Just a simple square, our stories begin.
Papers,folds,denial,acceptance,courage,Tears,empty chairs,trails of scars,open it, close it and re-open it. The stories of Xenza's and Chris's meet at the cross road. Without a nod, but they touch one another's hearts. How many time have you heart being touch? a few? Time flies, only the empty apartment is left behind. Hold on, someone is outside. Who is he? I don't know him. Is he a spy? I have nothing here. Shall I open my door for a stranger? No! I shall turn off all the lights and close all the blinds. He keeps watching me! He keeps on describing my next move, my next speech. Who is he?
Scary stories creep into our everyday life. Who wrote those stories, and whom are they write for? You and me? Or, everyboby? I don't want to be notice. Don't write my stories! I hate the flash light! Don't put me on the spot for I am just an ordinary person with such a mundane life.
Is life likes textbook with pre-assigned assignments and procedure for not making mistakes? Then, what is mistake for?
Is life likes a blank page with no boundary that invites imagination,trials and errors to explore different possibilities for a master piece to settle?
What's matter, is only do you believe it.
I believe in Peter Pan, and you?
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Feb29- the missing and the found
What is the feeling of having the birthday on 29th of Feb?
What is the feeling being the survivor of the second world war?
Lucky? Sad? no response?
The fragmented and charcoal dark black brick of the parliment of Dresden suddenly appears to my mind shortly after the first image ( the poison truck) from the short film "World of Glory". The same tonal of darkness and the deathly air make me feel uneasy, and I can imagine, it must be a heart-breaking monment for most the European. For them, to sit quietly to watch the film is impossible. The glaze of the actor is like blaze of insult cutting through the audience. If they ( the survivor) sit still just because they are the lucky one. Then, what is the real meaning of "Lucky", after a series of devastating incidents? Being " Living" is it a luck ? How are the Livings afterall in those years? With no one to share with? With thousand pairs of eyes to stare at? Living in a hosptial like environment with no private space? With the enoch of screams repeats in your dreams? However, the marks of the shoes cannot hide. It cannot hide your fear. It cannot hide how your crumled toes nearly broken down when you saw your loved one being send into the poison room. It cannot hide the fact that you had been stepped onto the scene which you are here speechlessly and even you know they are insane. What is "Living" after all those inhuman actions and incidents? Who are we?
Hey, how's the Lam Hoi Fung's show at the Hong Kong Stadium? Are you laughing all the way through? I bet, it must be the most entertaining show in the year of 2008. You, audience! "The -Saint"! Continuing building your happiness onto someones' pain.
STOP THAT !
What is the feeling being the survivor of the second world war?
Lucky? Sad? no response?
The fragmented and charcoal dark black brick of the parliment of Dresden suddenly appears to my mind shortly after the first image ( the poison truck) from the short film "World of Glory". The same tonal of darkness and the deathly air make me feel uneasy, and I can imagine, it must be a heart-breaking monment for most the European. For them, to sit quietly to watch the film is impossible. The glaze of the actor is like blaze of insult cutting through the audience. If they ( the survivor) sit still just because they are the lucky one. Then, what is the real meaning of "Lucky", after a series of devastating incidents? Being " Living" is it a luck ? How are the Livings afterall in those years? With no one to share with? With thousand pairs of eyes to stare at? Living in a hosptial like environment with no private space? With the enoch of screams repeats in your dreams? However, the marks of the shoes cannot hide. It cannot hide your fear. It cannot hide how your crumled toes nearly broken down when you saw your loved one being send into the poison room. It cannot hide the fact that you had been stepped onto the scene which you are here speechlessly and even you know they are insane. What is "Living" after all those inhuman actions and incidents? Who are we?
Hey, how's the Lam Hoi Fung's show at the Hong Kong Stadium? Are you laughing all the way through? I bet, it must be the most entertaining show in the year of 2008. You, audience! "The -Saint"! Continuing building your happiness onto someones' pain.
STOP THAT !
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
What is Arts Education?
I went to a seminar about Arts Education today. It was an disappointed one as usual. Of course, I cannot help to share my disagreement with the point of view of the speaker. He put up a clip from the movie, " Philadelphia" and asked us/students to describe the relationships of the visual elements and its symbolic meanings. However, is that it? What's the aims of Senior ( S4-S6 ) Arts Education for the coming years? To idenify or describe the visual elements of a film? Afterall, it is all about art appreciation?
To teach Arts is not an easy tasks. However, many people or even many arts teachers highly underestimate the value and mission of Arts Education. For me, Arts can either be a tools to express feeling and concepts about anythings that worths it's calling, or Arts is a channel for humanity to prose a bigger questions about life and beliefs.
As I looked across the room, at least 80% of the teachers are neither over 40s or complaining the ridical changes of the Educational reform, so why would they still sitting in this room? What's the future of arts education then?
To teach Arts is not an easy tasks. However, many people or even many arts teachers highly underestimate the value and mission of Arts Education. For me, Arts can either be a tools to express feeling and concepts about anythings that worths it's calling, or Arts is a channel for humanity to prose a bigger questions about life and beliefs.
As I looked across the room, at least 80% of the teachers are neither over 40s or complaining the ridical changes of the Educational reform, so why would they still sitting in this room? What's the future of arts education then?
Friday, February 8, 2008
Mother
Chapter 1
The story beings with the pineapple bun. The pineapple bun looks delicious and hot, but there is just one pineapple bun on the plate which two sisters staring at the bun.
"Mother, is it the bun for me?" the younger sister rise up her voice to the mother. " Oh! yes, that's for you, because you love eating pineapple bun." mother replied with strong reasoning. The elder sister left the table quietly with the grips of sadness in her face. " I love eating pineapple bun, too ! Mother", the elder sister said that to herself.
