Taking wing in the age of butterflies

I rarely write reviews of theatre productions I watch, as actors rarely do so as to refrain from publicly critiquing peers. I'm making (sort of) an exception now as I feel compelled to share how what I watched tonight affected me. Sort of, because this isn't a review, really, more of a personal reaction upon watching 11•Kuo Pao Kun Devised, Again by The Theatre Practice.

"今年最近几个月来，是蝴蝶时代" --> "Over the most recent months of this year, it has been the age of butterflies."

These are the words of Kuo Pao Kun I see first upon entering the hall where the performance kicks off. My first thought was, what the heck is an age of butterflies?

As I sit there looking around the large hall, I see more writing on the walls (literally), and more and more writing is inked onto the walls as the evening wears on, and I imagine they are all quotes from KPK's plays and letters. It is with slight shame that none of it is familiar to me as I've read very little of the late KPK's works.

Over the next hour and a half, we are led through the halls, corridors, rooms, roof, courtyard, and foyer of the building as images, sounds, and movement meet us and pull us.

We lean over a man who thinks he is the only one who sees and suffers because he sees. A woman with her everyday burdens around her ankles asks us questions of time. A man-child chained to his baggage, seemingly both weighed down and light at the same time, yells out the time.

A man with his bowl. A man with the doll he cannot possess. A man who is shadow and sound.

A half-butterfly becomes whole in a mirror. A woman fills the courtyard with song and rains down suggestions of butterflies. A woman with a story, who might be a rock, but with moulding, could she be more than a rock?

A woman who is trying to transform through new words. A woman who has transformed.

At least, these are what I see.

This being site-specific work, I know better than to try to figure out a 'story', and I allow myself to just absorb and experience, and allow the sounds and images to wash over me and move me along. It's not about what the players are trying to tell me, it's what I see in what they give me, and they are giving in abundance. Before I know it, I find myself in the midst of magic.

Immediate thoughts are that it's the magic of nostalgia and transformation, and suddenly, the butterfly analogy makes perfect sense to me.

It is perhaps that final scene in the hall that captures my imagination the most. I don't see a struggling woman who's hopeless at English - I see a woman who is reaching to be more than a rock, who is metamorphosing into the butterfly that is slowly unfolding before our eyes.

And that is what I see in that great hall at the end, surrounded by KPK's text, the memories of his presence, the has-been-is-nows, the pictures on the walls, the open windows, the cloths dangling over the expanse of the ceiling that he'd had put in place to improve the acoustics of the hall, more text. And, most of all, the actors, all of whom had been strongly touched by KPK, and are offering us the echoes of that touch.

It is a couple of hours after the show, after I've had a little time to digest it, that I realise what it is that has moved me so much, other than the beauty and immersion of experiencing it.

I had never known about the man and his works in much depth, just a few fundamentals and rough ideas, and watched a few of his works staged. I'd understood and respected his foundational role in Singapore theatre, and all that he went through during the difficult years. That his works are rich and deeply revered, and the love for him as a playwright, teacher, and father, there's been no doubt. But all this had never affected me at a deeper level. Until tonight.

Being immersed in the world of 11•Kuo Pao Kun Devised, Again and Stamford Arts Centre, the long-time home of KPK's practice and ongoing legacy, the spirit of his work and legacy seeped into me and I realise it has given me a real connection to Kuo Pao Kun, whom I'd never met.

Sitting in that hall, submerged in the love and reverence that the company members have for him, being swept up by the resonance of his work, feeling the past and the present converge in that room brimming with memories that are translating to us now, Kuo Pao Kun has finally reached me.

蝴蝶时代 - The age of butterflies: it is now and always.

Thank you, TTP.

(P.S. If I'd known there were 2 routes, I would've made time to come to watch twice.)

Everyone is born feminist...I mean, everyone-ist

I just remembered that I'd been called a slut before. [And those of you with whom I did Mad Forest, no, I'm not referring to that.]

I was 17 years old, and was crying on the phone - my then-boyfriend had stood me up for a date, which I was obviously not happy about, and he was not happy about the fact that I was unhappy with him. Yes, I know, makes perfect sense. That led to an argument on the phone - not a heated one, mind you, but a pleading one where I tried to make him understand why I was unhappy. Among other choice phrases he used during that conversation, like "spoiled brat", this was the one he used that I almost didn't even catch amidst the rush of words: "Why are you acting like such a slut?"

I remember a very brief pause as I thought, "What? Slut? How does that..." before dismissing the thought to continue grappling with other issues, like why someone who regularly told me he loved me didn't act like he did.

