Movie: The Visit

The verdict: I cannot look at my grandma in the same light after this. 

Yesterday night, I made an extemporaneous trip to the cinema with my friend and boyfriend to watch M. Night Shyamalan's newest found-footage horror film, The Visit. I had seen the trailer ages ago and legitimately laughed out loud at what I thought was a total joke movie. You really can't take the plot seriously - two kids visit their grandparents at their lovely country home and find out that cuddly grandma's actually a complete freak with Formula 1 crawling skills. It doesn't sound scary at all. It sounds absolutely hilarious.

Of course, it then made a lot of sense when my friend said before the movie "Hey, you know this is a horror comedy right?" and I was like, "Fuck." I hate horror-comedies. Because horror-comedies aren't scary. For example, Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland are classic paragons of the horror-comedy genre but I would personally classify them as 100% comedy and 0% horror. I didn't find them scary at all, but even worse, I also didn't find them very funny. A few laughs here and there but nothing memorable that would have made it a great movie (which is not the consensus, I know). 

The one experience that really turned me against the genre was when I bought and watched Sam Raimi's Drag Me To Hell during schoolies (another completely shit experience). Even though the movie had received rave reviews (92 percent on RT), I remember everyone agreeing that it was one of the worst horror films they had ever seen. The thing is, we were all looking forward to REAL SCARES, not hilariously bad scenes of projectile vomit. So of course, it just became an extremely disappointing 2 hours. 

Back to The Visit.  I had also walked into the cinema knowing that the last few movies Shyamalan had directed were tantamount crimes against humanity, namely The Last Airbender and Jaden Smith's coming-of-age in After Earth. In light of all this, I was not expecting anything actually scary or, well, anything that would be good from The Visit.

BOY WAS I WRONG.

The Visit was good. Very good. 

The last time I had laughed and screamed at the same time during a movie was in Year 8 when my two BFFs and I were watching C-class horror movie The Unborn. There was this one scene where an old man in a wheelchair suddenly appeared at the top of a staircase, and then slowly crawled its way down with every possible bodily appendage (except for the penis) circumducting at varying weird angles and speeds. It was pretty horrific, but so over the top that we couldn't help bursting out into fits of laughter, as did the rest of the mostly tweenage audience. However, The Unborn was still overall a shit movie. It tried to be horror and failed.

The Visit, on the other hand, was a self-conscious horror-comedy which got pretty much everything right because it did manage to make me simultaneously laugh and scream in fear. Creepy grandma really blew it out of the water. 

The two sibling protagonists Rebecca and Tyler, aged 12 and 8 respectively, were not annoying at all but incredibly intelligent, funny, and precocious kids. Rebecca was the slightly uptight older sister with a huge interest in 'organic filmmaking', which is why she wants to document the visit. 

Tyler is an adorable aspiring rapper whose witty lines and cheesy smile steals the show. Both characters really drove the film and sparkled with their banter, sarcasm, and occasional rap sessions. They were developed well enough for us to truly care about them. 

There were of course a number of jump-scares in the movie, but Shyamalan manages to gradually and consistently build up suspense, keeping whatever it was that was wrong with grandma and grandpa a total secret until the final climax - which is awesome because you keep trying to guess what it is, and for some time, I still believed that supernatural elements might have been at play. Thankfully, there were no stupid supernatural cop-outs in the movie and everything that went 'wrong' was purely human. 

Anyway. What a great, fun and truly enjoyable movie. Diehard horror movie fans - don't be put off. This is still one that is able to supply the thrills and scares. 

Reading all the next big sci-fi blockbusters before they happen

This year, as a semi-serious and quasi-redundant law student, I have been devouring a respectable number of novels to appease my growing science-fiction appetite. If you have read some of my previous posts, you may have realised that I am a pretty serious cyberpunk fan. And that I watch a shit tonne of movies.

Anyhow, so I've realised that most of the novels I've read this past year will all be turned into movies very soon. So since it's Saturday and my deadline for my freelance articles are due tomorrow, I thought - NO BETTER WAY TO PROCRASTINATE THEN TO SPEND 3 HOURS WRITING SHIT THAT ISN'T ACTUALLY DUE.

Truly orgasmic cyberpunk scenery

NEUROMANCER by William Gibson (1984)

For the last few years, I've been trying to get more into the world of cyberpunk and sci-fi literature. I've attempted to read William Gibson's 1984 novel Neuromancer, which is the biblical work of the cyberpunk genre, but because I only have soft copies of it on my laptop and iPhone, I've been finding it really hard to actually... you know, physically read it. Moreover, jesus christ, I know Gibson is like the forefather of cyberpunk but, and it pains me to say this, his writing style is spasmodic as fuck. I just. Can't. Follow it. 

