Thoughts on a seven-hour train journey

You know that position I was interviewing for a few weeks ago that I mentioned? Well...I didn’t get it.

The timing of when I found out was extremely unfortunate - I’d just spent a wonderful four days with my good friend, Daran, in Berlin, and was going back to Leiden to continue the remainder of my holiday, when I happened to check my inbox.

"There were many enthusiastic candidates like you, but we regret to inform you we are unable to-"

I remember only those words, because by that time I'd already closed the email, dazed. I didn't want to read any more. I was surprised at how upset I was, but I suppose I should have been, considering how much I'd been banking on getting this position. 

“I’m not really sure I should be putting you on a seven-hour train journey by yourself in this condition,” Daran said worriedly. It was the first time he'd seen me cry, or even emote so dramatically, and I could tell even through the haze of my tears he seemed taken aback.

I shrugged. "I'm sure I'll be fine." At the least I'll just obliterate the snacks I packed, I joked to myself feebly.

The whole seven hours back, I kept running through in my head why, why, why didn’t I get the position? (It was a government position for an arts teacher, by the way.) For the first time in my life I'd felt confident going into an interview. I was qualified, and had relevant experience, and felt like it was something I really wanted to do. Perhaps it didn't show through in my interview? Or maybe I'd answered some questions unsatisfactorily? Maybe I wasn't quite localized enough for them, and was a bit too honest in some of my answers. So many maybes, and perhaps, and what ifs.

Just goes to show that so many things never quite work out the way you plan. That you can feel you've done so well, and tried your best, and...well.

I'd fallen asleep halfway through the journey, and was waking up around Deventer - only an hour's journey left. By that time, I felt calmer, if still worried about the future. I suppose it wasn't meant to be, then. That's what I had concluded as I stepped off the train.

I’ve since had the time to compose myself and think a bit more. I'm sure had I gotten the position, I would have been happy in my own way. But now I think, there's always another path for me. Things never work out the way you plan, but they have a way of working themselves out, nonetheless.

You know, I've been neglecting this blog for a while. I know nobody else besides me reads this, but hey, I think I'm a good enough person to entertain to continue.

You may know that I am totally boy-crazy. If you didn't before, you do now. I had this one project where I wanted to create a 'Prapim's Top Ten Men' zine, but it didn't quite go through. Who knows, perhaps one day, I'll do it. For now, have this post.

There are so many things I had wanted to say to you

I'm not the type of person to have regrets. I do dwell a lot on the past, and I reminisce more than I think I should. I'm not the confident type who would say that were I to live my life again, I'd do it exactly the same. There's a lot of things I've done I've always thought I could have, should have done better, or differently, or not at all. There was one time when I was about three years old, at a birthday party, where I blew out the candles of a birthday cake that wasn't mine. I remember stealing a handful of candy at around the same age from a shop, running away as the elderly shopkeeper came out,  shouting after me. I've had my share of temper tantrums and outbursts.

But I don't particularly regret them. Sure, I wish I hadn't done them - if for nothing else than the consequences after - but now that I've done them, I don't feel too bad about it. I look at myself and say, you're only human, I understand. You shouldn't have done it, but you did, and I understand. You see, this is how you learn. Maybe it makes me a better person, these things. Maybe it doesn't. It's all fine.

It must have been the late hour, the watching as dark clouds against a sky intermittently lit by the light of the plane, the one empty seat next to me as the man in the aisle seat slept, but...as I was coming back to Singapore yesterday from Bangkok, it suddenly struck me that yes, there is one thing I regret. Or rather, two.

I regret that I never got to properly say goodbye to my grandparents.

You see, my maternal grandmother and paternal grandfather passed away within the same year. I didn't attend the funeral of either. I was in London at the time, unable to afford a ticket back home for two return trips, my family insistent I stay to concentrate on my studies. It hurt me, but I understood. No, that was not what I regretted. What I regret is that I had wanted to say more, so much more to them, before their passing.

(What would I have said, I wonder?)

