LINGUISTICS 100

I never thought linguistics could be so interesting (despite the fact that I was struggling to stay awake for the last half-hour of class this morning).

The only class I am taking in the summer, titled “Communication and Language”, looks at the language around the world and how we use language to communicate. On the first day of classes, we were introduced to the course, and very briefly talked about symbolic thinking. On the powerpoint slide was a picture of a cave drawing of a horse.

Someone in the front row raised her hand and asked a question to which the professor replied, (I am paraphrasing here) “they would have had a language already in order for them to do a drawing of a horse”. At first I thought, okay… that makes sense… Then she quickly advanced to the next slide and started talking about something else. Wait a minute! Do you mean that we can’t draw unless we have a language? It was too late to ask the question in class. So I waited until the end of lecture and approached her.

“About symbolic thinking, you said the cave drawings were done because they already have a language?”

“Yes.”

“So then do you mean we can’t draw unless we have a language?”

“Yes, because for them to reproduce a drawing of a horse, they would have to see it and know what it is.”

“But can’t someone just see it and duplicate it without knowing fully what it is?” (like a photocopying machine?)

“No, you can’t reproduced something unless you know what it is. “

“Hmm… But say a child sees a chair. He then draws a chair in his book. He doesn’t necessarily have the understanding of what this ‘chair’ is or what it’s called.”

“But You can’t duplicate something without understanding the concept of it. And to grasp the concept of anything you would have to have a language already because in order to process anything in your brain you would need a language or a system of communication.”

“Right…. hmm… okay.” (I was thinking on the spot. I don’t think she understood my question.)

“You know, this is a very interesting topic. I read it in the papers or somewhere recently about drawing and language. Why don’t you write your question down here and I’ll get back to you about it.”

She then handed me a piece of paper and a pen. I paused at the blank piece of paper. I didn’t know how to phrase my question accurately. But she stood in front of me and stared. I quickly pieced together my thoughts and formed a somewhat intelligible sentence. I lifted my pen and read the question: “Can someone draw something without a language or an understanding of what it is that they are drawing? (ie Can’t they just see it for what it is and copy it?” Okay, I think that sounds about what I’m trying to get at. She grabbed the pen and paper from me and read the question.

“Okay, I will look into it.”

“Yeah, Thanks!” With that, I left unconvinced.

The 3rd week of school has now come to an end. I am still waiting to hear what she has to say about those cave drawings. And in the meantime, I am still learning lots about the languages that we use to communicate.

Reblog

On the wordpress dashboard I came across Eyeball Chamber’s newest post. The picture captured a great moment, and the writing proved it worthy of appraisal. It is truly inspiring.

The nature of reality presents with itself a sense of vulnerability. It is then our choice to turn that vulnerability into strength. And from strength we can then do great things with our lives, achieve goals and make dreams comes true!

Let's do a comparison

of my last summer and this summer (so far).

Honestly, I couldn’t quite recall WHAT EXACTLY I did last summer. There were small bits and pieces of memory here and there. But overall I guess you could say that it was all theatre, one show after another. I did a little bit of digging and remembered:

In April, right after I finished school, I started stage managing a first-year MFA project (which was like a mini directing projects). I went on two interviews for two jobs: Bard on the Beach House Manager and Place des Arts Events Assistant, both of which I didn’t get. I completely bombed the Bard interview. They asked really really hard questions which I think I answered poorly because I wasn’t prepared at all. And the events assistant job… well, I think they just found someone who impressed them more than I did. Okay, anyway, back to my theatre-filled summer of ’09.

So The Tide in April. What came next was volunteering for Rogers & Hammerstein’s Flower Drum Song, produced by Vancouver Asian Canadian Theatre. I think that carried over to some time in May. Then I have no idea what I did in the next two months before rehearsals for trojan women… started. All throughout July I was at school twice a week for rehearsals. Then August came and when a week of shows at Carousel Theatre ended, I was immediately involved in the shooting of Vagina Vacation, which then went on to place 2nd at Mighty Asian Moviemaking Marathon at the end of August.

In between those times I believe I went hiking at Deep Cove with Lucy, watched Rent —The Musical at Presentation House in North Van, hosted two pool parties and my 21st birthday party. I probably did more. But I can’t remember. I should’ve written everything down. (well, I had a list of “to-do” but it doesn’t help if I haven’t accomplished most of the things listed!)

