Postcards. Sarah Kay.

This is one of my favorite poems from Sarah Kay. It is extremely beautiful, and there is a strong connection between her words and my mind. I don't always understand poems. Sometimes, I'd like to think, or pretend, that I do. But this time, I feel like I understand.

I'd like to know the answers to her questions. I'd want to use those words, words for 'sucker-punching someone in the heart', or for the feeling of 'the flip in your stomach from the fall, before you have even moved'  on a roller coaster, or even, 'the moment you win tug-of-war' 'how even though you've won you still end up with muddy knees and burns on your hands'. I wish our language has words to describe them. I understand all these indescribable emotions and moments, that she is trying to describe. I feel them and I understand.

I've tried. There is indeed only so much you can fit in postcards and messages and space. The distance is never gone. It can perhaps be gone physically, but the distance in the heart? If it's there, it will always be there. I don't want to run out of words once the physical distance is gone. There is no excuse anymore once we are sitting side by side. There is no excuse and no distance and -

Neither one of us

with anything left to say.

My favorite stanza(s) of this poem is:

Practice does not make perfect.

Practice make permanent.

Repeat the same mistakes over and over,

and you don't get any closer to Carnegie Hall.

Even I know that.

Repeat the same mistakes over and over,

and you don't get any closer.

You -

Never get any closer.

Sarah Kay has spoken truth. Come to think of it, practice indeed does not make perfect. So what happens if it's already imperfect in the beginning? You never get any closer. You just never get any closer. Not closer to Carnegie Hall, not closer to postcard promises, not closer to love.

Transcript:

I had already fallen in love with 

far too many postage stamps,

when you appeared on my doorstep,

wearing nothing but a postcard promise.

No. Appear is the wrong word.

Is there a word for sucker-punching

someone in the heart?

Is there a word for when you are sitting

at the bottom of a roller coaster,

and you realize the climb is coming,

that you know what the climb means,

that you can already feel the flip in your

stomach from the fall, before you have

even moved - is there a word for that?

There should be.

You can only fit so many words in a postcard.

Only so many in a phone call.

Only so many into space, before you forget

that words are sometimes used for things

other than filling emptiness.

It is hard to build a body out of words.

I have tried. We have both tried.

Instead of laying your head on my chest,

I tell you about the boy who lives downstairs,

who stays up all night playing his drum set.

The neighbors have complained:

they have busy days tomorrow.

But he keeps on thumping through the night,

convinced, I think that practice makes perfect.

Instead of holding my hand, you tell me about

the sandwich you made for lunch, the way the

pickles fit so perfectly against the lettuce.

Practice does not make perfect.

Practice makes permanent.

Repeat the same mistakes over and over,

and you don't get any closer to Carnegie Hall.

Even I know that.

Repeat the same mistakes over and over,

and you don't get any closer.

You -

never get any closer.

Is there a word for the moment you win

tug-of-war? When the weight gives,

and all that extra rope comes hurtling

towards you, how even though you've won, 

you still end up with muddy knees and 

burns on your hands?

Is there a word for that?

I wish there was.

I would have said it, when we were finally

alone together on your couch, neither one of us

with anything left to say.

Still now, I send letters into space,

hoping that some mailman somewhere

will track you down and recognize you

from the descriptions in my poems;

he will place the stack of them in your hands

and tell you, There is a girl who still writes you.

She doesn't know how not to.

Free People: A Letter

Free People's short films have never failed me. In this recent one, A Letter, it the story of a girl, Sarah, played by Drew Hemingway, following her mother's journal to a time capsule which holds treasures close to heart. During the short, she reads out a letter her mother wrote her, an extremely touching letter full of tenderness and encouragements about life, It is a personal journey, a journey of self-discovery and meaning, that Sarah embarks on with her love.  

The short also did not fail to serve its purpose, that is to advertise Free People's October collection. Throughout the short, viewers get glimpses of fall sweaters and hats, and Free People's amazing jewelry. 

Free People expresses that this letter 'weaves a story that will ultimately connect the mother and daughter across time'. I can only hope for a sequel of this short to come next month.  

I cry for my city.

I was never the political activist and nor have I ever been one to know or care about politics. I was taught since I was small that politics is dirty. And what is happening now in my hometown has just proven so.