A sojourn into online forums of the genre reveal that I'm actually far from the only one who has this opinion about Gibson's writing. A lot of other cyberpunk fans also have trouble with the way Gibson paints a whole new world at the speed of light. Every second sentence features a new technology or object that is never ever explained - it's a part of this new exciting universe that's simply thrown at you. But yeah, it gets confusing and by the third chapter, you've got a migraine. 

Nonetheless, Neuromancer is universally considered as one of the origins of cyberpunk and a massive inspiration for a lot of subsequent movies and novels (e.g. The Wind-up Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi; anime series Cowboy Bebop). I vow to finish reading it no matter what. 

Plus, Hollywood is apparently in talks to develop a movie for Neuromancer, which is exciting, especially visually. 

But then Hollywood also wants to develop live action movies for Ghost in the Shell and AKIRA...

lel which means I'm holding my breath until they cast someone who is actually fucking Asian, and not a joke like this one:

Jackson Rathbone as an Asian robot in The Last Airbender.

READY PLAYER ONE by Ernest Cline (2011)

Ha.

Hahahaha.

Hahahahahahahahhaahahaha.

Do not even talk to me about this bound-volume of what is essentially toilet paper.

If you want my final thoughts on it, you can find my full page review in E-Magazine, which I will not link here as I am paranoid about employers tracing into my blog. But you CAN pick up a copy at a local restaurant, cafe or library. Especially in Box Hill.  Or, ask me in person because I will not be able to refrain from verbally ranting about its endless tropes and cliches, and...

The worst fucking cliche any YA sci-fi/dystopian novel can ever ever ever ever ever spew onto your screen or page is the sassy, 'alternative girl' with the cool multi-coloured/streaked hair, possibly with freckles, but definitely also sporting black nail polish and chewing bubble gum or some shit like that. She'll be witty, quirky, and just as good at video-games/boy stuff as YOU are (the male first person narrator) . Most importantly, she is the perfect balance between cute and hot. That last bit could seriously be a line from the novel. 

NO. 

Anyway, Ready Player One is definitely going to become a movie. I mean of course it is, the whole book is based in virtual reality - perfect movie material. they got Steven Spielberg to direct and it is scheduled to come out in December 2017. They're currently casting. 

WOOL by Hugh Howey (2011)

Mediocre.

Wool is the first in its series about people who live in silos and think that their silo is the only part of human civilisation still alive in a world where the air outside is fatally toxic. However, curious minds begin to wonder, and soon, a woman discovers that the people who live in these silos have been blinded from the truth by a weave of lies from upper management... Then you play John Butler's Revolution on speaker and start tap-dancing with a bloodied pitchfork. 

Yes, it's one of those novels. The dystopian-sedition thing is extremely trendy these days, following the success of The Hunger Games, Insurgent, The Maze Runner, and to a lesser extent, The Giver. 

Wool at its most basic principles is just like The Hunger Games, and also includes a little romance in its plot devices. But it has flowery language (maybe more enjoyable for people who don't particularly like straight-cut YA-style writing), and most importantly, no stupid love triangles/sexual tension ostensibly designed for marketing/consumer/tween-girl purposes. Because trust me, I have read the entire Twilight series and when I read The Hunger Games, there wasn't any difference in the way that romance is used as more or less a 'squee' factor. A squee factor that eventually led to the portmanteau 'Peeniss'. 

So yeah, I enjoyed Wool, but didn't love it and it wasn't that addictive a read. 

There are rumours that Ridley Scott is producing the movie adaptation, which would be good because I think Wool deserves a lot of blood and guts and accurate portrayals of strong women. 

RED RISING by Pierce Brown (2014)

This book is fucking amazing.

I felt so compelled to praise this book after I finished it, that I actually updated my Facebook status for once, with a long-ish paragraph about how awesome this was and how there will no doubt be a bidding war for the rights to make the movie for this. 

And yes, this February, Universal Pictures outbid Sony with a seven-figure sum for Red Rising's screen rights. The guy who directed World War Z, Marc Foster, is apparently steering the helm. 

So Red Rising is actually what it is advertised by its marketers: Ender's Game meets The Hunger Games.

That is LITERALLY what Red Rising is. But just because the novel is unoriginal doesn't make it any less fun. Because it is helluva fun. And anyway, books and films are inspired by iconic works all the time. 