And for this summer… well, things are lined up, but I’m hoping it’ll be different than last summer. I hope to at least make some money; save up for my 4th year production ‘cuz god knows I can use a little financial help. I’m taking one class —Linguistics, which I am really interested in. And so far my June and July is looking pretty empty (except for the occasional film production meetings and script revisions). Then August comes and I’ll be busy SMing at least two (if not three) small, independent projects. I am also hoping to see Cirque du Soliel’sKooza and The Lion King.

Shit, it’s already the end of May. I need to get my ass going if I want to DO SOMETHING. I can’t waste my summer any more.

My Sweetest Downfall

For the purpose of protecting myself from unwanted gossip and drama, I chose not to disclose a critical piece of information in the post below. And I hope that you will honour that purpose even if you guessed what “that” is and keep everything to yourself.

In the short span of approximately a year, I have become completely detached from my family at church. And I have no plans of ever getting back together again. I just don’t care that much about those friendships anymore. I mean, yes, they are still friends… not CLOSE friends, but friends none the less. So I suppose I should still put in some time to nurture those relationships.

The way I make them sound disposable is almost cruel. I was pretty close with some of them. I was pretty attached to my family. But the emphasis is on the past tense. I WAS a happy member of that group in which we so shared an unspeakable bond. Now? I just want to get away as far as possible. It’s not them, it’s me.

About a year (or even longer) ago, when I started to doubt “who I am”, I inched away from church because my heart told me that what I was contemplating cannot co-exist with my religion. Christianity does NOT accept that kind of people (contrary to what some churches have done/been doing or claim). So I turned the other way and found comfort in the arms of theatre and film. I slowly let go of the life I’ve lived for the past 3 to 5 years.

I start to despise group activities at church. Whether it be choir, fellowship or other kinds of gathering. I start to see things from the outside. I realize that one can be really blinded by the “goodness” that this home presents. I don’t understand how I was so ignorant before. There are many “faults” with this home, and when there are “faults” (aka politics) I feel disconnected with the people living there. The differences between me and the people who belonged to this home grew wider. Eventually I disregard myself as “one of them”.

(Why didn’t I try to repair those differences? Well, I didn’t see a point to “fixing” anything. Or rather, it was something no one could fix. I was starting to become the kind of person I didn’t want to be; the kind that just couldn’t care less about anything. So I was unhappy at that home. I decided to move —in secret. Why in secret? Okay, first and foremost, I didn’t want to disappoint my mom. That “home” was what she built her beliefs on. She lives a Christian life and that’s what she expects me to do, too. I keep living a lie to make her happy. But I also live this lie around the friends who I pretend to be close to. I don’t feel we have a special connection anymore. That bond where we all have a personal relationship with God just doesn’t exist in my life right now. So friends who were my big family once have become strangers with a familiar face.)

I move on. I find a resting place in theatre. Folks there are so much less conservative (in a good way that helps me sort out my issues) and open to all kinds of discussions and people. I make a choice to stay there. I continue on the journey of figuring myself out, and I start to grow as an artist (I think).

To sum up: my education (theatre and film production) caused my sweetest downfall from Christianity. (Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean that the two can’t play out in harmony. For me it’s far more complicated than what it seems — there are details that I feel unsuitable for examination here and now. I just find the former world much more to my liking than the difficult Christian life.) And so far so good… except I hate the “living a fake life” part…

The Buddy Holly Story

I had the privilege of attending Vancouver Arts Club’s newest musical production, Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story on their Wednesday opening night for free thanks to my friend Joanna, who is working on the show as the apprentice SM.

Before going to the show, I had no idea who Buddy Holly is. Well, I’ve heard the name but didn’t really try to figure out why he’s famous. So this is the perfect chance to find out. I sat with a stranger, a friend of a friend’s. The friend that was supposed to come couldn’t make it, so he called his friend at the last minute to take his spot.

I briefly read through the program during pre-show and found out that it’s a 1950′s story. The lights faded and the music started. Thus began an evening of Buddy Holly.

