212. Day 3

Short post today as everyone around is busy washing up, getting dressed, and packing to go home. Not me, though. I’m staying for another solid 36 hours or so.

In other news: managed to get Char Kuey Teow yesterday evening.

I’m happy.

211. Filmmaking and Me

After waking up at a record early time of 4.25am yesterday morning, this morning I perpetuated the early-waking spell by climbing out of bed at 6.55am. Mostly because Elliot made me.

Also, update at 10.27P.M.: Day 2 and still no Char Kuey Teow. I’m still holding onto hope.

On the subject of the conference: today marked day 1 done. In descending order of importance, I will discuss matters pertaining to the conference of interest. Let’s begin with breakfast.

It was mediocre. Next.

I kid. It was a good day of learning and relearning: many of the concepts, rules, and tips about the craft I have already learned over the past 2 years or so. But there’s always something about hearing it from the mouth of someone who knows what he’s talking about. Also, after many years of searching, I have finally been enlightened on the mystical thing called 3-point lighting.

(I do not kid, however, about the mediocre breakfast)

What intrigues me is how the course managed to keep my attention throughout the afternoon, despite the workshops stretching on for 5 straight hours between 1.30P.M. and 6.30P.M. I didn’t pay as much attention to my psychology lecturer – not even when I had a double dose of caffeine before that. Yet I sat there, stomach filled with lunch, paying attention to what was being said and taught.

I guess that’s how we define passion these days: the class that you stay awake in without the help of caffeine.

When the workshop was over, we were invited to share within our own group about the things we’ve learned. After some rumination, I decided on a politically correct answer: that filmmaking isn’t about a single genius auteur making the project work. It’s about a group of highly skilled, highly passionate, and highly dedicated people coming together to make movie magic happen.

For most of the last few years of me trying to break into the world of film and television, I have been the only one among my friends with enough free time and measure of insanity to make videos. It’s tedious work: planning, shooting, editing… Work that people should get paid for. Unfortunately, it’s also a hell lot of fun, so by rule of fun, people get paid less than they should to do it. I’ve been the only one among my non-working friends to obsessively pursue after knowledge of the craft.

(well. Except for the parts that involve money. In other words, the important parts)

But it’s about time that I realize to realize that to make a film happen, I have to let go of the notion that only I want to see the film get done well. Frustrating, heart-wrenching, nerve-wrecking, but it has to be done. Trust must be forged.

I look forward to another day of learning tomorrow. This time, about the most overlooked major aspect of filmmaking: perfecting the sound. I think tomorrow will be a good day.

Now if only I can find myself that elusive Char Kuey Teow.

210. Pearl of the Orient

My alarm rang at 4.15am. Being me, it took another 10 minutes before I actually crawled out of bed. A car ride and an hour’s flight later, I found myself planted in a little island off the west coast of peninsular Malaysia, wondering where can I get me a plate of the fabled Char Kuey Teow.

Behind that thought was a little annoying, excited voice going on about how I was in Penang again for the first time in 8 years.

It was in the first week of work, I think, when my ex-boss called me up as I was driving home. She told me about a digital filmmaking conference in Penang at the end of February, and asked if I’d like to join the team. It wasn’t that I was moved that she asked me, or that I was terrible passionate about digital filmmaking, or even the thought of going to Penang. At that time, if you remember, I was so bored and jaded with work that I’d do anything to get out of it.

So I said yes.

Yesterday, after yet another full day of doing absolutely no work, I left the office happy knowing I won’t have to step in until the beginning of next week.

So here I am today. A friend picked us up, and we put our bags in his place (where we will be staying over the next few days) before heading out to get some good old Penang food. I was thinking Char Kuey Teow, but no, the native Penangite among us insisted that we went to Bali Hai for dim sum.

So we did.

Bali Hai happened to be firmly planted on the other side of the island, so as a bonus, I was treated to the sights around: the new developments, the old buildings, and those stuck in between like souls in purgatory. Our friend the native Penangite rattled off stories associated with the various places that we passed by: a school that has been around for almost 200 years; a street that has a sign that literally says “Beware of Bouncing Balls”; old buildings that are not there anymore; and of course, where to find the best food in town.

Never let it be said that Malaysians are difficult to please.

It’s always an interesting experience to see the new merging with the old. Some might imagine that new things emerges out of old things, like a sprout from a seed. But I think it’s really more like adding new layers on top of existing things. Like soil upon soil. If you dig deep enough, you’ll see how the past really holds up the present, and the present gives support to the future.

And just like soil, it’s always interesting to dig through the surface and see what lays underneath. Most of it would be nostalgic. Some of the things might inspire a sense of bittersweet. Occasionally, horrors of the past might pop out. You’ll never know until you try, so there’s always that exhilarating air of mystery to the whole thing.

It’s only been 4 hours into my time here at Penang, and I cannot wait to see the rest of it over the next 4 days or so that I’ll be here.

And I’m still waiting for my Char Kuey Teow.

209. That Awkward Moment

Remember when I said that I pretty much have my bachelor’s degree already, except that I owe my university a subject, which is Moral Studies?

Well. It wasn’t what I thought it was.

I apparently owe them a subject called Advanced Accounting.

(stabs self)

I somehow manage to land myself in awkward situations without even trying. Or even by trying not to end up in one. I’m not talking about that moment when you sit together at a dinner table, and realize that you’re all out of topics to talk about – that’s poor social skills. Nothing to be awkward about.

