鼻酸

最近因為我的短片在芝加哥得獎, 很多人看到我都非常高興並祝賀恭喜. 對於突來的熱情我實在是有點不知所措. 我本來就不是喜歡在燈光下被矚目的人.

今天跟教會的好友們一起吃飯時, Anita 問我領獎後人生有沒有比較不一樣. 這個問題就像是在你生日過後人家問你有沒有覺得老了一歲一樣, 不是一種能確實回答的問題. 雖然是人生大事, 你還沒能感覺到這事的引響力, 或還不確定這事會為你的生活帶來什麼樣的改變.
 
我要對大家對我的肯定說聲謝謝! 其實沒有妳們的支持和鼓勵, 我今天會是個不一樣的人.
在這個特別的時光, 自然而然的會非常想念爸爸… 想著想著鼻子酸了眼也紅了, 就只希望能再聽到他的聲音, 看見他的笑容, 與我分享這無比的快樂.

The 99%

I recently had a financial scare. Mom asked me to transfer my savings to our joint account so she could pay some bills. So half of my savings went. And the other half can barely afford to pay my friend for the iMac I’m taking off her hands, which means that if I paid her (the exchange hasn’t happened yet), I would literally only have enough money for 3 McDonald’s meals or one decent dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory. Suddenly the reality of the 99% hit me in the face. I never realized how lucky I am to not have to pay rent or any bills and come home to a full fridge (though I don’t eat most of what’s in there) until I realized how little money I have to spend.

The reality of being one of the 99% has never hit me so hard. I was able to live and spend comfortably when I still had a decent chunk of dough in the bank. As long as I earn more than I spend each month, I didn’t need to worry. But now that over half of it is gone, it’s so hard to save up again when living costs are continuing to climb…

Am I Asking Too Much of My Education?

24 hours is not enough time to make me feel all right. Yesterday I almost cried in class. Why? Because I am not learning anything; because I feel I’ve been taken advantage of as a student, and I am not receiving the education I’ve paid for. And the worst of it is, my instructor doesn’t seem to care enough to change anything. In fact, he said to me 10-minutes in to our lighting design class, “Jessica, stop making faces and pay attention! I don’t even know why you bother coming to class.“

OK, I admit I was smiling at another classmate at one of his passing comments about some light that’s “big and British” (because my classmate is with a British guy; and yes, I am immature like that). I looked at my instructor and bit my tongue because I know whatever I’m going to spew out will only agitate him more. “What is a neon light?” he asked.

“Uh… a light that’s neon? I don’t know,” I was caught off-guard by his sudden change in tone and replied honestly.

“Right, that’s what I thought,” he nodded matter-of-factly and snapped, “go find out about neon lights for homework.”

“Like, everything… about neon lights?”

“Yeah, everything!”

 Part of me wants to scream and shout, “HEY, I’m not the only one in the class who doesn’t know about neon lights, why pick on me? I wonder how much YOU know about them!!!” And WHAT about neon lights? What am I doing with the information when I do find out everything there is to know about neon lights? Are we going to apply it to something related to class? Just like all the other homework assignments sent out via e-mail (all of which are probably spontaneous), there’s a good chance won’t end up talking about it. And even just that – talk. All we do in class is talk. Talk and yap about other people’s lighting choices, but no actual practice.

The truth is, I was already choked when he said he didn’t know why I bother coming to class. This statement resonates so well with me that I wish it was more of an insult than a truth, because I really don’t know why I bother going to class! Well, actually, I go for participation marks so I can pass the class, so I can graduate and get this paper that says I have a minor in theatre production. But other than that, I don’t know why I bother; apparently I go to class to be scolded about my attitude! (though that’s my own problem; when I’m not getting anything out of the classes I adopt a “screw this” and careless attitude… which is probably the instigator for causing myself trouble most of the time, but I’m not one to willingly let them get away with not teaching us anything.)