I was super impressed with the actors/musicians. It was more of a concert than anything! I immediately fell in love with Buddy Holly’s music. Like I always say, old music (music from waaaaaaaaay back) is SO MUCH better than the kind of music we have today!

I also wonder though, what the music world would be like if Buddy Holly survived that fateful plane crush. Would I be wrong if I say that the music world will be totally different if he had gone on to live for 20 or more years and recorded 10 more Rock ‘n’ Roll CD’s?

Maybe I’m nothing more than a narcissistic, self-loving bitch

because I just admired myself in the mirror, topless. And posed as if photographers were snapping the few precious pictures that I allow them to take of me half-nude. I pull a corner of my sweats down to reveal my pink underwear and imagine a flood of shutter clicks followed by waves of flashlights.

My hair is silky soft right after the shower. I can see the outlines of my abs that are slowly forming. I feel young, fresh, and attractive. God has made me well.

Shameless Self-Promotion

So I have recently signed up for tumblr and used one of their flash-based templates to create a website for myself. I really like what I’ve done. But I gotta say, wordpress is still the best blogging site out there (well, for the kind of person I am and the kind of posts I write).

If you are so inclined, please visit my website. It tells you everything you need to know about who I am and the kind of work I do. And let me know what you think… ‘cuz a lot of people are saying that it is confusing. I don’t know why. I mean, there’s a bit of a learning curve, but it shouldn’t be that difficult! I think I am assuming whoever visits the website has the same level of ability to understand/ learn new things as I do :P

A Prisoner of Technology

I have been drifting between my laptop and the TV all day today. And now I’m in front of both. Sitting on the couch watching the Habs kick Penguin’s ass with my laptop keeping my lap warm.

I want to go to Bread Garden to check if that really hot chick I saw there two weeks ago is there… She looked like she was waiting for someone, or something to happen. But the exciting game is keeping me glued to the two pieces of technology I despise.

As I explore the world of blogs, the amount of writing and content on the internet shocks me. There are endless links to wonderful, artsy blogs. Most of them are all so wonderful… beautiful… inspiring. How I wish mine was like that, too.

Or maybe I wish I wasn’t chained to this beautiful world at all. Then I could roam the world outside for once. Run around in the wild with the sun shining on my face (instead of the glow of the LCD screen).

But I love reading people’s writing. Especially if they’re better and more intriguing than mine. And currently, I love the Montreal Canadiens!!! (Canucks were a disappointment last night)

Yay for them winning the series :D and nay for me sitting in front of radiation all day long. I think I should sign off and do some healthy exercise. Step One towards freeing myself from electronics: turn off all power supply.

Black

Currently I am in love with Sarah McLachlan’s album Solace. I keep listening to it over and over again.

It’s the vocals and acoustics that makes it a fantastic album. Lots of people say her music is too “emo”. But depressing is how I like my music (most of the time), especially when I need to fuel my inspiration.

And of all the tracks, Black is the one I keep on repeat. The simple instrumentation / accompaniment, the random bass clarinet notes, and the daunting vocals but angelic harmonies make the song authentic and stand out from the rest. It’s simply irresistable.

If I cry me a river of all my confessions, would I drown in my shallow regret?

Titles

I hate coming up with titles, especially when I KNOW what I want to write but can’t come up with a decent enough post title. It just sucks. And I don’t want to write until I’ve come up with one. I am very anal about this. No title no post.

So it doesn’t matter how much I want to write or how dire the words are dancing at the tips of my fingers waiting for me to press those keys and arrange letters into recognizable patterns. Sadly, unless I settle on a good enough title, there will be no post. That could perhaps explain why I write so little sometimes.

The other times… I just get lazy and have no time. My thoughts are too long and messy for a comprehensive blog post. That or I could never finish my thoughts and drafts that I’ve started in the hopes of recording those long thoughts.

Anyway. Just saying. I’d like to post more. But titles are in the way.

Mental Exhaust

Tonight I made a decision.

I looked back and saw your eyes crying out for help. Or companionship. Anything except to be left alone. It was like I looked through you and saw your suffering soul. You were alone with your drink. That, by any standard, is a bad sign. So I waded against the current and greeted you with half a smile.

