence that someone would catch her and also tried to lick all of us (in a cute way).
after a couple hours of play, they got really high. and when kids get high.. Xaver went insanely aggressive and started to banish everyone out of his base and ordering everyone to salute him while shouting I HATE YOU!!! Amelia meanwhile started shooting the foam balls all around yelling BOOBS! BOOBS! (not instigated by any of us, swear).
they calmed down, being the great kids they are. Xaver went to us all charming and ang moh and said ‘anyway.. everything i said just now. i didn’t mean it.’ (WE DIED. stupid ang moh charm lol.)
before they went home, both Amelia and Xaver went to everyone THREE TIMES. one round of hugs, one round of kisses, and then they went around KISSING OUR HANDS. like we were freaking ladies in 18th century England. seriously, those kids.
and it was Amelia’s birthday the next day, so she very gleefully made all of us hold hands in a circle to sing a birthday song. so we skipped around her while she DANCED LIKE A TOTAL DIVA.
i know it’s slightly dumb to say this, but i really really miss them. i felt like i was five and had to part with friends i made throughout the day. why is it so easy to make friends as kids. ..well.. anyway.
…i’m actually kinda upset now thinking those two.
3.
i shall master this. will. for Brutal Demon Sex Maniacs, our band of ocarinas, maracas, ukes, and possibly a jew’s harp if we can find it.
4.
Firefly. is an amazing show.
5.
rush hour MRT poles are like pinoy portkeys, i thought.
then was struck by how good a simile that actually is. since they all hang on for dear life while waiting to actually get somewhere.
finished Kirino’s Out. again, the brilliantly crafted characters. again, the nothing much ending – which i point out not as a downside, more of a Kirino trademark (his books aren’t about the ending. it’s about the characters throughout the book). i prefer Grotesque, though.
and also the Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. basically, three-hundred-thirty-five pages about an obese colored geek who seeks love and fears dying a virgin – and how he eventually (SPOILERS!) lost his virginity. and promptly died thereafter. it’s not bad, actually. i found his geekiness under explored though. the author kept mixing up nerd with otaku and tended to name drop geektastic terms, only ever going into detail with Lord of the Rings.
also the whole book made me find Oscar incredibly un-shaggable, they didn’t even attempt to make him neater before (SPOILERS!) he got some ass.
it’s good because of the narrative, which works.
OHAI. so now we get to the best part: AMELIE NOTHOMB. remember how i was all over Hygiene and the Assassin? while yeah i wanted to finish everything she’s ever written and i’ve just started on my second: Loving Sabotage. usually second books of first books which were great usually disappoint. THANK GOD, NOT FOR THE FRENCH, NO PEOPLE, NO. Nothomb was so, so skilled, i actually had to dramatically close the page and regulate my breathing because i was hyperventilating from good writing.
what can i say about her writing? she’s bold. arrogant. and anything but pretentious. she says things you wouldn’t have thought, not even subconsciously, and brings them up with such dry wit you find yourself reeling.
I AM VERY, VERY EXCITED.
7.
i have been walking.. kind of a lot.
firstly, public transport is shit. secondly, ADULT FARE – i didn’t get the extent of it despite the Twitter bitching until a couple of weeks later when my fully topped up thirty dollar card ran out. thirdly, i’ve always loved walking. i just never really had the luxury of time to.
so now, with time, youth, willingness, and a legitimate reason, i’m walking EVERYWHERE. alright not everywhere, but everywhere unless it’s really dumb and would take my half the day.
i’m not sure why i like walking so much – maybe it’s self-induced since my inner compass is absolute crap and i end up having to walk thrice the usual distance (lost). when i was young and homework-less i used to walk home from St. Nicks, which is about twenty odd stops. and i also love circling around Holland V estates like a creeper.
recently i’ve taken to walking to the MRT. if i’ve got to Serangoon and have the time, i’d walk there. that’s like two MRT stops. i’m badass. strangely i’m very fast. sometimes i don’t even notice how much i’ve walked and i’m home. it’s just a thing.