Really, how much attention and respect do you deserve as a theatre production instructor who can’t even figure out why moving lights weren’t controllable from the board? Why do you still need to read a manual for moving lights when you’ve worked so much with them? If we’re learning from reading manuals, I can do that on my spare time by myself, not in a class where I’m also wasting 3 other classmate’s valuable time. And how is four students trouble-shooting ONE technical problem efficient? Isn’t there a better way to spend our 3-hour class time in learning how to go about designing lights? And what are the chances that we’ll get to design anything with moving lights when we design in the local theatres (IF we’ll even get that opportunity to)? Which theatre(s) are fortunate enough to have as many resources and differing equipment as we have at SFU?

That’s the other sore spot. Because there’s a wealth of “toys” at school, I feel there should be an even higher expectation for a quality education to come with it. We have access to all these top-notch equipment and spaces, why not make the best of it? Instead of doing practical crap like how to hang and focus lights, why don’t we figure out how to use Vectorworks to put together a plot, or how to build a look, and how that look will be different if we use different lights?

(One of the biggest problems in class is that the four of us have varying degrees and levels of knowledge in theatre production, and most of them have had more stage management experiences than production/technology ones. And I’ve been working for over a year at school as an on-call technician, so I know the in’s and out’s of the school and its equipment. I didn’t sign up for lighting design class to learn the names of lighting fixtures I already know, daisy-chain data cables from fixture to fixture, or teach the first-years how to do stuff.)

The feeling of helplessness at ever changing anything in regards to the program and the despair at the severity of the situation was so overwhelming that I could not help but feel distraught the entire class, and day(s) after. I was not in the best of moods; I was upset, angry, frustrated, grumpy, and bitter all at the same time. I was also a little upset at my classmates for being such “lab rats” and not being proactive enough to make things change in class; so that we can actually learn some design approaches.

THE POINT BEING: I’m sick and tired of paying big bucks and wasting my valuable time to learn shit all from instructors who are NOT working artists (why yes, I am also sick and tired of you talking about your stories and experiences from TEN FUCKING YEARS AGO) and are stuck in the same rut and routine for the past 10 plus years! They are incredibly inflexible and not at all open to change. I thought moving down to Woodward’s would mean revamping the program (there was talk of it)… Nope, it’s become even worse. The lighting design class used to be responsible for lighting directing projects. But now we don’t even get a chance to implement a design! (or even come up with one – the final project doesn’t count. I mean, yes, we’re doing lighting for a performance… together, all four of us, for the final performance of Martin’s class in Woodward’s lobbies. But I can bet you that wasn’t even in the syllabus at the start of the semester! WAIT, SYLLABUS? WHAT’S THAT? TOTALLY UNHEARD OF IN THE PROGRAM. Basically, you have no idea HOW or WHAT you’re being marked on. You have to play on their good side and put up with their bullshit to get a satisfactory grade. How’s that for bias and fairness?)

And they wonder why no one wants to stay in the program… I would start by looking at yourselves, boys. This isn’t to say that they’re all-around bad. They have some good, however little. But the bad outweighs the good by an encompassing amount that their good-will is sidelined by their faults. I can talk trash about this program all day long, and unless you change your attitude or teaching style, I’m not going to shut up about it.

Illinois International Film Festival

well, this has been a much belated announcement:

My 4th-year film, Bill, Please! was accepted into the Illinois International Film Festival! It occurs over the weekend of November 18th to 20th, and I’ve just found out that my film is going to be screened on Friday November 18th at 3:15pm! I’ve booked my ticket to Chicago, and will be there in attendance with my mom, aunt, and uncle!

I’m so excited! The US premiere of my film! wooot!

Lucy the Rock

I’ve decided to name my magical rock Lucy. Lucy the Rock. Not as harmonious as Lucy the Elephant, which I was going to name my elephant object/ toy/ decor if I ever got one. No, Lucy the Rock it is.

After receiving Lucy as a present, I left her behind at her previous owner’s place. I KNOW, RIGHT!?!! I wrote about Lucy (see post below) and how she became an instant inspiration for the first half of my Sunday. I was so caught up in the inspiration that I lost track of time and had to run (well, almost literally) to work. It was only when my supervisor asked how my day was that I remembered I forgot Lucy on the desk. SHIT! How could I have forgotten my magical rock! I felt I was betraying Lucy and for that I’d have to pay the penalty of not having any wishes granted. Or just be denied of them altogether.