From the tear gas on Sept. 28, to now, I really couldn't believe my eyes. Triad members and pro-chinese activists attacking peaceful students and protestors. Police' leniency on them and their arrest of injured pro-democracy protestors. 

The police force that is supported by the taxpayers are not doing its duty. The government who should be on our side, to fight for our wellbeing is not on our side right now. With the world's eyes on the Hong Kong government and the police force, the fires of tear gas is a definite 'no no'. So now what? Nothing other than unleashing the triad mobs to thrash the scenes. Or have the police sit crossed-armed and release attackers, escorting pro-china activists to taxis. Yes, I bet that's the way to do it.

I can't believe people would sell their future and their children's future for $500 HKD, and go around attacking protestors, pushing over barricades, harassing female demonstrators and smashing people in the groins.

I do understand that Hong Kong is a part of China, and I personally recognize my identity as a Chinese. I do not want independence. I am Chinese. It is in my blood. What I want, however, is democracy, and I want my fellow citizens and fighters to be safe and sound. I do not wish to see violence and blood and people getting hurt. I want to have their voices, our  voices heard and listened to.

I cry for my city. I have never felt so strongly about my home and my people. I have never wanted to be home this bad to witness all this madness and stand in line with my peers against the suppression from both the Chinese and Hong Kong governments, to voice our demands for democracy. And I wish, with all my heart, all my might, that we will get what we are fighting for, because this may possibly be our last stance.

The Light and the Little Girl

The Light and the Little Girl from Jih-E Peng on Vimeo.

This is a lovely, poetic video of a little girl interacting with light, understanding the world around her. The entire film is backed with wonderful piano and strings playing delicately, and the little girl hopping and dancing around the Light as delicately as the chorus of the piano keys. The Light is as if a character came to life, playfully running away from the girl. 

This short can speak differently to different people. The Light may be seen as hope, innocence, dreams, etc. To me, the Light is as if love. When the girl first encounters the Light, it is warm, beautiful, wondrous and magical. We can see her little feet dancing on the wooden floor, her fingers trailing the edges of the teacup under the light, her eyes marveling at the glimmering of dust as she blows them into the air. As she realizes that the magical is slipping away, she tries capturing it, but in vain. Nothing really stays in life. When the girl unravels the mason jar from the bunched up blanket, audience could see the spark in her eyes extinguished. The magical couldn't stay, and the magical turns out to be the plain ordinary.  

The playful and whimsical undertones of the short depict the wild imaginations of a child. But the quiet ending also depicts the realization of the worldly limits and the loss of innocence of a child; as in the final scene, the girl's eyes, despite seeing the glorious morning rays shining through the windows, has dimmed into a dull stare. Her excitement, dead; heart, broken.

Jasmine Mans' 'I Know You Didn't Mean to Kill Him'

The more I watch Jasmine Mans' spoken word performances, the more I am mesmerized by her words and her energy. I was just as awe-struck seeing 'I Know You Didn't Mean to Kill Him' as I was the first time I saw 'Dear Ex-Lover'. Her passion in her voice and the tone she employs as she presents her unique mix of words have created this raw and naked power that shake people's hearts.

She begins her poem with the Amadou Diallo shooting in 1999, and followed up with the Sean Bell shooting in 2006. She then describes passionately, the problems society face today. The police brutality, the racial profiling, the gangs, the hoods and the guns...These issues and problems still hold true now, with the Ferguson Michael Brown shooting, as they were true back in 1999, perhaps even way back till hundreds of years ago, and who knows, perhaps in the future too.

So many instances in her performance and in her words have tugged hard at my heartstrings, and it is way too long, to list them all out. But a few of my favorite lines goes,

But I know, I know black mothers don't breed hate and sin to their first born men, 
just as much as I know she did not choose for him to be a martyr for them.
You can never tell the difference between the mother of the murdered
and the mother of the murderer. 
Both shook in solemn, both eyes and memory blue in tint, both lost their grips
when they lost their sons; developed a stutter in their palms.
One became scared of her shadow, while the other just became one.

Babies, are all born plain paper. And I wonder what have gotten to them, have eaten away their souls, may that be fear, desire, power, or what not, to have made them murderers, to have made them pull the triggers. And I just like Mans, I wonder, have those murderers thought of the pain and disappointment their mothers would live with, and the loss of world the mother of the dead will be in? I couldn't imagine, and I raise the same question.