8.
WHICH MAKES ME THINK. MY SENSE OF DIRECTION. it really IS all out shit.
SO IT’S TIME FOR A LIST!
list! list! list!
Five Strangest Incidents My Crap Direction Sense Had Landed Me In
The Crane Miscalculation
this one remains, forever, a Mugger’s classic.
it was Shereen’s and Becky’s birthday surprise, so we all went early to Gloria’s to prepare. when Shereen arrived, i was sent to escort her back to G’s (pretending i’ve only just reached too) (WHY ME? i don’t know why me).
i thought i was really smart too, when i figured the only way i’ll get back alive was if i took note of landmarks. the most obvious and all-encompassing thing being this huge crane (construction going on). so fetch Shereen, etc. all was going well and i was for once aware of directions and was LEADING HER SOMEWHERE.
which turned out to be wrongwhere. because, Weiqing, CRANES. MOVE. (albeit slowly and sneakily.)
Shereen was the one who at last navigated the way to her surprise party, so once again i fail at life. this may also be more telling of my stupidity than lack of compass. ah, well.
The Night-goggles Disorientation
i’ve been having tuition there for awhile. it’s a few minutes walk from a train station, and while i always walk to get there, my mom would pick me up from. once my mom couldn’t make it. the combined force of it being an inverse path AND it being 9pm instead of 7pm was so daunting, i panicked and got lost. yes. I GOT LOST. A ROUTE I TAKE EVERY WEEK. because it was a different sky-color and the other way around.
as you can see, it’s not that my sense of direction sucks, it just does not exist. i get to places through conditioning.
The Epic Mall Escapade
i could NEVER find my way to Xin’s house alone despite leeching around there all the time (much to the wrath/bemusement/annoyance of the rest). so at long last i got myself orientated to the direction (with lots of help from Prata Place, about that – later). AND THEN THEY HAD TO BUILD THE MALL. actually, when they were building, it was fine. i was confident, i was alright, finally i could get to Xin’s house without having to call everyone up.
AND THEN. it finished building and Nex was there in all it’s heartland glory – all silver and shiny and obnoxiously large and disorientating.
so disorientating in fact, that i lost whatever conditioning or inner compass i’ve been carefully nurturing. had to call Xin up for directions after wandering about like a mentally-challenged cat yanked away from it’s mother. and got yelled at “WHAT DO YOU MEAN NEX CONFUSES YOU? IT HAS BEEN BUILDING THERE FOR THE PAST MONTHS. YOU FOOL.”
The Canteen Confusion
i may have mentioned that St. Nicks (AMK compound) is so big, i’ve got lost in it.
maybe you thought i meant that as a hyperbole. i didn’t. by lost i mean, yes. regularly, i hit dead-ends and find myself in strange roof exits and have to retrace my steps all the way back to where i started and pretend i didn’t need to go wherever i needed to go.
the staff room and the MPRs were the most confusing, because the staff room is literally in the heart of a maze (everywhere is a maze to me), while the extension block is just a freaking megabot-transformers-third-arm of a maze i could not figure out. i guess you can forgive me for those.
but the canteen? yes, the canteen. where we go every. freaking. day.
one thing i rely on very much for direction (also why my sense of- has always been crippled) is company. i just let everyone lead me around without noticing the route. so you can lure me down a street in Ulu Pandan (speaking off, i once got so lost i ended up in Ulu Pandan. for serious.) to sell me as shoe factory labour in Nicaragua and i would gladly follow. anyway: everyday, the happy St Nicks friends and i would go canteen together to eat eat.
so what happens when i’m to go to the canteen alone? lose my way. like a loser. haha. haha.
i actually ended up in the top floor of the Primary Block (St. Nicholas compound used by both secondary and primary), it was incredibly weird and i’ve never been there before. it was like Harry with the Room of Requirement, except i didn’t need anything there. and i tried my very best to walk all the way back to my classroom.
also had a hard time finding excuses as to why i didn’t get all the food i was supposed to get for my classmates. “i couldn’t find the canteen.” now you know.