But I didn’t forget about thinking of a “legitimate wish” to wish upon Lucy! People say it’s the thought that counts, right? So if I was thinking of a wish while Lucy was waiting for me on my friend’s desk, everything will be okay? The universe is still right, time is passing, and life is happening… but I’m freaking out… a little bit. Then my friend tells me rocks are patient. It’s okay, Lucy the Rock will wait for me!

Two Perfect Circles

I’m having a weird morning. Weird in that I’m in my friends’ apartment by myself (they must trust me a lot), and weird that I’m in my friend’s room using her computer when she’s not home. I’m cold. There wasn’t nearly enough cover for my refuge on the pull-out couch last night. I’m wearing my jacket in the house, and my toes are not warming up in my socks. Weird that I’m having junk food for breakfast, and chocolate-covered butter cookies for lunch. A weird but inspired morning. Inspired because I’m in a place I’m not supposed to be (I’m still not used to the idea that my friends are okay with me staying at their place when they’re out -not that I have a problem with it). Inspired so that I’m sitting here and writing. Inspired because I am having a “moment”; one filled with uncertainty, unresolved feelings and all kinds of fleeting thoughts. But mostly inspired because the two people who live here inspire me.

A rock was given to me when I got out of bed this morning… but not before two bear hugs when I was still lazying around under the covers – I LOVE staying at my friends’! It was a rock from Cortes (I think; can’t really remember where she said now), a small island off the coast of Vancouver. This rock not only has a perfect circle, it has two: one inside another. Therefore it is magical. I am to make wishes. When the wishes come true I am to pass this rock along. I listened intently to the instructions and held the rock carefully in my hands. My friend wrapped both her hands around mine as if to bless me at a formal “pass-the-rock” ritual. I looked at her with a quizzical look, found all this a little too comedic and silly. (C’mon, it was early in the morning and I didn’t have my glasses on) She, however, was serious and certain of the magical qualities of this rock that I believed her wishes did come true. So I wrapped my hand around this dull, grey, and full of blemishes object that fits perfectly in my palm. I started thinking about my wishes. Wishes…. I don’t know if I have any wishes that are genuine and that do not only satisfy my personal desires. I dug deep in my chest of bottled thoughts and came up empty. I’m not sure I want to waste this rock with “unrealistic” wishes. Am I over-thinking? I held onto the rock and warmed it with my hands. All I could think about was how special this is. Maybe I don’t want my wishes to come true so I can keep the rock forever; so I remember what it was like to be handed a rock with two perfect circles…

"I am here. Wandering."

(original post date: Sept.14)

Do you ever see your “friends” (aka school friends who you haven’t talked to since you hit puberty) on facebook posting pictures of their fun-filled trips to the Caribbean, Europe, Australia, or somewhere exciting and exotic that you can only dream of travelling to because you have a butt load of student loans? Do you ever wonder where they get the cash to be so luxurious? How did they pay for a undergrad degree and still have money to travel after they graduate? How do they afford those fancy retreats or restaurants?

Do you ever look up in the deep dark blue sky and see a bright, shiny, and seemingly perfect round moon, and then wish that someone you love is also taking this incredible sight in, wherever they are? And if they are, do you wish that they are thinking about you, too? Or do you make a wish for them to wish for you?

Do you ever want to spend time with someone, but then when you do you end up spending that time in silence? Do you wonder what they think about? Do they feel what you feel? Serenity and happiness, or discomfort, awkwardness and wishes to be somewhere else? Are they telling you something with their silence? What are you saying with your silence? What if this silence is doing more damage than good? Or is this silence a bridge for more possibilities and options? Are you satisfied with silence, even when you know time is only threatening to take that someone away?

If you are there wandering, should I whisk you away and show you the way I want us to go?

Conflicted

(original post date: Sept. 10th)

Tonight I’m emo. I’d like to stay up and write, but I’ve been staying up way too late these past few weeks. There has been too many an inspiration. Not that I’m complaining, but my sleeping pattern is all screwed up…

Currently playing is the youtube mix of Skrillex tracks, and on my mind is what I should do when the day arrives… I don’t even know how to write this properly. Maybe sleep will make me feel better.