"Boy, where'd you get all that hate from? All that culture from? 
All them damn guns, them damn guns from?"

Mans seem to believe that it is society that have brought them to this. And I do agree with her mostly. People growing up in the hood might have never been given enough. They might have grown up in difficult situations; with injustice, with society pinning names and shame and danger on the steps of their doors, their neighborhood. Indeed, like Mans has said, 

This world has given them nothing at all to lose,

and everything to prove, so they stand on the front lines, 

naked, ready to make a man out of themselves,

with the only tools click clack this world

has never given a nigga to use.

This poem, is ultimately a poem of forgiveness. For Mans understands and forgives and prays for those who'have made chalk outlines of so many of my (her) childhood friends'. This poem is a powerful piece that raises and discusses the subjects of violence, hate, love and forgiveness. Mans have indeed produced some piece of work.

See full transcript here: http://lit.genius.com/Jasmine-mans-i-know-you-didnt-mean-to-kill-him-annotated

Come on Elieen

I was at a Japanese restaurant last week when this song came up and gosh did it remind me of The Perks of Being a Wallflower and the good times I've had with my bestie. This groovy and dance-worthy song is just the right song for setting my mood for back to school.

Deeper than Yesterday

DEEPER THAN YESTERDAY from Ariel Kleiman on Vimeo.

Many literature throughout history explores the theme of human nature, and the innate savagery of humankind. This short looks into the same. It is scary how being trapped in a confined place can make of us. It is scary how we can become, how we can lose ourselves in circumstances. It is scary how we can become animals and not human anymore. 

I have to admit that this short is not as fearful as, say, Lord of the Flies, with kids brutally murdering kids. But raping a corpse, really? All humanity is gone, and moral doesn't worth anything anymore.

Coming back to the film, it is very nicely done. The dark tones and dimmed lighting of the submarine gives a touch of deterioration, which mirrors the deterioration of the men's hearts. The close up on the men's faces gives a magnified view into their souls, their thirsty and desperate souls which do not care anymore about their humanity nor shame.  

Doses and Mimosas - Cherub

Hmm, there is nothing much I can say to this song, but good memories. And I want to be the people in the video. Rad. 

Time Travel Lover

Time Travel Lover from Elisha Yaffe on Vimeo.

Imagine you can go back in time to warn your past self about what their actions will lead to in the future. Will you do it? I don't know if I will. In Time Travel Lover, Matt and Hannah meet different versions of Matt in the future, warning them, or rather, warning Matt, what happens in the future if the two of them get together that night. This is indeed comedic and sic-fi-ish, and I really enjoyed the chaos between the many future Matts and Matt and Hannah.

In Hannah's out burst/ short soliloquy, 

Why do you want to control everything?

Things happen in life, there's a million ways things can happen.

I'm not your only option; and you're certainly not mine.

she spoke the hearts of many people, of their idea of love. No one seems to be settled down, or want to settle down. It's all about short term satisfaction and getting laid. Yes, it is true that things can happen a million ways and there is no way we can control them. And there are many options that we can choose from. But well, I guess it me being old-fashioned, but I think that love is about being long-term, finding a forever, and settling down. And I think we keep that in mind before we go into relationships because with every person we are with, we should be looking for a forever in them. Or at least for me, I will be.

Whole

Whole from Den Danske Filmskole on Vimeo.

I am not usually the type to watch sci-fi, but this short from The National Film School of Denmark is pretty awesome. Mira's heart was broken, and was dragged out to party by her friend, and ended up falling into a whole, in search of her spirit animal. This short is very artistic with its design, its color, its texture. Everything seemed very sharp-edged and clear-cut in the short, with lots of use of geometry and shapes.

The film is quite interactive, with the older creature (I have no clue what to call him, let's call him 'oldie') talking directly at you, inviting you to go on the journey. And I've always have the liking towards ugly-cute stuff, so I was quite drawn to that creature with the thick and low voice right at the start, even though I couldn't understand him. The short is also inclusive of viewers when Mira was falling into the tunnel. Even though I know the oldie is talking to Mira, I was drawn to focus on the tunnel and the psychedelic and dizzy graphics, and I find myself going inwards and inwards into the center of the shapes as well as myself.