The Misplaced Food-place
i have ONE redeeming quality when it comes to directions:
if this said route has many food places of my immediate gastronomical interest, it is a route easily navigated.
often, it is ‘Old Chang Kee should be on my left, that’s good… right turn at Frolick, uh huh. now face Starbucks and continue until Sizzler’s is in view.’ this is probably the only reason why i even get ANYWHERE. except, of course, food places sometimes change.
one of the most mind-raping routes i can almost never grasp despite going there about twice a week in my studying days – AMK library. for some reason it’s like hell’s labyrinth and i’m destined to never get it right (even now i’m kind of just walking in a general direction to get there, i.e. closing my eyes and walking straight holding Google maps with fear and prayer).
my aim after awhile wasn’t to find my way there, but just to be on a right enough track so i don’t end up in Bishan or Novena or something. banking on my strengths, i created a List of Food Places I Should See That Ascertains I’m On The Right Track.
FOOD PLACES, however, LIKE CRANES, DISAPPOINT. LIKE PEOPLE, THEY CHANGE. and sneakier, even, because they change unsuspectingly when you’ve gotten yourself somewhat familiar and am starting to gather confidence from all the lost faith, dignity, and direction. it is all very upsetting.
So I’ve turned 19! Frankly it was pretty terrifying. To be this old. I entered 19 in pigtails wearing hobo wear and my dad’s slippers. Also with lots of comments about how un-19 I am.
There’s really no other way I’d like to spend my 19th. Just chilling~ with good food (and I mean SERIOUSLY GOOD FOOD) and company. Lots of noise and being a general nuisance to the public with inappropriate outbursts. Thanks all you lovely people for making this day extra special so I feel like the queen I am and everything.
Although I was at first reluctant and doubtful of my abilities to be a nineteen-year-old, I’ve come to realize that I’ve reached a very zen period of my life. Understand myself and the world more than I’ve ever have – mostly from knowing I have friends I can trust and depend on wholeheartedly, and staying grounded to what I believe in and love, etc. those cliches. I’m not usually this maudlin, but it’s true that I’ve never felt so much myself, and so comfortable with myself.
So, I guess while the dancing in public transports making troll faces and yelling naughty bits remain, I am kind of ready to be nineteen.
So about these Rehearsals I’ve been going on about for awhile…
A physical theater play put up by a cast of seven 18 year old girls. It explores the state of being alone. It may sound cliche, because c’mon, who doesn’t think about loneliness. But through devising we found ourselves repeatedly back on Ground Zero – an individual in relation to others and the process of making and breaking bonds. Instead of exploring wide, general themes or trying to show our audience something new, we’ve taken to show what we all would have experienced at some point. Maybe even everyday. From there we pursue depth of exploration.
What to expect: It’s based on a specialized form of theater – physical theater. Whatever we want to convey will be done so through raw movement. Speech is minimal. Come prepared to just feel, understanding comes later after thought.
If you’re interested in theater, especially that of physical movements, come watch us! If you’re not that into physical theater but are a good friend and would like to show support, please come too~
while in bed today i experimented with how far back into my life i could recall.
it’s surprisinglyextensive – not specific events but just images; texture; feelings. i went as far back as two – not sure how common that is. then again, i was an insanely active thinker as a toddler. apparently i was quiet and obsequent.. probably because i was way too busy inside to bother with the real world.
anyway, i’m not sure how long these memories would hold, so while they’re still vivid let’s recount them. when i’m eighty (which will be entirely depressing – i’d hate to live that long into menopause) i can remember my 18 year old self remembering my 2 year old self. (although when i’m 80 we MAY be living in an autocratic world where the interweb is banned. obviously have been reading too much politico-sci-fi.)