I’m talking about the situations that, when you find yourself in them, you roll your eyes and wonder why didn’t you try harder to avert it. It was perfectly within your power to escape the awkwardness, but you didn’t, and there you are.

Late last year, in the days preceding the new year, my father told me to get my CV together. Being the arrogant bastard that I was, I wrote in there that I had graduated with a bachelor’s degree in management and finance even though I didn’t actually have the degree with me. I reasoned that they’ll have to give it to me sooner or later.

So when I turned up for the job interview, I insisted again that I do have a degree – the university just hasn’t gotten around to giving it to me yet.

And now I realize that I have to go back to school to complete that one subject that I haven’t done. I think about the number of times I was given a chance to avoid this awkward situation, and I facepalm.

I think we’re just fundamentally stupid that way as human beings. Some time last year (or maybe it was 2 years past. One’s memory gets hazy once events pass a certain threshold), I wondered out loud how some people go on and make stupid decisions despite how glaringly stupid those decisions are.

Well now I know.

It’s not like we don’t know that the petrol is running out. Yet against all rationality, we drive past like 3 petrol stations. It’s not like we don’t know that we risk running late if we underestimate traffic conditions, yet we only leave the house as though God Himself promised us that traffic will be absolutely perfect for us to reach our destinations right on time.

It’s not as though we don’t know that things can, and most likely will, spiral into a horrifically awkward situation, but we allow it to happen anyway. I cannot think of any reason to this except that we’re just plain stupid.

But that’s okay. Embrace your stupidity. Then when it’s all snuggled up in your arms, pull out our dagger and stab it in the back.

I think a fundamental part of avoiding making stupid decisions is in accepting that we do make stupid decisions. And if the past few months, if not years, have taught me anything, it’s that I’m capable of making extremely stupid decisions.

(I say “extreme”; but beyond that, there’s a “jackass” level of stupid)

So now, as I wonder how will I explain this awkward situation to my boss, I am beginning to accept my stupidity and capacity of making the worst out of things.

And I hope that things can only get better from here on.

208. Making Money

Making money: it’s a difficult easy thing to do.

It’s an easy thing to do. There are plenty of things to do that people would pay money for: serving coffee. Late night shifts. Flipping burgers. Data entry. Phone calls to make sales. Failing all of the above, there’s always a position waiting in a government office somewhere for you to fill.

It’s also a difficult thing to do. Because we want to do what we want to do, dammit. We don’t want to be bored. We don’t want to be underpaid. We don’t want to travel too far. We don’t want to work with people we don’t get along with. We don’t want to go to work when it’s dark and return home when the sun rises.

It’s an easy difficult thing to do, making money.

In the months before I graduated, I thought I had my future more or less figured out. Well, as figured out as I could at 22 years old. If I couldn’t find a decent writing job, I thought I’d take up a job as a barista in a nearby cafe. Meeting people from all around should make for pretty good writing material, I thought. I also toyed with the idea of doing coolie work with any one of the production companies scattered all around Kuala Lumpur. At least if I’m not selling scripts, I can still learn the tools of the trade.

(that second one actually still sounds pretty good)

The moment I hit 2014, however, my dad dropped the load he’s been carrying for me right over my head. I was driving a friend to a birthday party when my car began to jerk, and there was a burning smell from somewhere. It smelled like an electrical fire. I stopped the car by the side of the road, and deduced that there was something wrong with the engine.

(actual line from a story I wrote: “It wasn’t like he was an expert when it came to cars, but as long as nothing was on fire, he figured that it should be safe enough…”. I subscribe to this way of thought)

The car was left there overnight, and the next day I took it to a nearby workshop, where they told me that it’ll cost close to RM500 to fix the thing. My dad looked at me, and in not too many words, told me that I’ll have to pay for it myself.

The idea of selling enough coffees to make RM500 crossed my mind. I suddenly found it to be a very bad idea.

Which was how I ended up with my present job. I needed to do the difficult easy thing that is making money. Since no one was fighting to buy my stories, it was what I had to work with.

But things are beginning to change, it seems. I just sold my first short story to a magazine at a rate of 22 cents per word. A bunch of fellows I’ve worked with in the past are getting projects that they’d like me to be involved in. I completed the writing of Noir Blues and got the contact of a script reader.

(I calculated: at 22 cents per word, a writer will have to write about 5 marketable words to make a ringgit. Let’s say comfortable living is making RM10,000 a month. That’s 50,000 marketable words, or 1,778 marketable words per day in a 30-day month. It’s no wonder the writers who actually manage to turn their craft into a comfortable living write at least 2,000 words every day)

Fingers crossed for the future. May my writing bring me good money.

I think I’ve learned a little bit in the past 2 months of working. Not from the workplace, but from reflection. If I can sum up my life’s goal in a sentence, it’d be this: write stories for a living. Presently, I do those two – just separately. I write stories, and I make a living. It’s only a matter of time, I hope, until the 2 realize that they belong together.

Like a romantic drama. Except without the kisses. Definitely without the copulation.

I realize that I’ve been behaving like a spoiled brat in the first month of the year, kicking up one hell of a tantrum when life didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to, when I wanted it to. I think the lesson there was patience. And trust. And a bunch of other hippie stuff that sounds really corny even right now, but corny doesn’t make it any less true.

So again. Fingers crossed. If I make good money with my writing, I shall throw a big party. If none of these things manage to get through, I’ll keep away the party sets, and keep my job.

And of course, I’ll keep writing.