You were searching for answers in a pool of stirred emotions. I couldn’t hand you what you want nor what you need. I wonder how misery can be trapped in such beautiful eyes. You spoke with a certain kind of softness, a voice that is on the edge of breakdown. I smell whiskey from your breath: a measurement of how dire your life is. I wish I knew you, and you me so we can both be each other’s comfort and support at times like this.

I didn’t want to leave you alone with your drink. But I had to go with the girls. I cannot get pictures of you falling apart out of my head. It’s something I never want to see. A beautiful soul I know is unraveling thread by thread, and for once I stand helpless. But I cannot let you become undone. No matter how fragile you are, you are a soul worth saving.

Tonight I made a decision.

My mind has been telling me that I need to write. But I’m scared all that will come out is a whole whack load of rant caused by drama from this past weekend. I admit it, you got to the best of me [you backstabbing piece of crap]. I cannot forgive myself for ever being friends with you, or get over the fact that, despite what I did, I cared.

I am mentally exhausted (quite literally). I don’t want to write a page’s worth of paragraphs trying to clear misunderstandings when all it does is make me think more about all your bullshit. You are a friend I can do without in my life, and it’s probably better that way. There are more important things in life than being drunk, stoned and rowdy.

My words are too precious and more useful in depicting fragments of myself. I should know better than to use it to vent. How I wish it wasn’t this therapeutic; I feel like I am cheating on writing.

Picture II

I wrote a song recently for a short film I’m making this semester called Straight Forward. But I’m having a hard time finding an appropriate title for it…
Lyrics (part of it taken from a previous entry) are as follows:

There is a picture of us
I am smiling
So are you

I stare at my face
I look happy
But really I’m lost

When I long for what we had
I look at our happy smiles
Our affections are frozen in time
That’s all I need to hold on

There is a picture of us
I am smiling
So are you

I stare at your face
You look the same
I don’t know what that means

When I long for what we had
I look at our happy smiles
Our affections are frozen in time
That’s all I need to hold on

Our affections are frozen in time
How I wish my love was enough

Another Medley

Here I am
In this room again

Last time I was here
I asked my past
To follow me fast

Now
Wherever I go
My shadow bestows

Serving up a decade
Of dreamy facade

“Thanks for not letting me forget
And the pleasant memories”

But I think I’ll stay
with exhaustive ironies
And my fan club of two
How I heart thee

3:27AM

I’m still up. At this hour. Writing.
Writing a blog that no one really reads.
Yet i can’t stop
However sleep-deprived i am.

I wish you were here
So i can watch you sleep
At least then i get a sense of serenity
A touch of the realm of peacefulness
That i cannot yet enjoy

Good night
My sweet princess

Calls For a Reply

Why do most of my writing inspirations come up at late nights, when I am fatigued and unable have the luxury of time to finish my thoughts? Is time truly measurable? Or is it more metaphorical? It looks linear, but really, is it not circular?

Speaking of time… what’s with the kids in our generation having short attention spans? We never seem to focus for a long time, whether it be working on a project or studying for an exam. There are way too many distractions. The world wide web ranks number 1, then our own weak wills follows closely behind.

Why is my thinking and writing specific to my computer (or a particular one that “feels” right), or else I can’t write? The last time I tried writing somewhere else, it took me an hour and a half just to proofread a draft that I had written the night before…

Why do I sacrifice sleep for my writing? Is it really that important? Why do inspirations come late at night, when it’s silent and dark? And do I owe it a documentation? What if I don’t write it down and it never comes back? Do I find something else to lament or do I go back and attempt a search for a less satisfying topic, like…

You fall for me yet you don’t know me. You fail to grasp the details that make me who I am. And here I thought I was the cruel one, not giving you what you want to make you happy. But I now realize that I should stop punishing myself for what had happened. Why do I even try to be your friend? You say you care, but really you’re no better than an amnesic. Either that or you’re always drunk when you talk to me because you don’t seem to remember anything about me. So, seriously. Figure yourself out first before you try to figure me out. ‘Cuz whatever you’re doing now ain’t working, girl.

I write and then I write some more. Thinking goes on all day, and I only have a more or less 4-hour window to jot everything down. I wish the world is more innocent. What if things aren’t as complicated as they seem? Would I have a smaller brain? Or maybe it’d be all the same.