ALRIGHT.
Age 2:
spending days in my nanny’s house.
– mattress is slightly rubbery with braille dots all over.
– laid there the whole day and if i fidgeted too much i get scolded.
– i called the nanny’s husband uncle-papa.
– they fed me milk and when i drank too slow they’d tap the bottom of the bottle really hard until i suckled like some over-starved piglet.
– a rainbow slinky.
anyway i remember just laying there like an abnormal child just thinking about life.
retrospect: i was obviously repressed from being a bratty, noise-producing two year old, therefore manifestations of hyperactivity in my current self.
Age 3/4:
i remember trying out different day-care centers. one was dark and small, neighborhood-ish. they had wooden puzzles with cut out shapes and separate wooden shapes you had to fit into the molds. that day it was a trial run, i played it with my parent (either). remember thinking: ‘what. this is too easy for me. i don’t like it here.’
somehow i ended up in Rosyth childcare. which (REALLY) was academically advanced (because when i went on to Kindergarten, everything they taught i already knew). plus it was a huge pink compound with a hugeass garden playground, like a real sandbox and huge swings and tyres and metal slides and playhouses.
there i had lots of memories spanning 3 – 4.
– a boy he was mixed and was really cute. he told me to be Yellow Ranger. he was White Ranger. i was pissed off because i wanted to be Pink Ranger. once he held hands with Lisa and started to nosebleed.
– Cassandra the bully. with the whole imaginary siblings sequence.
– January. years later i found out her name was Genevieve but anyway she was gentle and timid and we were friends.
– there was a girl born without nails. she had to take cold showers.
– all the teachers thought i was adorable because i walked in tip-toes.
– a boy, during mass assembly, yelled I NEED TO PEE, and pulled off his shorts right there. everyone laughed.
– we stood in a row during shower time and shampooed the hair of whoever was in front of us.
– there was a teacher who made the kids in the front row press their nails on her legs. i don’t know.
– the hot pink bikini escapade.
– i ate slowly and seniors would feed me choo-choo train style. no apples for me because i ate too slow. but lots of caramel sweets.
Age 5/6:
then i got transferred to PAP nearer home, where i became a manipulative tyrant.
– we had to read glossy thin books about animals and their parts – noses, eyes, legs. it was so simple for me, the teacher assigned me as helper so i went around teaching the other kids.
– i had a clique. there was a girl Fiona, some other girl i really liked because she listens to me, Daniel, and a Malay girl. everyday we play-acted.
– Daniel says, i am your boyfriend. he flashed his shoulder at me. it was the most horrifying, obscene white expanse of flesh i’ve ever seen. i screamed.
– we had to wear white hello kitty tank tops with blue trimmings and dance for some local performance. i said NO i will not do it. everyone says GOGOGO (a recurring pattern in my childhood, you’ll see). the teacher forced me to. i hated it because i was a wild monkey-boychild and i had to hold hands with a boy. boys always have boogers on their hands.
– we did computer art on MS PAINT trololol. i won an award.
– i loved the curry puffs (wednesday i think). and hated green bean soup.
– there was a teacher, Ms Tham. she was incredibly biased towards me. i told everyone that. no one knew what bias was. fools.
Age 7:
CHIJ Punggol which later became CHIJ Our Lady of the Nativity. if read out in whole: Convent Holy Infant Jesus Our Lady of the Nativity. where i was in CLEO CHEW and CELINE ONG’s class. i can’t believe people i’ve met when i was SEVEN are constantly in my life now. in fact i’ll be seeing them tomorrow, so i guess after this age there’s little need for recollection.
– an incredibly annoying indian girl named Teeviya.. or something. she was just crazyass wild and (I WAS MONITRESS) when i told her to STOP IT. she went ‘OR HOR YOU SAID STUPID’. i wish i did, really. she was very.
– there was Cleo’s club and Madeline’s club. i sat on Cleo’s table, she said – Ok Weiqing. now you’re in CLEO’S CLUB. you cannot play with Madeline and her club. during recess, last to reach the flag pole will be the loser.