It was 5:45a.m. There was some hum and egg noodle on the mini dinner table for children. Both sisiter didn't touch the breadfest, they just wouldn't open their eyes. That's the first and the last time which mother served breadfest at 5:45a.m.
At 6:45a.m., the school bus still didn't shown up, then the caring mother afraid that her daughter would not have time for breadfest. She ran at the corner of the street, and order a bun and a cup of apple juices for her daughter. However, at the same time the school bus came, and the daughter would only looked at the mother holding the bun and the apple juices in her hand.
During the primary school period, the daughter actually rarely ate any breadfest; not because they don't like eating breadfest, indeed they like eating riceroll at the corner of the grocery store near the school with their mother, their mother started to work at the factory.
Whenever I eat pineapple bun, I always think of that silly pineapple bun incident. As I recall, the reason why I was so disappointed is that my mother didn't pay attention to me. However, I was wrong.
The answer appeared at least 17 years ago. It was such an ordinary day. After school at about 4:45p.m., I came home with loads of homeworks in my hands. My father set at the sofa which seems rare at that time. He usually came home around 7:00 p.m. or even later; however, he was already home that day. He seem pretty happy and asked us to sit down besides him. " We are going to move to Canada", he said it with a big smile. I jumped up and down around the house like riding a horse, I tossed the homework at once. Nobody knows, the real story started to roll.
The story beings with the pineapple bun. The pineapple bun looks delicious and hot, but there is just one pineapple bun on the plate which two sisters staring at the bun.
"Mother, is it the bun for me?" the younger sister rise up her voice to the mother. " Oh! yes, that's for you, because you love eating pineapple bun." mother replied with strong reasoning. The elder sister left the table quietly with the grips of sadness in her face. " I love eating pineapple bun, too ! Mother", the elder sister said that to herself.
It was 5:45a.m. There was some hum and egg noodle on the mini dinner table for children. Both sisiter didn't touch the breadfest, they just wouldn't open their eyes. That's the first and the last time which mother served breadfest at 5:45a.m.
At 6:45a.m., the school bus still didn't shown up, then the caring mother afraid that her daughter would not have time for breadfest. She ran at the corner of the street, and order a bun and a cup of apple juices for her daughter. However, at the same time the school bus came, and the daughter would only looked at the mother holding the bun and the apple juices in her hand.
During the primary school period, the daughter actually rarely ate any breadfest; not because they don't like eating breadfest, indeed they like eating riceroll at the corner of the grocery store near the school with their mother, their mother started to work at the factory.
Whenever I eat pineapple bun, I always think of that silly pineapple bun incident. As I recall, the reason why I was so disappointed is that my mother didn't pay attention to me. However, I was wrong.
The answer appeared at least 17 years ago. It was such an ordinary day. After school at about 4:45p.m., I came home with loads of homeworks in my hands. My father set at the sofa which seems rare at that time. He usually came home around 7:00 p.m. or even later; however, he was already home that day. He seem pretty happy and asked us to sit down besides him. " We are going to move to Canada", he said it with a big smile. I jumped up and down around the house like riding a horse, I tossed the homework at once. Nobody knows, the real story started to roll.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
lost in cage
Life is complex, however it is rather simple indeed. Recently, I had encountered many big questions about life; and these questions or callings keep bubbling in my mind. First of all, what is body? It is a bunch of cells that organizes and reacts to various stimulations? It is a body that is being told what to do and what to wear? It is a machine that keep on working that didn't know what is its value? Why do we often force ourselves to adopted changes that are non-sense or even rebell our moral value? Keep updating who is the next victim of the Edison's case? Yesterday, I went to see the movie " The Diving Bell and the Butterfly". The house was full, and many of them are the 30's and 40"s. What an interesting scene! Are they want to get some inspirations about life? After the movie, I asked my husband, " if you are going to die, what are the things that you wanted to do?" He didn't hesitate and said," i would like to sit at the balcony which facing the ocean, and then look at all of my photographys and enjoying my last bite of jambo scallop sushi." It is such a precise answer, so, what is my answer?
Before I watched this movie, I had already read a similar inspirating story from the point of view of an art therapist. The patient name is William. His story is somewhat likes Jean-Dominique Bauby's story. Both of them are being locked up in their body, and yet their soul and imagination are far beyonds the ordinaries. "What is blessing?" That's the first reflective question that come to my mind. How's my life compares to William's and Bauby's ?Why do I still sitting here, and slowly forgetting my dreams and desire? Why I cannot see beyond the beauty that lies beyond the ordinary? What do I abandon my dreams ? Why do I ignore my inner self?
Being odinary, is it a blessing? Without being bulleying, being invisible in the crowds which they all wear the same uniform- social value, same languages and viewpoints. Is it a shame to be outstanding?
If somebody ask me, what are the things that I want to achieve before I die, I would say, " I want to write a novel of a rather complex and yet simple story about mother."
Before I watched this movie, I had already read a similar inspirating story from the point of view of an art therapist. The patient name is William. His story is somewhat likes Jean-Dominique Bauby's story. Both of them are being locked up in their body, and yet their soul and imagination are far beyonds the ordinaries. "What is blessing?" That's the first reflective question that come to my mind. How's my life compares to William's and Bauby's ?Why do I still sitting here, and slowly forgetting my dreams and desire? Why I cannot see beyond the beauty that lies beyond the ordinary? What do I abandon my dreams ? Why do I ignore my inner self?
Being odinary, is it a blessing? Without being bulleying, being invisible in the crowds which they all wear the same uniform- social value, same languages and viewpoints. Is it a shame to be outstanding?
If somebody ask me, what are the things that I want to achieve before I die, I would say, " I want to write a novel of a rather complex and yet simple story about mother."
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