As an obsessive Ender's Game fan, I actually felt like Red Rising was an homage. Clearly, the very young 27 year old Pierce Brown also grew up reading Ender's Game and revering its genius protagonist Ender Wiggin (one of the most iconic characters in all of science fiction). In Red Rising, he combines everything that made Ender's Game good, and everything that made The Hunger Games good, and chucked it in space. 

And I love. Space operas.

So yeah, the book is as they say on Good Reads - "unputtadownable".

THE MARTIAN by Andy Weir (2011)   -  movie coming out in November 2015

Only fedora-wearing science nerds will really like. Although I'm still excited to see the movie. 

This book  revolves around an astronaut named Mark Watney, who is accidentally left behind in a shuttle on Mars during an expedition gone wrong. He has to rely on his extensive knowledge of space, physics, chemistry, engineering and botany to survive until someone on Earth figures out he's still alive.

Even though 104467 people have given it a 5/5 rating on Good Reads, and it has garnered critical reception generally, I would only give it a 1/5. 

First, and to be fair, I never 'studied' science. Sure, I did it all the way up to year 10, as is compulsory, then dropped the science subjects and picked up a few math ones and the rest were humanities based. Think politics and history. So ironically, as a science-fiction lover, I am NOT savvy with the hard science. Thus, this entire book, which is 90% explanation, goes way over my head. No doubt, those with an actual science background will probably love it, and feel some sort of resonance when reading about all the great and ingenious ways Matt devises to make food and communicate with the outer world.

The second point though, is actually its shitty protagonist, which is a fair literary condemnation. See, I don't REALLY mind the whole exposition thing as I keep telling myself - "this is probably the exact reason why people like it" - but then I still couldn't get past Mark Watney.

Watney is one of the biggest douchebags ever, and if I had to work with anyone with a similar personality, I would kill myself. This is the most terrifying thing because according to the book, Mark Watney was chosen specifically for his 'terrific' personality - easygoing, funny, a real bro. HAHAHAHAHA OR THAT'S WHAT ANDY WEIR LIKES TO THINK.

Someone on Good Reads who gave 2 stars actually did a quick background check on author Andy Weir and basically found that he has spent his entire life in academia, studying hard sciences. And while that is very admirable, the impact on his social life/skills - WELL, it's pretty goddamn obvious in the book. There are a crapload of 'hilarious' puns, 'smooth' pick-up artist lines (similar things), 'cool-guy' swearing when actually unnecessary, misogynistic jokes about women, and a heavy sense of obnoxious arrogance that is played off as 'smart funny genius'. The only people who don't agree with me are probably people that buy into that sort of crap.

I HATED MARK WATNEY AND WANTED HIM TO DIE IN THE SHUTTLE SO WE CAN BE FREE OF HIS PENIS JOKES. The end.

ANCILLARY JUSTICE  by Ann Leckie (winner of the 2014 Hugo, Nebula AND Arthur C Clarke awards!! The three biggest prizes in SF)

A totally unexpected thriller. Of mind-blowing creativity. 

I'm only half-way into this but my god. Ancillary Justice is good. It's addictive. It's almost Red Rising addictive. But the thing that makes it better than Red Rising? 

Originality.

The main character/first person narrator, Breq, isn't human. She's AI. And she's not just an AI controlling one body, like how we usually imagine AI - as an android. She is an AI that controls a humongous warship, and twenty other human bodies (soldiers) at the same time. She IS all of them at the same time. 

*note that she is only referred to by the pronoun 'she' because her human shells/bodies are female. 

And the greatest thing ever? You get to dive inside her mind, and read descriptions of her seeing and feeling the world simultaneously from her different sets of human bodies. And no, not as separate chapters, but as real-time back-and-forth switching which is described within sentences - within paragraphs! And the writing isn't spasmodic at all; instead, it maintains a high quality of consistency throughout the chapters I've read. Overall, the effect is eerie, but incredibly cool, if I have to use the word. 

I haven't finished the book yet, but so far, it remains a mystery why there is only ONE (shell) of her left. 

Ancillary Justice is apparently being picked up by Fox Studios as a TV series. 

Getting Chicken Pox at 21.

*Pardon the months-long hiatus*

You know what's one of the worst things to happen when you're old? 

Alzheimer's. But apart from fucking Alzheimer's, which is legit a scarier thought than the upcoming Blade Runner remake, there's chicken pox. 