Interesting choice of words he had. That 18-year-old boy obviously hadn't stopped to consider what he would actually perceive a "slut" to be and how one would behave. I doubt that mattered - he used it purely to inflict hurt and emotional bullying, and "slut" is one of the most hurtful names one can use on a female.

I won't go into the whole analysis of using words like that on women - SlutWalk is still fresh in our heads. What this memory made me think about is when gender politics start to take root in a person's life.

Everyone grows up hyper aware of their gender differences and perceptions of how they are expected to behave, what they're supposed to like, how they're supposed to dress. And, of course, what sort of behaviour they're expected to accept and tolerate.

Baby girls wake up to pink bed linen. Baby boys wake up to blue. Little girls get dolls and want to be princesses. Little boys get trains and want to be ninjas. Young girls use verbal sparring to get their way. Young boys use their elbows. Teenage girls go to school in skirts or pinafores. Teenage boys go to school in pants. Women do the laundry. Men change the light bulbs.

On the surface, it looks like this kind of gender differentiation has a hold on people right from the beginning. However, when I thought about it, I realise this isn't what I'm actually observing in kids, and it's my opinion that gender differentiation doesn't really take hold for the first few years.

Watching a class of preschoolers, I realise that while the girls and boys may have different tastes, there isn't a big difference in how they react to things and situations. Both the boys and girls essentially want the same things: the same attention, the same food, climb the same structures, see the same pictures. They want to be treated fairly, they want the same affection.

When my niece was born, I was thinking that since she was born into a family of strong women, she might not subscribe to the whole stereotype of girly girl who'd like pink and purple, want to play princess dress-up, ask mummy to put nail polish on her, be motivated by the promise of being "pretty", and want to be Tinkerbell every other Halloween.

Caitlyn is now 5 years old. And she is all of the above. I'd rail to my sister against the proliferation of pink and purple in her wardrobe, the stash of shiny 'jewels' and plastic tiaras, the collection of Disney princess jelly shoes, and, of course, the Tinkerbell costume. Meanwhile, Caitlyn would sashay around the house in her purple princess dress, decked out in all her plastic jewellery, and ask us if she looked pretty. For heaven's sake, we caught her trying on a bikini top and checking out her own ass when we had her in our fitting room during a shopping trip when she was 3.

But after a while, I stopped objecting to her girly ways and preferences, because I realised this is the same girl who can NEVER be bested by her big brother who's 4 years older, who climbs any surface she thinks she can get away with, who asserts herself in ways that puts boys to shame, who wants light sabres and trains too, and who can learn yoga poses in a heartbeat. In other words, her girly ways do not get in the way of her firm belief that she deserves the same things as others, and has no notion that anything different would be expected of her just because she's a girl.

Her brother Sean will be 9 soon. He still likes cuddling, burying his face in mummy's (and grandma's and Yee Yee's) chest, and being carried...though hardly anyone's strong enough to carry him any more. Very soon, he will stop wanting these things as puberty starts to change him into a man with its own set of taboos.

In the eyes of all these young children, they're all equal even though they're different. They hardly care what's 'expected' of them based on gender - they just want to have fun and affection. They were born thinking we are all equal. We are the ones who tell them otherwise.

We are the ones who tell them to "behave like a girl", and "act like a man." We're the ones who expose them to gender name-calling. Slut. Tramp. Whore. We're the ones who taunt boys for doing 'girly things'. We're the ones who tell them, "Your brother can do that but not you because he's a boy." (And I don't mean peeing standing up.)

I'd say that everyone is born feminist, which in my own definition is 'everyone-ist', because to me, being feminist is about acknowledging that males and females are equal and working towards living with our differences in a mutually respectful way, neither being superior to the other. I think it's just called "feminism" because females have had the short end of the stick in patriarchal societies, and there's a need to elevate women's standing so we are shoulder-to-shoulder with our equals, the guys.

What kind of people do you want your children to grow up to be? What they were born to be? Or subject to a set of prejudices that they will in turn perpetuate?

Holding it, it is no longer there

I watched Jane Eyre again, possibly for the fifth time. The scene in this beautiful movie that never fails to wrench my heart is when Rochester begs Jane to be with him after their thwarted wedding. Apart from Jane's agonizing struggle to choose self-respect over passion, Rochester's intense helplessness, and watching both their hearts breaking at once, I just realised what it is that really gets to me in this scene.

Rochester, unable to change Jane's mind, sinks to his knees and physically clings on to her, pressing his forehead against her in utter helplessness and desperation, completely unable to reach her soul.


And I recognise it. I had been there.

The last moment I had been totally and absolutely in love with a man, I was holding on to him one last, desperate time, my forehead pressed against his chest as I wept, knowing that no matter how much I cried and how much I hurt, I could not reach his soul anymore. He was physically there, but he was gone, and try as I may, physically and desperately clinging on to him wouldn't bring him back.