– eventually i joined Madeline’s club anyway because they played Spider which was amazingfreakingly fun. so everyday during recess we played Spider.
– once, a group of uncouth indian girls from another class yelled the F word at us. we told the teacher. she read an story which was a twist of the Three Little Pigs. apparently all the wolf wanted was pepper, and his huffing was sneezing from pepper. then we ate sunflower seeds.
– at the end of the year we did a school play remaking some sleepy bear thing. or something. the drama teacher asked, who’s really funny! and everyone said ‘her! her! (me! me!)’ i said nonono-aw, alright! so i became the grandma who said ‘if you don’t sleep, i will SIT on you!’ i remember that. Celine was narrator.
this concludes the innocent half of my childhood. after this section, a tiny girl named Rachel came in and polluted everyone’s minds. by everyone i mean MANY PEOPLE, and we became a conglomerate of screwed up perverts who fed off each other’s strangeness and eventually when Primary Six rolled by, we were the WEIRDEST 12 year olds you would’ve come across. i have others to vouch for that.
so i’ve been wanting to do this since after Lord of The Flies and my obsession with the image of the Conch Shell, but managed to put it off till THE NEXT YEAR. YES. WHICH IS NOW.
before that – thinking back to what i’ve read was a pretty amazing journey in itself; i’ve forgotten just how many great books i’ve come across but eventually stopped gushing about. essentially i sat in front of my screen and stoned for awhile but trust me, my inner self was having lots of fun prancing about neurons in literary goodness. trends i’ve observed while excavating best loved symbols:
a. quite a few American classics of the 1950s+- variety, although they take up the least percentage in my reading list. the ang mohs are big on lit devices, i’ve heard.
b. a great lot of them have made me cry. or at least really, really sad after reading them. i point this out as an anomaly because i usually feel happy about books no matter the ending. in fact deaths can be quite satisfying because at least they close the story. these ones are sad in a way where it’s just pervasively upsetting throughout the novel because of it’s underlying message.
c. the ones i’ve chosen are pretty.. STRANGE. my internal journey/external stoning came across many mirrors and water and skulls which i actively avoided. over-usage is such a pity, because pretty things that are just SO. PRETTY. but lose their value as cliches.
d. a lot of books from my childhood. i need to start re-(re-re-re-)reading stuff. for purpose of this exercise i dug out all the books below and it took me quite awhile – very telling of my dying reading habit. also, i can’t find my copy of Wrinkle in Time which is depressing.
YES.
TOP 7 LITERARY SYMBOLS
(AS OF NOW)
(of book i’ve read so disclaimer: this list is far from comprehensive and/or representative of the general public)
(in chronology of my reading them [roughly])
1. The Tesseract – A Wrinkle in Time
i think i read this when i was way too young. still, enjoyed it because of it’s images (which i vividly recall thinking was ‘special’) and the adventure-y theme and plus i LOVED Charles Wallace (i have a thing for precocious boy genius and scary manipulative doll-like girl [Reiko’s piano student in Norwegian Wood brought that out perfect] type characters).
anyway, i started understanding it with age and MAN. this shit probably brought out my life-long interest in sci-fi despite my ineptitude with the sciences. also i was very angry with freaking Mia Thermopolis that whiny piece of princess who went on for five hundred books about her flat chest and multiple boyfriends (I HATE HER) for alluding to Meg and how she could empathize with her FLAT. CHEST. screw you Mia Thermopolis. this is not a book about chests. where there are Tesseracts and The Black Thing concerned, there is no time for you, your neurosis, and your stupid chest or lack thereof.
wow THAT was a plentiful digression.
maybe an odd choice for a symbol, this Tesseract, given it’s very scientific nature. but still, L’engle to me is telling much more than sci-fi. the elusive Dark Thing is an ambiguous representation of Evil, while the Tesseract (obviously), for good. in my case i’d like to see it as a representative of religion. why.