A Love Letter in Disguise

(original post date: September 6th, 2011)

A while ago I asked the general twitting public if anyone would want to proofread a love letter that I was going to attempt to write. There was one eager response, and that was enough to get me going. But one summer, two months and three shows later, I still haven’t written anything. The thing is, how do you go about writing a letter professing your affection without sounding cheesy and “right” in all the wrong ways?

Pondering, thinking, re-thinking, and over-thinking, I crumpled the note I was going to leave on your pillow and threw it in my backpack. I stood by my decision and wondered if I’d really just saved myself from a potential deal-breaker and humiliating situation, or if all I had done was rob myself of a chance to charm and woo you. I dug for the ball of paper, straightened it out, and read the note once again. “Your [blank] would be [blank] if you were [blank] [blank]…” Nothing on that paper sounded right. Without hesitation, I crumpled it again, harder this time, almost with anger at my own stupidity and incompetency at writing something more fathomable or endearing. I made sure it disappeared into a dark corner of my bag so that I could take it home to remind myself of how ridiculous this small gesture seemed. It warranted no second thoughts, and I was glad I had the chance to dispose of the note moments before you came home.

In the event of an unrequited love (which is what, 90% of all crushes?), things are better left unsaid and gestures better left undone. Especially when the other person has already expressed disinterest or been unresponsive to your “keen friendship”. The last thing you’d want to do is push your crush away by coming on too strong. I learned that the hard way… So now I am a little bit paranoid. I’m not sure what, exactly, is the right amount -or if there is standard. What tips the iceberg and what makes it melt?

All I want to express in all my awkwardness, is that I think of you when I wake up to a brand new day. I think of you when I see something beautiful because you are beautiful. I think of you when I see an enjoyable and interesting piece of theatre that I know you would appreciate. I think of you when I make new discoveries that I’d like to share. I also think of you when I get jealous of the well-matched couple on TV, or the couple walking along the beach hand in hand. And when I’m staring at the beautiful dark sky where the shining moon and shimmering stars hang, I wonder if you’re looking at it and thinking and wishing of someone, too. I’m mostly thinking about you when I’m writing this, but also working hard at wording each sentence properly (or am I trying too hard?).

That may sound like a lot of “thinking about you”s, but before you thwart me off, put yourself in my shoes; recall the times when you were thinking about your crush. I’m sure you know what it’s like and how you can beat yourself up for sounding lame and being a stalking creeper. Alas, being mistakenly interpreted is one of the risks you’d have take in writing something like this. I hope you remember that before you judge this post… this is my secret profession of affection. I am not defending feelings, nor am explaining them. I am merely telling you that I have been thinking about you.

OTP in Victoria

(original post date: August 29th, 2011)

Today marks the halfway point of my 12-day work-cation. The work to play ratio is approximately 1:20 though, so it’s really a vacation with a few hours of work spread out over the week. What is work? Stage managing Resounding Scream Theatre‘s production of The Troubles in the Victoria Fringe Festival. It isn’t bad at all, the work-cation. Quite delightful, actually. I am on the beach that’s a 10-min stroll from the vacation home I’m staying in with four other girls who are also part of the production (director/producer, assistant director, production manager, and writer/actor/producer). They’re all reading, and I’m scribbling chicken scratch in my barely big-enough notepad. I guess there’s the first difference between reader and writer (though I think writers should be readers, too, I have a hard time burying my nose in one a book). Or maybe it’s because I don’t talk much. I’m more of a listener, especially when there are people who are more inclined to share… not that it’s a bad thing.

Travelling in groups means a lot of compromise, and I don’t mind being a part of the entourage, but I also need my fix of personal time. I didn’t anticipate having little or no time alone with my thoughts. Those times are important to me. But so is work. And seeing shows in the festival, and getting to know the people there. So some things must come at a sacrifice when you’re in a group (it doesn’t help that we live a 20-min drive from city centre, where we can’t just stay home and travel on our own).