But in any case, they were already gone, and what I'd be saying I might as well say to the wind. Perhaps I might believe in their spirits watching me, listening in anyway, but I'd never know for sure. During a time I could be certain, I didn't say anything.

Perhaps I knew it then. I wish I'd been braver. I remember when I left grandmother's house three years ago, looking at her, frail, in her late seventies but so much weaker than she should have been, tears had unexpectedly welled up within me. My seventeen-year-old self had managed to wipe tears away before anyone could see and even my breathing so I didn't choke, but as I look back now, I guess somehow I must have just known, that today, yes, this would be the last time I saw her. If only...

It amazes me, this grief. After all this time the pain unexpectedly still comes back, the tears. I know it's not healthy to have regrets. And so, I have only just this one - or two. It's enough for me to live with. So, for now, I'll say: "Good bye, Ah Kong, Khun Yai. I'll see you on the other side."

Coming soon to a toilet near you: The Manitor (TM)

Okay. My subconscious is a bad stand-up comedian. I know people say their dreams show how weird and special they are, and all that special snowflake twaddle, but my dreams are the equivalent of a bad stand-up comedian trying desperately to get the half-empty bar that is their audience to laugh whilst nervously pulling at the collar of their cheap, un-ironed shirt. Think of it as the Joker pre-chemical peel treatment.

I had this dream that I had invented this new occupation. It was a cross between a man and a janitor: behold, the ManitorTM! He was basically a janitor, except young and exceptionally handsome, thus giving females and males (if they were so inclined) something to look forward to next time they did their business in a public toilets. Eye-candy for those answering nature's call, if you will.

And then, someone questioned me: what about the male janitors? Wouldn't that, in definition, make them a ManitorTM? No, no, you silly, stupid, naive fool, I smile while smacking them upside the head. A male janitor and a ManitorTM are two totally different things. Let me explain:

...

You know what, I don't know either.

In which I over-analyze Rebecca Black's 'My Moment'

I don't think My Moment is really as bad as some people are purporting. It's just hopelessly,  mildly, generically bland. Her voice seems to have been autotuned several times over, and the chorus is repetitive (still better than Friday, not that that's saying much) but how is that so different than what we hear in the usual pop charts? In a way, that actually makes the song worse. Let me explain.

We're not even allowed to like it ironically: no more endearingly low-budget effects or sets. No more confused extras. No more nasal voice or mind-numbing yet super-catchy lyrics. Yet, the song isn't outright hateable - either of which would have filled us with hand-rubbing glee. Sure, the number of dislikes on My Moment outweighs the likes, but the jibes feel half-hearted. How can we make fun of something that has nothing to make fun of? Blandness isn't fun. Blandness is...bland.

Although I'll be the first person to wish it was just as inane as Friday just so I could make fun of it, I suppose I'm glad for her. She's a cute girl with a contagious smile and (against one's resistance) infectious energy; she really could be much, much worse. Rebecca Black is really guilty of nothing more than being a young girl with dreams whose parents were indulgent enough to spend a few thousand dollars on her to have some chubby rapper from a music company of dubious origin write a terrible (-y awesome) song for her.

Yet, she seems to almost be asking for people to mock her mercilessly with My Moment's lyrics. Some of the lyrics essentially amount to: "HAHA! SUCKERS! LOOK AT ME NOW, YOU HATERS! I'M POPULAR AND FAMOUS AND YOU'RE NOT! NYA NYA NYA NYA NYA NYA!" Girl, you of all people should know the internet by now. This is the equivalent of dangling fresh meat in front of their faces. They'll take anything they can get. If you really are so famous and rich, please don't sing about feeling smug in proving the haters wrong. It just makes you look petty. Like, you know, you're sinking to our level. I believe in you, Rebecca. You're young yet. You can do better. You will do better. I say this with the best of intentions.

Regardless. Hopefully she'll be able to find some legitimate fame - as this video portrays her to have. But in the back of my mind, I still hope her next song will be epic of Friday-like proportions...fun, fun, fun, fun!