By human lifespans, I am not that old. I'm twenty-one,. But in dog years I'm like fifty, and to little kids, I'm a full grown highfalutin job-working white-collar car-driving robot slave. 

With chicken pox. 

And actually, I'm still on my Ls so I don't even qualify as an official adult. I know, it's pathetic.

Anyway, this week has been the worst time to get chicken pox. As one of the vice presidents at my student club, I had spent literally months organising the first university-wide singing competition to ever be held at our university. I was even going to be the MC, alongside a hyper-energetic young male whose Facebook name consists of a heavy oscillation of Xs and Os. He was really fun to work with when we were preparing the speeches, so I was excited to get to do the actual thing on stage. 

And then I got chicken pox two days before the event.

[insert all-caps curse word]

Not only that, I also had to sell off both mine and my boyfriend's law ball tickets and because I'm an emotional weakling, I offered to sell them both at discounted prices even though there was nothing wrong in principle with charging the original price. [inesrt all-caps curse word].

I also rang up my friend to tell her that due to my illness i.e. looking like a walking topography of volcanoes, I couldn't do the other MC job that I promised to do next Thursday, which was of a state-wide scale and open to the public. 

FUCKING SIGH.

So many missed opportunities. The only silver lining in my personal fiasco is that the singing competition apparently went extremely well - thanks to good organising *wink*. Our sponsorship officer was also great, and managed to get Pappa Rich (you know, the restaurant we all go to when we can't make up our minds) to sponsor at least one prize for every single contestant. Pappa Rich were ecstatic with the exposure they received. We had many other sponsors as well, but our President managed to fuck one of their names up in spectacular comedic fashion. He's a good guy.

Before I end up rambling on and on, and possibly starting a new post, you may be wondering why I write so aggressively. In fact, this is me trying to hold back. If I didn't self-censor, there would be a million 'fucks' all over this page right now. I can't help it. I like swearing and it's what I'm really thinking. I am of course not like this in real life (i.e. verbally swearing all the time), but online, I can do almost whatever I want as long as the privacy settings on this blog are what I think I've set them to. 

The thing is, I don't want to blog to create this wholesome picture of myself for the world. This isn't some sort of marketing tool like LinkedIn to create my own personal brand, although I know that these days, that is a must and I have no escape from such a requirement if I intend to forge a successful career in a big city. 

Neither is this blog some sort of picture blog, or foodie blog, or make-up blog, or fashion blog. This is purely, a writing blog. A journal blog. 

It is a way of airing my insecurities, my truest thoughts and feelings - feeling connected to my (very small pool of) readers, and being free from the politically correct standards of Tumblr's 'cis-gender' population who literally can't function without stopping fifteen times mid-conversation to insert a trigger-warning. 

Ciao.

Cyberpunk dreams

I thought this blog would be irrevocably dead, but it turns out my last post was in February of this year, so I guess it's not that bad....

Last night, I was flicking through cyberpunk Tumblrs.
I'm the sort of person who cries when I look at pictures of space. I'm the sort of person who will zoom in on futuristic city landscapes to scour out the beautiful, minute details of the artwork, and then breathe in and out really slowly, imagining that my pupils were dilating to enormous black holes, like I'm on some amazing drug... I will carefully read the Japanese/Chinese neon store signs, my eyes hovering over each character even if I don't recognise it, and count the number of mini people I see roaming the alleyways.

I just fucking love it. I love imagining that I'm there - really there - looking up at these big blue skyscrapers, floating cars and Budweiser blimp ads zooming by. I feel so small, and yet so amazed to be a part of a world so vast, wonderful and ever-changing.

I can't really describe it - it's a sense of excitement, of liberation, of unknowing and adventure. At ground level, there are people of all cultures, complexions and languages, worming their way through the 3am night markets, and hawker food stalls. Ahhh the food stalls, a steamy cornucopia of delicious ethnic foods, another staple of the my cyberpunk fantasies - being able to buy yummy foods at all times of the day.

Usually, I will imagine myself wearing a long camel trench coat and smoking a cigarette, with short hair that just reaches the base of my neck. It has just rained and my hair is wet. Black strands stick to the sides of my face. I'm wearing dark red lipstick, and I have a gun under my trench. I figure I'm probably some sort of stoic, bad-ass hacker ala a William Gibson protagonist. I go to a little Japanese food stall at a busy strip of the market, sit at the small bench they have for patrons, and order an Asahi and a bowl of noodles with fish balls. The stereotypical old Japanese guy with a head band immediately gets to work, while I sit back on the stool, take the cig out of my mouth and watch perfunctorily as a string of smoke escapes my lips and slowly swirls into the steamy night.