There has been a lot of firsts on this trip. My first “work-cation”, which is in fact really a trip with friends for two weeks, my first speeding ticket, the first time I got stung by a bee (I think, my cheek is still a little sore). And my first Victoria Fringe experience.

So far so good. There are lots of silly and funny moments, good and fantastic fulfilling ones, but there are also times when I wished to be somewhere else. There are lots of beaches, lots of water, and lots of sun. I can’t complain :) Most things are paid for, and I’m away from Vancouver, the place which I’ve been dying to get out of… but I miss it. I miss knowing where things are, hanging out with my friends, and being in a place I’m familiar with.

By the way, OTP = On The Prowl.

What If It All Means Something

(original post date: August 15th, 2011)


I turned twenty-three years of age today. Mom expelled me from her womb after nine months of careful nursing (and many more years after that, of course), and I am thankful for her doing so. I am thankful for the life that God has given me; I am thankful for the things and opportunities I have, the privileges I enjoy, the friendships I treasure, and the love I feel. I am also thankful for the tribulations and trials I’ve had so far because it is through them that I grow and learn. Speaking of growing and learning, here a list of things that’s been on my mind lately (would’ve liked to expand each into a post of their own, but alas… time is short on hand lately):

1. I am SO SO SO afraid of growing old. Sure, at 23 you think I’m just at my prime and I’m too young to worry about old age (or even TALK about being old). But it’s the fact that time flies by too quickly that I feel I may be missing out on life. That’s the scary part. Not living life to the fullest or wasting my days away, only to realize after how much of my time I had thrown out the window. Not to mention going at it ALONE…

2. The technological age has made me rethink my decision to have children. Kids nowadays are immersed in technology so much that it disgusts me. It irks me that their childhood consists of youtube, facebook, twitter and they plays with toys like iPods, iPhones, iPads, and/or Blackberries instead of singing nursery rhymes and constructing with Lego. I can’t stand being buried in technology. We depend on it so much that we’ve lost a good portion of our authenticity and “real” human connection.

3. My passion for theatre and film has dissipated a little ever since the spring semester ended. I suppose it’s partly due to finishing the film portion of my studies. My education felt like it came to an abrupt end. I am left with skills but no tools to pursue my goals further in the industry. These goals seem so far-fetched that the passion for it eventually subsided and shelved aside for the time being. As for theatre, I am continuously immersed in projects. From one right next to the other, with few or no breaks in between. It looks great on my resume, but it’s taking a toll on my passion.

4. This is kind of an extension from the 3rd point. I recently overheard/observed a conversation between a friend and her friend that made me question the reasons why I make art. It has shaken my roots quite a bit. I was once told I was lucky to have found the subjects I’m passionate about so early on in my education career (so I know what to focus on immediately in university). But why do I bother? What does art do? Sure, it’s therapeutic and inspiring, but who’s to say that this is contributing to a better world? How does art make the world a better place?

For example/ tangent: one of my pet peeves is sustainability/ recycling. I am serious to the point that I’d take the (unused) napkins home from restaurants… or wrap left-overs in napkin instead of using a Styrofoam box. In the film and theatre production world, we create A LOT of waste. Like, tons. And people don’t recycle. There are no recyclables. All garbage. They do whatever it is necessary to capture an image, to transform words onto the stage, or.get things done quickly and efficiently. They don’t take care of the earth and instead use up the resources! This whole “is art doing good” discussion and debate still constantly goes on in my head.

5. Skunks have been crossing my paths for the past year or two. Like, one a couple of days ago, before my birthday. And instances close to home… Not that I’m superstitious, but I am really starting to think that it’s hinting at something.

6. I really really really want to travel. I want to explore the world and expand my horizons. I don’t want to get comfortable in Vancouver or anywhere else because I want life to be constantly challenging and interesting. I have an epic CAN/US road-trip planned. Venice is also another stop on the tourist map. Hopefully next summer, when I’ve saved up enough…

Whew. That was good to get out. Thanks, brain, for still holding up. I guess you don’t feel the age… yet… either.