Still, I held on, unable to stop the tears from flowing and unable to stop myself from wanting him; him, so patiently and so softly holding me, and waiting for me to be ready to let go.

There is no emptier feeling than to physically be with someone you want so badly, yet knowing they are not really there with you, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it.

Five years on, and it hasn't healed completely, and possibly never will. You may stop loving the arm that got torn from you, but you will always bear the scar.

That's what being alive is, isn't it? Feeling your wounds keenly, fingering your scars, trying not to pick at those that have only just scabbed over. Knowing that you'd inflict new wounds upon yourself again, given the chance.

The Single Person's Guide to Chinese New Year

Gong Hei Fatt Choy! For all the grief a single person gets at CNY, the ang baos (red packets) are but a trifle compensation for having to endure awkward, unanswerable questions from relatives and family friends who can't remember your non-childhood-nickname name, how old you are, and whether you've left school.

I've decided to share a few coping strategies for my fellow singletons. Here are some sample answers you can use to tackle a few of the typical questions that will be hurled at you this festive season. [Please note that I'm writing a straight woman's responses, but feel free to switch prepositions and gender-specifics to suit your own situation.]

Let's start with the most common, and most dreaded, question: "When is it your turn to get married?"

* I haven't met the right person yet.
* I'm not ready to give up my freedom.
* My career comes first for now.
* Marriage is for losers.
* I refuse to get married and have kids until I can afford to provide them the best, i.e. after I buy my first mansion on Sixth Avenue with its own car porch and helipad.
* I'm only dating him for the sex.
* My lesbian lover wouldn't like that much.
* I want to enjoy casual sex a few years more.
* Most men are intimidated by my Satan-worship.
* He might want a divorce once I undergo my surgery...to become a man.

Question: "Where's your boyfriend?"

a) If you have a boyfriend:

* Visiting his own relatives.
* With his other girlfriend.
* With his wife.
* With his kakis playing mahjong, blackjack, poker, and chor dai di, before they move on to the casino, where they will stay until the fifth day of new year, before they crawl home to nurse their hangovers.
* Hanging pig heads on a few doors, then visiting his sah-lak-gau buddies to sharpen their parangs together, before he's free to come over here - stick around for a while if you want to meet him.

b) If you don't have a boyfriend:

* I'm enjoying single life for now.
* The last relationship didn't end well and I'm not ready for another at the moment.
* He... (let your lower lip tremble.) He... (let a few tears flow for a bit.) He... (Launch into a full-blown breakdown. If method acting doesn't work, make sure you rub chili or onion on your fingers beforehand and discreetly rub them into your eyes when necessary.)
* With that skank that he left me for with most of my money.
* He came out of the closet.
* I came out of the closet.

Question: "When are you getting a job?"

* I have a job, and have had one for the past 9 years. Thank you for asking.
* I work in the arts. That IS a profession. <--I've had to use this one many times.
* I quit my job two working days ago. It takes longer than that to mail a letter, let alone find a new job.
* I have a job already, but my dad doesn't acknowledge "moocher" as a profession and refuses to remunerate me.
* I'm waiting for my dream job. It'll come. You'll see.
* My specialty is very niche. Not every zoo needs a Bolivian Llama psychiatrist.
* Didn't you say you need a new sex therapist? I'm free.

Divorcees may face this question: "What happened? Why divorce?"

* It was a painful experience, and I trust you understand that I would rather not discuss it at the time being.
* Our differences made it impractical to stay together.
* He finally found the feminine wife of his dreams, named Hank.
* Actually he died under mysterious circumstances. Don't worry, they never proved a thing. "Black Widow" is just a nickname.
* He finally met you guys last Chinese New Year. He filed for divorce just after Chinese New Year.

Bonus section for married people

Question: "When are you going to have a kid?"

* When we're ready.
* Once I get my tubes untied.
* Once he gets his tubes reconnected.
* We don't want to make an innocent child answer to the world why his parents are swingers, so we chose not to have any.
* We actually have a child, but decided he's too ugly to be seen, so we keep him chained in the basement. Don't tell anyone.
* I've got syphilis.

Question: "When are you going to have another kid?"

* We want to give our dear one the best instead of dividing our already stretched resources among more kids.
* Once I get my tubes untied.
* Once he gets his tubes reconnected.
* One monster is enough, thank you.
* We actually had another, but she turned out to be an evil twin, so we had her, eh, terminated.

The one-size-fits-all answer to any question:

* Let's not trouble with unlucky things like that. Huat ah!"