The dream cuts to a camera's perspective. It focuses on the back of me, with my trench coat hung over the stool. For a while, it lingers on my unmoving profile. Then it zooms out slowly, and you see just how many other people are out at this time of the night, walking with umbrellas and chattering animatedly in their native language, under a slew of flashing neon lights above.

My most favourite blog of all time: http://metropolisoftomorrow.tumblr.com/

Movie: Whiplash

Oh my god. This movie. Is amazing.

In one sentence, Whiplash is about a hopeful 19 year old drummer called Andrew (Miles Teller) who makes it to the top music school in the nation, only to come across Fletcher (JK Simmons), one of the harshest and most fearful teachers ever conceived in the mollycoddled Western world.

The tagline that could have been? See what South Korean schooling looks like on a daily basis, but with white people.


So yes, it's a very simple plotline. With lots of loud yelling, brief but suspenseful pauses in betwixt, shameful drooping of heads, crying, really good jazz music... But holy shit, Miles Teller and JK Simmons are so goddam convincing and ALIVE in this movie that for two hours, I basically time travelled back to my childhood and got to relive all of the shitty experiences I had with my tennis coach dad, aka author of the best-selling Chinese parenting manual 'how to verbally abuse and scar your child for life and never apologise for it'. Hurrah.

Honestly, I loved this movie precisely because it was so fucking accurate. Of course, young and ambitious, I understood everything that was going through Andrew's mind - the burning desire for success fuelled by a debilitating need for acknowledgment and respect. Only by gaining these things will Andrew ever be able to prove his worth to his mentor, and most importantly, to himself. For a lot of kids that are constantly put down by their teachers or parents, self-worth goes hand in hand with academic achievement, or in this case, musical achievement. Obviously, as we have sometimes read in the news, such pressure can lead to devastating consequences - depression, self-harm, suicide. Here, the film deftly confronts this issue in an unexpected, but unsurprising, twist of events.

However, one really outstanding aspect of this movie (of which there are so many) is how deftly it deals with the other side - WHY is it that these teachers/parents push their students so hard? What runs through their mind when they slap their student in the face, calling him or her a useless fucking prick? In this day and age, they must know that such abusive treatment may drive students to their grave. So HOW can they be so callous? So cruel?

JK Simmons, displaying an extraordinary gamut of emotions as the teacher Fletcher, even makes you feel sympathetic for HIM! And his character is truly, a huge douchebag, so this is no small feat. He reveals bit by bit to the audience that he himself never really achieved the greatness he desired. And even as a world renowned music teacher, he longs for the day when he can produce a student who can be the best - to become the next "Charlie Parker" (some famous jazz musician whose teacher once threw a cymbal at his head [sorry I'm such a pleb]). "I've always wanted a Charlie Parker," he even says during a woeful conversation with Andrew at a bar.

Yes, very cliche. Of course, he aims to vicariously enjoy the successes of his students. The acting though, was simply breathtaking. With every enduring second of silence, every blink, every sigh, every convolution of the wrinkles on his face, Fletcher suddenly reveals so much vulnerability - it opens your eyes to how equally scarred and desperate he is... nursing an affliction just as lacerating as Andrew's. You don't see him simply as the villain, or someone to hate, but someone whose ridiculous actions you can actually sympathise with. You know... he's still human after all.

Overall, I still can't believe how brilliant, accurate and gripping this film was.... Watching the young Andrew pump away at his drum set for hours on end until his hands bled, seeing the pool of sweat and tears drenching his face, and even watching him very awkwardly, break up an early relationship with a girl he liked to concentrate on his drumming .... man, I could relate. Because once upon a time, that's how I felt - I was Andrew.

Taiwan photos

Shilin Night Market

A street full of Pet stores near my apartment in Daan district

Random roads

Xinyi District 

Inside Taipei 101

Cafe near university

More to come...

#Facebook #universitystudents #FWP

Scrolling down on your Facebook feed as a litany of curse words escape your lips like a ringing alarm bell.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck.

Your brows furrow. Your eyes narrow. You ask yourself.

ARE YOU SERIOUS? HE'S FREAKING NINETEEN AND ALREADY INTERNING AT (insert name of huge law firm) IN HONG KONG? WHAT THE FFFFFFFFFFFF -

You scroll down even more.

This girl's just won some international consultancy competition.
That guy's just written his first piece for Foreign Policy.
This person just got accepted to Cambridge for a MBA.
That person just got hired as a part-time sub-editor for Bloomberg News.