Random thought

Does anyone else think that 3D TV is extraordinarily pointless?

It's kind of like ordering salad at McDonald's. Not exactly the same metaphor, but a similar feeling. A lot of effort for nothing much.

If I wanted to see things in 3D, I'd just go outside.

Review: The Hangover 2

Today's movie review: The Hangover 2

Oh, how I hate to be writing this. Movie, I was so looking forward to having a good time with you. Enjoyable laughs of the same-old, same-old, with a few elements changed up. How could you have gone so wrong?

I'll have you know, I really liked the first movie; The Hangover was a great example of how a movie from a genre that has certain (low) expectations, if well-made enough, could attract audiences outside its usual demographic. Its premise, structure, and writing were original, funny, and clever. The characters were surprisingly empathetic, and the acting better than a film like The Hangover would warrant.

That point being made, I am not criticizing the fact this movie is essentially a remake. In fact, it was what I was looking forward to. I wanted to relive the laughs of the first. I suppose part of the reason I look back on the first with fondness is because it subverted my expectations by exceeding them; regardless of its quality, then, The Hangover 2 was probably doomed anyway by anticipatory hype.

At the worst, I hoped it would simply be a forgettable mediocre borefest. What I didn't expect was to walk out of the cinema so angry at the movie. It's not even boringly, enjoyably, forgettably bad. This movie was actively bad, as if deliberately assaulting one's senses and sensibilities, leaving a lingering bad taste in the mouth.

I felt ashamed for the actors. I was incredulous that they were willing to even, after reading through the script, participate. Oh, Bradley Cooper, how could you do this to me? I felt ashamed Thailand even let this movie be filmed there; did not some Thai person read the script? Did not even one person object?

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I have to say, as a Thai person - even after all these years of Westernization, and taking Asian stereotypes in good stride (I love Mr. Chow - he's the one saving grace of the movie!) - I found this movie in offensively bad taste. It just got to a point in the movie I was laughing because I could not believe what I was watching. Calling monks a bunch of 'bald assholes'? I know the lack of classiness is the charm, but there is a difference between crude and just offensive.

I despair of the lack of furore and debate this movie has whipped up; is Bangkok so universally perceived this way? If the movie were to portray some other country or city so negatively, would that somehow be worse?

On the plus side, if all the tweets of people swearing after watching The Hangover 2 to never visit Bangkok are anything to go by, the movie may have actually done the city a favour. For, if those people are stupid enough to believe this movie, with the premise it has, accurately portrays the city, then we'd probably benefit from their absence anyway.

Some jokes weren't even so much infuriating as much as exasperating. Asian women's boob sizes? Ladyboys? Eyeroll, yawn, been there, heard that. Todd Phillips, I expected better. Oh, movie, one thing I really hoped I wouldn't have to put up with you was cliched, tired, stereotypes, but you had them all the same.

Wow, I really did not mean for this to turn into such a self-righteous 'ASIAN PRIDE!!' rant. So, I'll also list other reasons this movie disappointed me:

Essentially, this movie took everything that worked in the first movie and exaggerated it to the point of cringe-worthy absurdity. A good example is the characterization of all the characters: taking the one defining point from their first movie and bombarding us with it. For example, Alan (Zach Galifianakis) is now unlikeably annoying, with no redeeming traits, whereas those same traits were formerly amusing.

Another complaint is the bizarrely dark tone the second movie adopts. The first one was light-hearted and fun, even amid all the debauchery. The Hangover 2 takes itself too seriously in deciding to incorporate a drug-underworld plot. Thus, coupled with the cliched Thai stereotypes, many of the jokes of The Hangover 2 both fall flat and feel mean-spirited.

I think part of the reason I resent this movie so much is that, in changing the setting, race tropes are inevitably going to come into play, whether intentionally or not. The Hangover 2 comes across as nothing more than privileged American white guys doing whatever the hell they want in a country they obviously think of as inferior.

I'd also complain about the contrived, deus-ex-machina-esque of an ending, but I've made my point. Just rewatch the first one instead.