by Eileen 配仪

Muse

This bag is not the dream. This bag is about having dreams and working towards dreams.

I have always seen this bag being used as a work bag, fitting laptops, ipads and documents; a plane bag with space enough for shawl, a book and neck pillow; or, a carry all for errands – place to stuff letters, a half eaten croissant, a raincoat and a hat. This bag is more than that. It is a bag of creative possibilities. It can be  a dance bag, a bag for art materials, bag for writers or for actors and singers with their bottles of throat saving concoctions, not thrown in haphazardly which of course that possibility is available but tidily organized for the hustling art person and always space for a thought provoking book and an old battered handphone/electronic diary/handwritten appointment book.  This bag fits the fantasy highlight reel of the rock musical Rent. 

This bag weighs a ton. Oh, the burdens we bear for art.

by Eileen 配仪

借题发挥

A few weeks a go I had a massive and awful telling off at work.  Sometimes, it is clear what needs to be done.  The kind of telling to I got was more of the Wong Kar Wai type – where he keeps asking the actors to repeat the scene until the actors think they don’t know how to act anymore.   

This, my mom’s cancer, my husband’s trip to the A&E，my daughter’s trip to the A&E, they all add up to really want to push me over into the territory of I need a break from work. This is sometimes not real – it is a fantasy, an escapism that makes me think that life is better on the other side of work. I don’t particularly want to find another place to work because the shit is only different in shape, size, smell and place. Plus, my workplace is not toxic, the location risk colleagues are really the best people to work with and there is no mean spirited people in my day to day interactions. My manager + higher ups will walk me through how to handle minefields. Yet corporate life is not a walk in the park because such is the nature of the beast. 

Taking a break might result in a permanent retirement. The concerning thing is that I have seen around those close to me, plus read it that who leave work permanently fall easily  into depression or at best feel unhappy during transition. They don’t feel happier or more relaxed and this could go on for ages. As a worker, one can use work as an excuse for the negative feelings. When there is no excuse, when one discovers life is suffering then there is only religion that can solve it. I am not well prepared to fix it currently. I don’t have a good daily practice.  

LivingaFI updated about retirement post his and his wife’s retirement. It made me wonder if they became depressed when there was nothing in their lives to provide external validation. The freedom in retirement means freedom from comparison, freedom from the need to escape. Not on the way that   freedom traditionally means and feels – I have left something to reach the shores of my dreams. Freedom  becomes like a version of emptiness that is beyond simple appreciation. It becomes full of everything we ever are happy or unhappy about life. That can be extremely overwhelming because there is no longer have distractions to tune out all the everything.  That can be quite terrifying.     

To continue to get a paycheck is not an easy path either. However, it has security – not just from money but also medical coverage,   dental subsidy, insurance and so on – normal everyday things that I take for granted and forgot they exist because I occassionally use them. 

发挥了这么多，还是没有结论。只能高唱，我问天。

by Eileen 配仪

Grandmother Tales

My mom was in certain art circles when she was a young adult from her choral group (Xing Shi He Chang Tuan). She dropped out after deciding that art made no money. When I was older I was really impressed she was in the same circle as Kuo Pao Kun and went to his home for a gathering. (I think art people do not party.) His daughter Jian Hong was very small then. My mom said that Mrs Kuo was a beautiful lady and she dances. My piano teacher was from those circles. 杨运珍老师 (Yeong Yoon Ching) was strict but not terror inducing. (There is another piano teacher Ong Lip Tat who is well known for churning out piano talents – there are terrifying stories of shouting and books being thrown on the floor if you are lazy and a bad student.) I was not a very good musically (cannot play with feelings that I don’t have) and not a particularly dedicated student (30 mins of dutiful mostly bad practice). Her husband, Uncle Hui Kun (Chia Wei Khuan) was gentle and kindly to the kids who came to his home to learn piano. He became the choir conductor and  eventually went to do other teaching work. I have no idea what happened to the choir. I had a brief memory that they came from well to do background and knew each other while in the same school abroad and that he had a higher educational qualification. They must be retired now. 

My mom was intent on marshalling my interests. Piano was good – a lot of rich middle class children learnt the piano. We weren’t rich – I wasn’t sure how middle class we were. She fiercely opposed that I had hobbies: writing, watching theatre, reading, orchid keeping – if she had a magic wand I think she use it to wither my interest. I don’t think she does it on purpose, rather we have different interests. I only talked about work with her. She enjoyed the politics, the work dynamics, the stories about bosses and eagerly wanted to know “what happened next” at work. It wasn’t boring – she was a sounding board for me. I had at one time, wished I had a mentor who knew how to navigate the professional world. She worked exclusively in SMEs and didn’t know the skills needed for professional success.   My younger brother played a lot of computer games and had horrendous school results, smoked (at one time), drank (who didn’t) but she never interfered much with his hobbies.   