You slam your five month old Windows Surface tablet down and heave, simultaneously stressed as fuck, kind of depressed and yet miraculously motivated. You walk to the sink and pour yourself a glass of water, which you down as you return to the sedentary position, your butt adjusting to the moulded contours of the seat.

Fuaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark You can't help swearing. You think about the baby-faced nineteen year old, with his smarmy smile and expensive suit, one hand conspicuously holding a  champagne glass - a glittering harbinger of this dude's totally premature corporate success - something that you feel has hitherto eluded you. WHY DOES HE HAVE TO BE YOUNGER THAN ME. GODDAMIT. You slam your glass down with slightly excessive force and heave for the millionth time.

Oh my god, I need to step up my game.
I need to get clerkships.
If I don't get clerkships... I'll... I'll apply for one of the Big 4 companies.
Oh my god I DON'T EVEN STUDY COMMERCE.


You open your tablet up, and without better forethought, search up the name of a younger colleague. She comes up as the first result. What the... You click. You click her profile picture. When did she get so freaking hot? THAT. is .such a nice dress are you kidding me jesus effing christ I need that dress arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhahdfwyuiasesfghaoi;wefhawioefh.

Next photo. She's at some sort of hipster club, a generic Mimco clutch in hand, laughing and dancing with friends as luscious locks of blonde hair flail against an ethereal backdrop of drunk teens.
68 likes.
Borderline brain-damaging comments ensue:
Oh my gosh looking that good shouldn't be legal!!! #gorgeous #slaya xoxo
Dayum girl. You can be my bae anyday.
Goddess! *emoticon* *emoticon* *emoticon*
Dat ass

Scroll down. Next photo. She's at some sort of Tanzanian safari park, hugging a tiger cub, her broad smile telling you how much more '#awesome' and '#amazing' (and #parentallysubsidised) her life is compared to yours. You stare into her three hundred dollar Ray Ban shades with uber intensity, but not thinking anything in particular. Just staring.
170 likes.

The next photo is even worse. You thought she was there on vacation. No. She's in Tanzania building schools for needy Tanzanian children, and there she is embraced and surrounded by hundreds of thankful, smiling kids. Oh so compelling, you scoff, third world volunteering opportunities bought by first-world privilege.
240 likes.

You decide you've had enough and log off Facebook, feeling weight on your shoulders.

At that same moment, someone else logs on. A fellow student - a mere acquaintance, perhaps a friend of a friend. He curiously searches up your name and shifts in his seat as he scrolls down your wall, seeing the latest photos of you at a recent government sponsored business forum, you shaking hands with the Minister of Multicultural Affairs, and an ever so smug smile on your face.

Movie: Empire of the Sun

I really hate studying in my room. I curse the architect of this house for leaving me and my brother's bedrooms utterly deprived of vitamin D. Even when it's midday, and the sun is lovely and bright, our rooms still look like an emo's galore because the sun never gets a direct hit into our windows. BLEH.

Yesterday night, I watched Empire of the Sun, the 1987 Spielberg movie starring 13 year old Christian Bale in his first feature film debut. He plays a loquacious rich English boy caught up in the Japanese invasion of Shanghai during WWII. His gets separated from his parents during a coursing 人山人海 situation on Shanghai's streets, who were then literally swept away by the waves of stinky looking Chinese peasants, all clamouring for an escape out of the city. I couldn't help but laugh my ass off as his horrified and disgusted mother became engulfed by the hordes of dirty, lower class 'Chinks' - her arms flailing madly as everybody else pushed and shoved in their desperation. What a juxtaposition. Her with the fancy hat and impeccable button down blazer and skirt ensemble - next to a bunch of icky dudes carrying bloodied chickens and cages and all sorts of other weird thingamabobs. Hah.

Anyway, cute little Christian Bale, officially appellated Jamie Graham in this movie, is really annoying. I guess you could say annoying in a 'sweet' way, but I found him annoying in a you-could-have-fucking-died-oh-my-god-stop way. I mean, for a guy who has received such consummate schooling and upbringing, you'd think he had more common sense than to run up to a marching cavalcade of armed Japanese soldiers and be all like "I SURRENDER! HELP ME! HELP ME! I'M BRITISH!" - then continue to weave in and out of said formation with the impetuousness of a lab rat.

YOU DO NOT FUCKING DO THAT.

