Haunted

Boss and I were vetting the Halloween copy via msn today.

Boss: Best scary dressed competition?
Boss: Buay gum la.
Boss: Most Haunted Look competition?
Kitiara™ : I hope participants dun take it too literally.
Kitiara™ : Most working adults already have the look. Haha.
Kitiara™ : But yes, think that's much better - most haunted look.
Boss: U win la liddat.
Kitiara™: I cant win!! Level of hauntedness usually depends on job seniority.
Boss: I'll make an exception for u...
Kitiara™ : -_-"

Oh yes, my boss is pretty cool :)

More Forgettable Bang Than History-Making Boom

Perhaps I had unrealistic expectations of Jean Tay, whose first play Everything But The Brain was a script I love, that Boom was a letdown. The weird combination of exaggerated humour (grave humour literally, and I mean it in the noun sense - but yeah, pun intended, ‘cos the play took itself so seriously, that it was at times, making no/non sense), diction that left no room for imagination and a liberal use of dialects made the production choppy. I found myself drifting off all too easily. I don’t really care about the characters and their relationship to one another, and I can tell you it wasn’t the acting. Fanny Lee was damn good, but even that didn’t help to focus. In this sense, Boom lacks heart to be a true classic in the local theatre history. Hell, I don’t even think it was that good a play, though it had a fantastic premise to begin with. I miss the genuine poignancy and nostalgic sentimentality replete in Everything But The Brain, and honestly, the whimsical inanity of the three bears was thought up by a genius. Sad to say, I can’t revisit and reminisce what I love best in the former through Boom. Poor Jean. I hope she isn’t feeling the pressure to perform as a result of her brilliant first script becoming the best original local script, which it is still, as of to date till I see another that surpasses it in imagination, emotional depth and maturity of craft, in my less-than-humble opinion.

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Mama Mia! the movie was pure Exuberance and thus, Pleasure. It really made me feel alive, gushingly so, just by watching it.

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I need to make time for the biennale. Damn. Damn. Damn.

The Invitation

I like the literal-ness iterated in this prose poem by oriahmountaindreamer.

Came across it on one of the office walls. Will be checking out her other works.

Life is good and meaningful, having plenty to look forward to.

Prancing, skipping, dancing, I do, I really do, accept the invitation, with my heart.
__________________________________

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest meto know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will standing the centre of the fire
with meand not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.