When I first saw the hollow heart of the girl is a great and literal and apparent metaphor for her hollow heart, and I find it quite a cute idea. And the ending wrapped everything up nicely and it turns out to be a nice little story of betrayal and self-discovery. 

Janice Mans' Dear Ex-Lover

I swear, my heart broke a little when her voice started breaking in the middle of the poem. From her loud desperate cries and wails, I could feel that Mans was as shattered, crushed and crumbled as she said she was, if not more so. The pain, the agony in her voice is so immense that now I am terribly afraid of being heart broken, even more so than before. 

I love the imageries she used in the poem, it's all so poetic. 'Lay my heart on his chest like red roses on Mahogany caskets', 'we loved, like there were expiration dates tattooed on our inner thighs', 'your heartbeat sounded like guns shells tripping over battered cement', 'never regret loving in permanent ink', 'with hearts filled with thousand of fireflies', 'we hurt like c-section birthing dead babies'... All of these lines, filled with death, beauty, hopelessness, intimacy, violence, pain and light; it is something to produce words and lines as such. And it takes some experience, some hurt and some broken heart and some courage, to be able to write and read like Mans does.

Dear Ex Lover,I hope my daughter never knows what a goodbye kiss feels like…

I hope she never knows what “I’ll see you later.” really means.

I hope she never memorizes the dial-tone of a last conversation,

because a broken heart feels like poisoned butterflies taking their last flutters in the pit of your stomach

This single stanza caught my eyes and ears when I first heard this poem. This stanza is so relatable, so real. It will be great to never know what a goodbye kiss feels like. And never experience the loss, the losing of a person, of love, that would never come back. Because a broken heart, feels like the poisoned butterflies dying and corroding into your acid stomach. Mans sounded so personal in these lines, and made them sincere prayers for the innocence and happiness of her future daughter, the protection from pain and sorrows.

One of my favorite line in Mans' poem is 'And that we loved women who loved women, who loved people that did not love us.' This line is so strong, so desolate and absolute. That was the end and the truth for Mans.  Well, and then this line obviously does not solely work for female female relationships. It works for everyone and any type of love. And that we loved people who loved people, who loved the persons that did not love us...Because love is a game that makes strangers fall for strangers, and turns strangers into lovers and into strangers.

'Never regret loving in permanent ink.'

This is the line that struck me most. I know as of now, I am paving my own way, either to a deathly fall that would kill my heart, or a nirvana of love and affection. I desperately hope that the latter one would be the truth. No matter how happy I am now, it is hard to be naive and assume that things will be all happily ever after. It is all kind of sad, I understand, but then I promised to believe and so I will.  

I don't think I will regret loving in permanent ink, I am just quite afraid of loving in permanant ink. Anyhow, the needles are already going deeper and deeper now and the ink is already spreading all over.  I sincerely wish I never have to 'stop chasing memories in my dreams', and can dream up worlds and blue skies, diners and fire escapes, beds and rooftops and everything else, and never have to stop. I hope I could cry and pray and laugh with love 'like our smiles were the only ones that mattered in this world' till the day...till th

Dear Ex Lover,

I promise I’ll stop chasing your memory in my dreams.
I’ll stop bringing your

name up over cups of coffee, muffins, and loneliness.
I will marry a man
and I will lay my heart on his chest like red roses on Mahogany caskets
and
I’ll have his daughter and she’ll have eyes reminding me that God still believes
in second chances.

And if she ever decided to love a woman, I will rub bravery down her spine.
I will be reminded of all the times that we loved, like there were expiration dates tattooed on our inner thighs.
If she ever comes home with eyelids like cracking Levis and bruised kneecaps and a heart filled with question marks
I will hold her like my mother never held me.

I will clasp her face in my palms like the new testament on judgement day.
I’ll tell her that love is the passion that allows you to do the right thing,
and that no woman can play coaster to a half empty heart.
And if she ever feels as if she is alone,
as if she is a hand-me-down pulled out of the depths of mummy’s closet.

I’ll remember your name and I’ll mumble it under my breath and if she asks me what I said;
I’ll tell her I know what it’s like to drag a woman out of a cold war
and then being too worn to clean up the battlefield that it has made of you.
I’ll tell her that your heartbeat sounded like gun shells tripping over battered cement.