What would have happened to me if I was left alone with my interests? I think, not much. I won’t be a great starving artist because I am a dilettante at best, a wannabe at worst. I lack the drive, personal skills and ambition to be a great starving artist. It’s not that easy to succeed in one’s ambition.

Today as I waited for my child to finish her lessons, I took a peek at another child tinkling at the keys and noticed her bad finger posture. I said to my daughter later that I would have been patted by a ruler if I did the same thing at music class. Music class is not for crybabies!

by Eileen 配仪

Doing away with school

I’m wondering if it is possible to just get by with only tuition and not attend classes in primary and secondary school (or buy books and assessments) and still get good grades for PSLE and A Levels. A kind of home schooling but not quite. Most materials are done within a short time since tuition is mostly once weekly and there are lists to review and learn. Even without speeding up education, there is time for intensive learning at higher levels, eg coding certificates or even online diplomas. At 16, the child can theoretically begin university life completing it at 19.

During the day, when tuition centers are not working, there is flexibiliy to do train at ECA eg, art, music or sports or e sports. I am sure student care will happily take my money if my kids needs more socialising beyond being in the playground.

by Eileen 配仪

Doors closing

There was a moment today. A very brief moment my friends showed scars from healed wounds. We were all there and we knew of those bad times. We knew how bad it was. Yet, when I saw the scars, it made me cry.

We were sharing favourite songs. I told my friends, I cried at work reading those lyrics. The random colleague across from me must be thinking I broke up or something. They laughed. And laughed more at the picture I took of me blubbing away.

Donald Justice has a poem about being 40 and I like to quote that at each birthday. Younger, I read in it regret, of aging, of responsibilities. Older, I see the suggestion of looking forward to something bigger than ourselves. Scars are the rooms that we leave behind to experience something else.

by Eileen 配仪

Googling myself on the wayback machine

I was watching a Chinese variety program 50公里桃花屋 (titled Wonderland in English) and there was a ‘game’ where the celebs went to speak in a mic at the open sea in Hainan. What is acceptable in chinese culture is a little strange in the more westernised programs. In variety shows like this, it appears that to encourage strong emotions, especially crying or wailing, is more than acceptable – it drives up the viewership. This explains a bit why 琼瑶 films make consistent appearance during the 80s. Every reality show or competition based program will have a segment to encourage high emotions. However, since the reality program has a number of celebs who won’t talk about their boyfriends/girlfriends, can’t talk about their friends who might be in the same industry, can only talk about their parents. It seemed very acceptable to create high emotions when speaking of their parents and their sacrifices. It is ok to speak of the difficult childhood but the appearance of filial piety win much more acceptance. This is in deep contrast to online chatter in Singapore. There is a lot of angst around narcissistic parents or emotionally unavailable parents so much so that one would have thought a generation of orphans abandoned to grandparents or maids, or being abused on a daily basis.  In all societies, there will be parents who are unable to parent – however the magnitude of such conversation online does not match up to the kind of parenting I have observed in everday life. At most, the feeling of being overwhelmed by parents is likely caused by a lack of space and distance due to geog.

I wondered after turning off the television – more accurately youtube – if I felt sorry for myself, or my upbringing. I have always felt that my friends and my husband had a childhood. I only remembered beatings and piano lessons and homework. Older, I remember the favouritism that my parents practiced. I remember them but it is now so far away I don’t remember those feelings I felt when I was a child. It is as if I am watching someone else’s reel and it is not incredibly interesting. A friend of mine has always complained how robotic I am, and sometimes when she explains how much feelings she has, I am so surprised that there are so much emotions bubbling within a person.  My feelings when they present themselves, are not layered and conflicted but exist the way a primary school child might describe them in a 500 word composition. I am not made of stone, I will often times complain but it sounds like a complain I’ve overheard on a train from a stranger to the friend. Nothing creative or new.

 

 

by Eileen 配仪

For Leisure

Online diarists and journalists have fallen from the face of the earth. I no longer know of any blogger, vlogger, who is not trying to monetise their interest. I wish there are blogroll rings I could join just to read.