So I got a forcibly imposed break, because after spouting rubbish for the Esplanade Gig, and carrying my cello around too much in the rain, I'm down with a angrily inflamed throat. Incredible feat, but I think these are all signs of premature aging, or the wearing down of a freakily tired body. Tomorrow's the last day of the Esplanade performance, and after that I'll get a break for a while more, until rehearsals resume for the January 10th NUS Chamber Concert. And then there's another NAFA concert on 22nd Jan. And there's the 2nd Feb Cricket Club gig. Ok enough of the depressing stuff already!
What I've been doing in my 'holidays': reading and watching (more) DVDs. I just needed some non physical activity that allows me to stone out. So I've read, so far:
1. Bram Stoker's "Dracula" (finally), which is fantabulous because I find myself identifying with the Count himself. I quote,
"I seek not gaiety or mirth, nor the bright voluptuousness of much sunshine and sparkling waters which please the young and gay. I am no longer young and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to mirth... I love the shade and the shadow, and would be alone with my thoughts when I may" [Dracula]
"I am too miserable, too low spirited, too sick of the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death." [Dr Seward]
My sentiments exactly.
2. Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters./Seymour an Introduction - J.D. Salinger
I can't remember anything of the book. Except that it was about a wedding, and Seymour the groom didn't turn up for the wedding, but ended up eloping with the bride eventually. Seymour is quite the anti hero, a bit like Holden from "Catcher in the Rye".
3 & 4. Underground and Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami
I don't know why I keep reading/re-reading his books, but the whole clean feel of the narrative (that takes the edge of the cynicism and world-weariness of his protagonists), makes him somewhat of a palate-cleanser. I quote, again,
"In the midst of life, everything revolved around death"
"He could charge forward, the optimistic leader, even as his heart writhed in a swamp of loneliness...He lived in his own special hell."
5. Specimen Days - Michael Cunningham
It's wonderful to see how Cunningham weaves 3 separate stories around Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass", which is an equally, if not more cathartic read. (The words are drying up so I'll let the text do the talking.)
"Living was a temporary inconvenience and death her true and only home"
5. Leaves of Grass - Walt Whitman
Like most good poetry, it allows for multiple readings, and to describe it further would not do justice to its essence, breadth and depth. (Just another excuse not to write anything that would no doubt make me look foolish and unenlightened.) In line with the theme of this post though, it is necessary to quote, so,
"To die is different from what anyone supposes, and luckier".
6. Love in a Blue Time - Hanif Kureishi
"Happiness was beyond him and everything was coming down...life could not be grasped but only lived." Very hedonistic, Dorian Gray-like!
"Suicide is one way of saying you're sorry" Well, I suppose you can read "sorry" as "sad case" too. However, that would be dismissive to the tragedy behind each suicide case, which is not allowed for social workers-to-be, I presume. (But since I'm not, I have license to say it. *sniggers*)
That's all for now. I haven't got too far with the reading yet, and there are so many more books that are lying untouched on my shelf. December is too short.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Saturday, December 23, 2006
i want all 12 days of christmas
Christmas is sneaking up on me. I'm hoping it won't be over so soon because it's my only chance at a decent, one-entire-day stay home BREAK. Where I can do nothing, not even (and especially not) play the cello, and rot.
So my parents generously offered to buy the cello for my coming-of-age present, and now I have that and a new bow, which my teacher pulled strings (no pun intended) and helped me get at zero cost. I am so eternally indebted already. But the new cello takes a lot of getting used to - everything that worked before isn't working now, and I'm systematically, over the course of a few gigs, ruining my (whatever) reputation as a cellist.
Thursday was the Patrizio Buanne showcase at movida@St James Power Station. Being ever so out of touch with the world, I had no idea St James Power Station was an actual power station previously. Neither did I know movida was a club. So it was an inadvertent mistake that me and my cello, newly christened as Samuel, ended up there. Last year the showcase was held at a non-descript ballroom at Grand Copthorne, but this year, with his new, revamped i.e. no more stuffy suit, I supposed they had to find a 'hipper' place. So there were the few of us on stage, and the crowd that was made up of mostly yuppie/auntie-types, who were crazy over this guy and some managed to get their hands all over his body. It felt weird watching them shamelessly lust over Patrizio, although I suppose he is rather lustable. Some people find Pikachu-like tummies hot.