I’ll tell her that i know what it’s like just to want someone to remember you
and that some women are as foul as expired men in produce isles
and that apologies are like oxygen masks on a hijacked plane.
Forgive yourself before you ever forgive the person sitting next to you.
I’ll tell her to never regret loving in permanent ink,
and that scars only give you stretch marks,
something to gossip about
and that hearts and stop signs are fraternal twins,
lost in open roads and hollow chests.

And if my daughter’s mirror ever looks unfamiliar and she’s too embarrassed and prideful to run into mummy’s arms
I’ll pray, that she has friends with hearts filled with thousands of fire flies,
who are not too cool to pray with her,
who will tell her to stop looking for the light at the end of the tunnel and find God in the darkness.

If my daughter ever walks in my house like shattering glass,
I’ll tell her about you.
I’ll tell her that we hurt like c-sections birthing dead babies,
and that we cried together, and we prayed together, and we laughed
like our smiles were the only ones that mattered in this world.
And that we hurt like women who loved women, who loved people that did not love us.

Dear Ex Lover,I hope my daughter never knows what a goodbye kiss feels like…
I hope she never knows what “I’ll see you later.” really means.
I hope she never memorizes the dial-tone of a last conversation,
because a broken heart feels like poisoned butterflies taking their last flutters in the pit of your stomach

Dear Ex Lover, I hope my daughter never bears her soul at a poetry showcase with her first love sitting in the audience,
knowing that the hands she’ll use to applaud her with, will be the same hands that will never hold her again.

The Heartache of Missing Someone

Missing someone hurts.

When you miss someone, you find yourself lying in your bed past midnight, with a warm drop of tear rolling down the side of your face, and you realize you are crying. Sometimes, you want to cry. You think that tears will wash away all sorrows and wash you closer ashore. It does sometimes. But sometimes, you just wail and wail until your voice breaks and your eyes swell and you notice: nothing has changed. The distance is still present.

When you miss someone, you find yourself lying awake at 4am in the morning, counting the stars between you and love. And you fall in and out of sleep, because your heart tugs at you, reminding you to remember and to miss. For most of the time, love is the first thought in your mind when you awaken. When you open your eyes, you think of the face that you miss so much. You wish that you could feel the warmth of the other body beside you, or smell the familiar scent of love. And you realize every time, after you have come to yourself, that you are alone.

When you miss someone, you find your heart beating and thumping, sometimes louder than ever, trying to signal to the other heart half way across the globe that you are missing love. Or you find your heart beating silently, listening for a distinct beat, synchronized to yours, signaling to you half way across the globe too, telling you the very same. Sometimes your heart hears it, senses it and you become warm and filled up. But sometimes you won't. And that is when it all gets dark.

But missing someone is not all heartache.

Missing someone is hope. Every dawn is a reminder that you are one day closer to seeing love again. Every night is a chance for you and love to meet among the clouds, or make out on the grass, or sit on the fire escape, gazing out at the terrain of big churches and small houses below the golden haze.

Missing someone is building castles in the air. Every time you raise your hand to touch the illuminated glass screen,you close your eyes and feel the stubbles on love's cheeks. When your spirits sank, you hear love humming from across the seas, and you find yourself curled up in love's embrace.

Missing someone is patience. Every wave of dire longing are waves you learn to overcome. You choke and you fall, but you are going to rise back up every time because you know you care and you will never let the warm waters go. You know that one day, you will ride the waves in glory, with love's arms wrapped tightly around you and you will rejoice.

Missing someone is a reminder that you can feel. Every emotions that strike your heartstrings, every joy and sorrow that roll around the tip of your tongue or down your face show that you are capable of staying consistent, of not changing, of holding on and of not letting go.

Missing someone is hard, is painful, but is also beautiful and lovely. Because every time you and love connect, it is the best feeling of all.

Oh boy, I miss you so. I miss you so.

                                                                                      

Lichen

Lichen by Soda Honey Films

This short film by Soda Honey Films is so beautiful. Not a single word is uttered in Lichen, but the chemistry of the actors and their acting impeccably communicated the emotions and the vibe of the film.   The short marks the growth of a boy and a girl, from their awkward years in college; to reuniting at a Halloween party; to falling in love; and well, to the very end.