Policy 5.45

(post drafted in May; posted on July 23rd, 2011)

Last night before I headed to bed, I went downstairs to say goodnight to mom and was caught by the TV program she was watching. It was a current events talk show in Mandarin where they featured 3 panellists to have a discussion about the Burnaby school board’s newest proposed policy 5.45.

This draft policy is to hopefully “change the attitude” towards the LGBTQ community in schools and support youth who identifies as queer (I guess they caught on the numbers of suicides due to hate crimes or bullying towards homosexuals and wanted to do something about it). Basically, if this policy passes, the school board will include a section in the elementary school curriculum where teachers are required by law to teach kids what each of L, G, B, T, and Q means.

I knew it was a dangerous thin line I was treading when I stayed and watched the whole debate with her. There I was, sitting less than 3 feet away from her and holding a very different opinion and view on gays than her own. In a Christian household, homosexuality is something that we should unanimously agree on: “wrong”. Little does she know that her precious little daughter is hiding in the closet. Well, sort of. It’s a little complicated. Regardless, the topic is incredibly sensitive. During the entire show I was desperately hoping she doesn’t ask what I think. She would nod and agree vocally with the host, panelist, and the audience calling-in to the show.

How do I tell her that I disagree with the majority of conservative Asian parents in her generation? How do I tell her that I play on the same team? She’s already mad enough as it is when she found out I voted NDP in the latest election that won Harper a majority government.

The next morning, after church service, I was reluctantly pushed to a table covered in petition forms against the policy. They had been printed by the church and signed by several dozens of people in the congregation. An Elder of the church watched over me and my brother’s shoulders, aggressively urging us to put our names down on the form. I stood there, feeling nothing but panic. I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. As more urging came from behind me, I picked up a pen slowly. It was as if I was going to sign my life away. I stared at the paper and started to read the statements opposing the policy. I looked at my brother, and he seemed hesitant as much as I am reluctant. I lowered my pen at the lines in slow motion and waited desperately for something to take me away from the table.

I was lucky to have escaped the signing when my mom called for us. I immediately dropped the pen and pretended I had already signed the petition when I walked away. My brother followed. The Elder was hustling more people –who may or may not even have heard of the policy– to the table. I was relieved, but was the scolded by my mom when she found out that I didn’t actually sign the petition. I couldn’t! I wanted to shout. But I just kept quiet and walked in silence. Everything that happened made me despise the church more. If I didn’t before, I did now.

Eventually the policy was passed (though not before several protests against and rallies for it occurred). I had wanted to show my support by going out to the rallies, but the thought of my mom realizing I’m on the other side of the fence was too risky. I will have to continue my hiding… for now. The thing that saddens me the most is that church and home are the most suffocating places of all shelters. I can be who I want to be when I’m working on shows or involved in theatre. I can be who I am when I’m with my friends.

The theme at the Vancouver Pride this year is “Celebrate”. I wish I could…

Dear Boss,

(original post date: July 8th, 2011)

“Yes, I thought, I will make a note of that face – the face of the woman stitching a very thin, lustrous green silk at a table in the restaurant where we lunched at Vienne. She was like fate – a consummate mistress of all the arts of self-preservation: hair rolled and lustrous; eyes so nonchalant; nothing could startle her; there she sat stitching her green silk with people going and coming all the time; she not looking, yet knowing, fearing nothing; expecting nothing – a perfectly equipped middle class Frenchwoman.”

-Virginia Woolf

There were so many things I wanted to say when you handed the project over to me today. Things that perhaps I can’t articulate properly at this hour given the fact that I’ve only slept less than 8hrs in the last 2 days and I’m nodding off every now and then.

I can’t believe this is really it. So much responsibility given in trust, and so much dedication given in love and passion. With opening night upon us, all I could think about is how I’ll miss you and your laughter throughout the show. And who can resist those incredibly perfect interlocking hugs!

In the short few months I’ve (sort of) gotten to know you, I have come to adore and respect you for the wonderful person that you are. There’s just this unspeakable charm and attraction that keeps me magnetized… A touch of gentleness and a burst of confidence, all mixed in preserverance and wrapped in love. You are an inspiration, boss. I’ll see you from the other side :)

xoxo