Anyway, it's just a movie. lol. I still couldn't refrain from slapping the table multiple times. Also, it really pissed me off when his mum was holding his hand being all like "DON'T LET GO! DON'T LET GO!" during what was clearly a dangerous and urgent situation where lots of people around them were crying and yelling in distress. And then his toy plane falls out of his pocket or something and he LET'S GO to get his plane. Turns around afterwards and of course, his mum is long gone.

LIKE SERIOUSLY, HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER.

And that's the start of how he ends up at a Japanese POW camp.

Apart from Jamie's initial stupidity (I'm sorry J.G. Ballard, person whom this movie is based on), I really liked the movie. It had a lot of touching and suspenseful moments, and it is definitely the sort of movie I would watch with my young kids one day - snuggled up on the sofa with a bowl of pop corn. Firstly, it's historical, it's based on a true story and it's not dumbed down. Secondly, there are a lot of important lessons or values to be gleaned. Bravery, loyalty, friendship. Even I got teary at some bits. With a young protagonist, it's also slightly more relatable for children. Erm, I'm probably getting a bit ahead of myself here.

Great movie. Would recommend.

How it felt to feel worthless as a child (another catharsis)

One time when I was around nine years old, my dad was teaching me maths at the ungodly hour of 11.00pm. Seated at my desk, I stared blankly at the question, my heart racing like Phar Lap on steroids. I could feel my dad's eyes boring into my brain, probably accompanied by an inner monologue like this:
Why the fuck is my child so stupid.
Wow. How did she NOT inherit my intelligence. 
This is ridiculous. 
Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tireddddd.

Meanwhile, I could hear the clock ticking. I knew that if I didn't answer this question soon, and correctly, my dad will be extremely disappointed. And when he's disappointed at me, he's not just disappointed. It's anger. It's disbelief. It's him heaving at me, asking me why I couldn't answer one of the most basic questions ever. Then comes the belittling. You're absolutely useless. Are you even listening? Is there anything happening in your brain? How many hours did we spend on this concept already??? How can you still not understand this?? WHY? What the hell are you doing? 

And it was truly unwarranted. I wasn't a recalcitrant child, and not the least bit impetuous. Before my revolutionary rebellion at the end of grade 6, I was still that timid kid that always listened to their parents i.e. took their parents' shit. Never did I speak up for more than one time in an argument. I just bowed my head and absorbed the psychological battering. And worst of all, I had always genuinely tried my best at whatever they had wanted me to do.

So that night, doing that maths question with my dad next to me, I was really scared. In fact, if I weren't physically trembling, I was definitely mentally trembling. The thing my dad never understood is when all your kid(s) can think about is not getting yelled at or hit, there is no way they can fully focus on learning. It took me hours to learn really easy things because the whole time, I was just drowning in fear.

Then I said these suicidal words. "I don't know..." I whispered, feeling more and more pathetic. There was a long moment of silence after the words left my mouth, and I thought I was being sucked into a black hole. But at least in a black hole, I wouldn't have to deal with my dad's wrath. I continued to stare at the paper, not daring to look at my dad's face. I heard my dad sigh. And then he sighed again. And then, something absolutely extraordinary happened.

I think my dad started tearing up.

For THAT was how fucking annoyed he was at my incompetence. I heard sniffs. I saw red eyes. I didn't want to believe that I had pissed him off enough to make him cry. I've seen his face go red like a baboon's ass when he yelled at me - frustration written into the wrinkles of his physiognomy. But I've never ever seen my dad tear up. He let out a long woebegone groan, and put his face in his hands. It was as if he had just received news of a loved one's death, or maybe that he had just lost his home to the bank. After a few terrifying seconds, he raised his head and...laughed. Are you serious? He asked me. It would have been something along those lines.

I immediately broke down. Tears streamed down my cheeks like the Nile. I sobbed into my balled up fists and contemplated why I was still living. Why are you crying??? My dad asked insensitively. Through sobs, snot and tears, my nine year old self replied:  B-because...I-I'm s-s-s-stupid... 
Until then, I had never felt so pathetic and unloved in my life. And I thought that maybe, I deserved to feel that way because I really thought I was stupid. I was so stupid, I had made my dad cry. And I didn't want to cause him to feel that way for both of our sakes. I know y-you don't l-love me... I said.

I don't remember the particulars of what happened after - me walking out of the room to escape the unfolding Greek tragedy - dad following me down the hall and actually laughing as I explained why they (my parents) didn't love me - my mum a passive witness... All I remembered was how shit it felt. And that was only one of many similar incidents to come.