the Tesseract (basically the fifth dimension which allows travel through space), is presented as wholly possible in the novel. yet, because it is not yet experienced, people do not believe in it -in fact they CANNOT comprehend it (such as Meg who understood it for only a fleeting second after given a description). then there are the believers, the natural understand-ers, Charles Wallace and Meg’s parents, who fight to ascertain its truth. if you’d like to take it out of the religious context, let’s think of it in terms of Goodness. Goodness in itself can defeat the Black Thing and enables men to do what was deemed impossible (space travel). Meg (general people) is blessed with Goodness from her family, but herself cannot understand it and thus did not believe (until she actually space travels that is).
i love it. isn’t it just beautiful. the incomprehensibility of Goodness (complicated workings of the Tesseract), it’s undeniable existence (they did space travel all through the novel), people who fight for Goodness, people who understand and believe in Goodness defeating the Black Thing with this belief. it does sound elementary when i put it in those terms, but that’s it. it’s such a simple message, such a crazy adventure. dude, i need to read this book again so badly.
2. Rose – The Little Prince
a symbol of human relations, and despite the somewhat commonplace usage of roses; the Little Prince tells it with such truth. almost all of us have had a Rose in our lives. someone you go into an intimate friendship with the dynamics of power being obviously imbalanced. both are aware of this situation, but take great (almost comical) pain to side-step it to please the one of higher status. this is what we’d call a poisonous relationship, which the Little Prince realises: he starts to doubt her and thought that one ‘ought never to listen to flowers’. what is surprising here is that in exploring this relationship, the Little Prince concludes it was because he was ‘too young to know how to love’.
the most poignant scene, perhaps, would be the scene with the rose bush and later on the Prince’s realization that the Rose was of such importance to him because she was tamed by him. yes, the Rose is vain, she did hurt the Little Prince, but by mere virtue of having formed a relation with him (tamed), she continues to be loved. novels usually pursue the process of extricating oneself from a relationship deemed unhealthy. but the Little Prince recognizes that it is not possible, because human relations are more complex than a measure of what is beneficial for you and what isn’t. it’s about the bond that’s been formed and will last despite vanities, despite manipulation or hurt or doubts.
3. Switchblades – The Outsiders
ok this is here first and foremost for being badass. back when i was a lesbian (i’m kidding, but i was quite a wild monkey-boychild), the Outsiders inspired tremendous feelings of loyalty and courage and general baditude in me. although i also cried and cried like a baby when Darry and Ponyboy made up. i’m a sucker for sad family scenes. i also wished i had a buff older brother like sodapop/darry.
anyway, it is kinda lame, but that is it. blades are just a symbol of being incredibly wild, which i found to be unendingly fascinating. i think only Johnny and Two-bit had switchblades, and they were supposed to be very tough. Two-bit’s: ‘jet-handled.. that would flash open at a mere breath’. but he’s never used it and was only there as a ‘showpiece’. that’s the pride and crazy sophisticated sexyass violence the Greasers had, symbolized by the switchblade. best bit though: ‘Dally knew how much the switchblade meant to Two-bit, and if he needed a blade bad enough to ask for it, well, he needed a blade. That was all there is to it. Two-bit handed it over without a moment’s hesitation.’
if you’ve read the book and also are very much in love with gangfights and badass boys, you’ll understand the attractiveness of the whole switchblade concept. it’s dangerous, powerful, for show. it’s just the appeal of getting up there and fighting it rough and having a life on the streets of living and breathing every second and the extreme pride you’ll never compromise. and then there is the love they have for each other as friends, that they call each other brothers, and would relinquish their prized weapon – representative of their identity – to another in need.
S.E. Hinton makes the Greaser life so incredibly appealing, i’ve always kept a secret desire to join a gang. contact me. i’m very hazardous especially with a floorball stick.