This short can be divided into  4 scenes, and my favorite content-wise is the third scene, when the couple go restaurant hopping and ended up eating burgers and drinking champagne. That is like the perfect date that I could think of. Just me and my man, simple, uncomplicated, and filled with love.  I do like the scene with the Halloween parties as well. The filming is very unique, with the split screen and the simultaneous party hopping of both the leads. 

I just wish I could have what the leads have in the short someday.  Now that I have tasted love, I really hope it'd last.  Well, the boy and the girl reunited sometime after they separated, so if me and the dude is meant to be, even with the distance between us now, we could work out somehow, right?

Earcandy: Feels like we only go backwards

Tell me this isn't the best thing in the world: Arctic Monkeys covering Tame Impala.  This version and Tame Impala's 'Feels Like We Only Go Backwards' is, obviously, very very different.  In this video, Alex Turner's voice is just so rich and lingers around my ears, going deeper and deeper into my head.  This version is more calm and feels way more hopeless and reflective than Tame Impala's oringinal version which is more trippy and well, more Tame Impala radness.  And Turner's strumming of the guitar accompanying his deep echoy voice, thick and penetrating, is just plain awesomeness.  I'll keep listening to it all day and all night and all week and forever.

Before Midnight

I enjoyed Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, so I guess it is inevitable that I love Before Midnight as well.  I've always felt that this series of movies is so different from other movie sequels.  All of the Before series (let's just call them the Before series since they all have that word in common) are consist of long shots of conversations, interesting and insightful conversations, conversations about Celine and Jessie's thoughts and ideas about life and love and of each other.

It was another nine years since we revisit Jessie and Celine, and well, if you are old enough and mature enough to have watched Before Sunrise since day one, you will say that you have grown up, grown old and grown mature with them.  Imagine you were the same age as Jessie and Celine when Before Sunrise went in theaters, literally you are growing up with them.  Even though I am only birthed in 1995, I do feel like as I watch Jessie and Celine's lives progress, they have grown.  The topics and the things that they talk about, things that they think of, their thoughts and ideas, have changed and matured.  They saw things differently.  Before Sunrise is full of hopes and dreams, full of enthusiasm and excitement of the future.  Before Midnight here, is about grown ups, about matured love, about family and the burdens of daily lives.  Before Midnight is about two people sorting out their lives.

The way the actors aged with their characters too, is impeccable.  Julie Deply has grown, well, a little plump and more feminine, more maternal.  Ethan Hawke has grown mature and has grown a few wrinkles and a belly.  But this is all alright because this is how reality is.  This is how real life relationship is and how real people are.  People age, nobody can always be young and perfect.  

Jessie and Celine's relationship is obviously not perfect as well.  Just like any other couple, they argue and they hate each other and then they make up.  The climax of the entire movie (given the movie is filled with conversations around lunch tables and long walks and car drives) is when the couple is arguing in the hotel room about sacrifices and their love for each other, how the other person's love is not enough, how the other person have fucked another girl or blew another man.  It's an argument that any couple will most probably have.  The way they make up though, is extremely cute.  I love Jessie's story.

I also love the chemistry between those two.  Their conversations are witty and interesting.  Yes, they are long, but they are absorbing and hook me right in.  I wish I could have a relationship as such.

The Six Dollar Fifty Man

This is a story about that awkward kid in every class, every school.  This is a story about 8-years old Andy, an outcast at school, who thought he has super powers.  This is a story about a young boy's life, about his fantasies, being bullied and being, well, being a man.  

There is something about Andy's face.  This child's face seemed old and worn, as if he has tasted pain and suffering at his young age.  And I wonder what gives a child that torn up look.  The looks his eyes give, those tense lips and tight frowns.  He is the outcast, the odd ball, the target for bully, and maybe this is why he has the face of an old man, shattered and battered by life. His shoulder bag was heavy on his shoulders, way too big a burden for him to carry.  They way he screams as he is swinging his shoulder bag at the bullies, they way he lose it... Andy is as if full of anger and unsatisfaction, and pain.   He never smiled during the movie, well, except for at the end when he won the competition with his drawing.

He is a man in a little boy's body.  He is a real man.  He is the brave one to climb up to the roof to get the girl's ball.  He is courageous enough to hold all the responsibility.  

Andy is truly a superhero, the hero who has saved his girl from the punishment.