Over the next few years, I kept diaries. Whenever I read them, I always feel sorry for myself as a child. Notable phrases that kept popping up in my entries were things like: "I feel useless", "I feel pathetic", "I wish I were dead". And a litany of swear words - FUCK, SHIT, FUCK, I FUCKING HATE YOU - were common graffiti.

I wrote in my diary every time I was angry, and because of this, I had a record of every single time my dad made me feel like shit. When I started talking back to my dad, I would always remind him...

Remember that time you yelled at me because I lost that tennis match? 

Remember when I told you other kids weren't being nice to me at squad training and you just told me to 'ignore them'? 

Remember when you hit me in front of other students from my primary school over an argument about basketball rules?

His reply was always: stop thinking about the past and move on! I don't remember it! Stop bringing little things up to attack me. And get rid of that stupid diary. That's the reason why you're still bringing up stupid things from the past.

I couldn't believe how he couldn't see that these weren't 'little things' at all. Obviously, these were things that really impacted my self-esteem. I remember those things so well, so clearly - how searing his words were... It also changed the way I thought about my dad forever. And if we had the same debate today, I'm sure he would just say the same thing.

After all the shit I put up with, I'd say I turned out pretty well. I'm social, outgoing, and I now have extremely high self-esteem and self-confidence. It was because one day, I realised I wasn't worthless or pathetic or useless. It truly was an overnight epiphany - I was 10 years old, lying in bed thinking about killing myself, and suddenly I started to think about people that had it harder than me. The homeless, the kids in Africa (...yep), the physically disabled, the people lying in hospital beds waiting for a new organ... And I realised that even if I didn't get a high ATAR or whatever my parents use to measure my worth - I was not useless because I am fortunate enough to be in a position to be able to change someone else's life. I've read enough Chicken Soup for the Soul stories to know that it's possible for just one person to make an impact... and I told myself that was what I was going to live for.

Today, I've learnt a lot of new things about parenting, especially Chinese parenting, and its effects on children. Everyone experiences it differently. Who knows? Maybe some children don't really mind it - they've truly put it behind them now that they're acing life. Maybe they're even grateful. But I know that when I was being verbally abused day in day out, there was no way I could stand it. And I do know other people who can't wait to move out and have come to despise their parents.

I still feel bitter about my childhood and I don't think I can ever forgive my dad for how he made me feel when I was young - unless he apologises. But fat chance of that ever happening. He still asks me things like: "Why don't we get along??? I feel like we should, we have so many similar opinions on things!" <-- which is also completelyyyyyyyyy inaccurate.

Anyway. This has been a really good cathartic exercise. Even now, as a 20 year old 'adult', I still think back to the years that made me who I am now. All that fucking pain. I hope one day my dad will realise why our relationship is the way it is now - kind of shit and dysfunctional.

I can imagine him sitting in an armchair, old and shrunken, cheeks freckled and saggy, his wrinkled hands gesturing towards me in the air:

What the heck did I ever do to you???



Addendum:
If you ever feel lost, hopeless, lonely and anxious - find someone to talk to. It helps immensely. Don't keep it bottled up inside, especially if the only reason is that you don't want to be a 'burden' to your family or friends. In addition, there are always counselors at high school or university.

Kids Helpline - 1800 55 1800

http://www.abc.net.au/mentalas/
To support Mental Health Week, ABC is going Mental As... Join us, show your support and donate to mental health research today.

Occupy Central in Hong Kong

It's been a tumultuous few weeks in Hong Kong. One of my best friends is currently on exchange at Hong Kong University, and she tells me that every day there are students skipping class to take part in their own Occupy Central protest on university grounds. Classes have diminished in size, while public spaces, mostly centred around Admiralty, have ballooned with impassioned truants.

Here's a photo she sent me:

Who knows what will happen a week from now - whether it's going to escalate or die down - but it has been fascinating watching the responses of my peers to Occupy Central. Over this past weekend, a number of my mother's colleagues staged a peaceful demonstration outside the Victorian State Library, holding placards emblazoned with democratic slogans and draped with yellow ribbon. A man whom I personally know was said to have orchestrated the event, and later on in the day, I saw a Facebook video of him making a rousing speech to at least a hundred others about how overseas Hong Kongers must show their support and pride for those at 'home'.

"Later, if someone comes up to make a speech - film it, put it online and let everyone know that the Hong Kong people of Melbourne are not just sitting here doing nothing, but that we also have a voice. We will let the world know, the people in Hong Kong know, that we are actively supporting democratic Hong Kong!" 

Video accessible here:

Post by Dolp Dolp Lau.