4. Billboard Eyes – The Great Gatsby
this symbol is genius for being meta-everything. as a symbol, it explores the absurdity of symbols. George Wilson sees the large eyes on the billboard as God’s judgment but was mocked by his friend who points out incisively that it is ‘an advertisement’. he highlights that it is Wilson himself, a religious melodramatic emo suffering from a staggering need for pathos at the point, who instills his own misgivings and consciousness on the billboard – making it the Eyes of God as we would eventually see it in the novel.
basically, in the Great Gatsby, a character makes an object the symbol but was later exposed to have given meaning to the meaningless.. in the novel itself. i think it’s trying to bring out the ambivalence of perspectives and sometimes, it’s complete vapidity and pretension. it’s not a brilliant message in itself, but the brilliance lies in it’s meta- and that Fitzgerald quickly controls the search and usage of symbols in his novels before his readers can, a mark of a skilled writer i should guess.
5. Hedwig – Harry Potter
alright i admit i didn’t recognize this until i read it online. but apparently, HEDWIG. SYMBOLIZES. HARRY’S. INNOCENCE. actually i read this off harrypotter wikia which i do for all hp characters. Hedwig’s death is a symbol for Harry’s loss of innocence as he came of age. WOW. tragic.
although if you ask me, i’d much rather liken it to protection. Hedwig was given to Harry by Hagrid as came to discover the magical world and later the truth about his parent’s death. this justifies his first need for psychological dependency. Hagrid is a huge paternal figure while Hedwig becomes Harry’s correspondence to his magical pals and gals + Dumbledore (also protectors), including Sirius, another father figure. so Hedwig becomes a feature much associated to those who’ve always been around to help Harry through almost everything.
in fact, much as i love him, Harry is a complete wuss who enjoys angsting, tries to be self-sacrificial but does little to preserve his life. his dependence on Hagrid, Dumbledore, Sirius and all of the Order shatters (or at least the understanding that he CAN’T anymore). this eventually culminates in Harry being smart enough to outwit Voldemort (still, with help from the unlikely Narcissa Malfoy.. OH WAIT and Neville). isn’t that a much better interpretation, though? Hedwig dies, Harry realizes that he’s by himself. no more convenient heeding of advice or call for help. ultimately he began to deal with Voldemort like a real man.
6. Red Hunting Hat – Catcher in the Rye
Holden, whose one ideal in life is to preserve the innocence and truth of childhood, becomes the catcher in the rye. basically there’s a huge rye field where children play. eventually they fall off the cliff of happiness into adulthood which he alludes to death (of purity and honesty). Holden sees himself responsible for preventing this. the hat represents the role he has taken up.
the flip side is that Holden himself has lost that childlike veracity. he is critical, confused, and a self-confessed hypocrite. this is where the wonders of symbolism take shape again, and Holden passes his Red Hunting Hat to Phoebe. while Holden previously was unceasingly critical of adulthood and society, even messing up his life – which he found pointless – Phoebe understands way more. Phoebe is a child but at the same time perceives the hypocrisy of life (conceivably through Holden). but BECAUSE she is a child, Phoebe possesses a kind of hope Holden has lost. she sees that life is worth it despite all.
Phoebe becomes the catcher, in fact, Holden’s catcher. she brings him from the cusp of depression (i think?), redirecting his immaturity to find a balance between the workings of adult society and that of childhood purity. it’s just a good book in general, and the hat is much better a symbol if you read it than if explained.
by God, HER FEARFUL SYMMETRY. guilt wants me to tell you i picked this one out purely because its title is so sublime. so on the cover we have the Hilton sisters decked out in the hot threads of Christmas ’99. despite that, instincts tell me it’ll be good. twins unnaturally codependent (i love weird twin stories), neighbor with OCD, gothic house and the cemetery (symmetry.. geddit?). i’m very excited about this. although i wish i got the plain cover instead of the Christmas Hilton ’99 one for selfish aesthetic reasons.
Q 