Now for some shameless advertising, on 26th and 30th December, THE Quartet will be playing at Esplanade Concourse again. For the 26th, our slots are from 645-715 pm and 8-830 pm. For 30th Dec, the times are the same, but we have an additional slot from 9 to 930pm. So if anyone's interested or have nothing better to do, come and be entertained. Or at least try to act entertained. We'll be playing stuff from Nutcracker, Cats the musical, Gershwin, Broadway, and the obligatory classical stuff, but that won't be too heavy.
This blog post marks a significant degeneration of my mind. No focus, with too many random facts pieced together to form nothing. Then again, that's life.
So my parents generously offered to buy the cello for my coming-of-age present, and now I have that and a new bow, which my teacher pulled strings (no pun intended) and helped me get at zero cost. I am so eternally indebted already. But the new cello takes a lot of getting used to - everything that worked before isn't working now, and I'm systematically, over the course of a few gigs, ruining my (whatever) reputation as a cellist.
Thursday was the Patrizio Buanne showcase at movida@St James Power Station. Being ever so out of touch with the world, I had no idea St James Power Station was an actual power station previously. Neither did I know movida was a club. So it was an inadvertent mistake that me and my cello, newly christened as Samuel, ended up there. Last year the showcase was held at a non-descript ballroom at Grand Copthorne, but this year, with his new, revamped i.e. no more stuffy suit, I supposed they had to find a 'hipper' place. So there were the few of us on stage, and the crowd that was made up of mostly yuppie/auntie-types, who were crazy over this guy and some managed to get their hands all over his body. It felt weird watching them shamelessly lust over Patrizio, although I suppose he is rather lustable. Some people find Pikachu-like tummies hot.
Now for some shameless advertising, on 26th and 30th December, THE Quartet will be playing at Esplanade Concourse again. For the 26th, our slots are from 645-715 pm and 8-830 pm. For 30th Dec, the times are the same, but we have an additional slot from 9 to 930pm. So if anyone's interested or have nothing better to do, come and be entertained. Or at least try to act entertained. We'll be playing stuff from Nutcracker, Cats the musical, Gershwin, Broadway, and the obligatory classical stuff, but that won't be too heavy.
This blog post marks a significant degeneration of my mind. No focus, with too many random facts pieced together to form nothing. Then again, that's life.
Friday, December 15, 2006
early christmas
Just finished the Yuhua Harmonica Band concert, which was funnily disastrous. Being the only cello, (though I know there's no excuse), my presence was conspicuously missing from the first few bars of "Carmen". It was the last piece; the hardest one came and went without much ado. But this fateful last one, I just spaced out, strangely enough. Thus the very delayed, diva-ish entry 8 bars after the beginning. Surprisingly, 'my' alien cello could be heard despite the intimidating size of the Esplanade Concert Hall. (Quotation marks used because I haven't decided to buy it yet.)
(I apologize if the sentences don't link coherently, I'm tired. )
So today I'm back at the esplanade again, beeping in and out like I'm some product being checked out at the grocery store. The new barcode system for the passes confounds me. It is extremely dehumanising. But I suppose they want to do something to justify the $50 admin charge they impose on lost passes. The minds of Establishments - one cannot attempt to understand them.
Corrinne May rehearsal - it seems ages since the last one, until Kavin mentioned that the last one was in February this year, and again, the faint chill passes through me like a vampire (c.f. Bram Stoker). How quickly time passes.
"Urge and urge and urge, always the procreant urge of the world." (Can't remember who said it. Whitman?)
Corrinne May rehearsal - Slowly I'm seeing the character of the cello I have at hand. It's uncontrollable, quite the spoilt brat actually. Constantly demanding to be heard, continually rubbing it's sound in your face. It is loud, no doubt, like the cry of a baby, lacking the gravity that comes with experience, and the depth of sound so that the emotion carries through when you play it. More importantly, it demands to be heard alone. Today I clashed so dissonantly with my partner, it was stunningly bewildering. I felt I was fighting the cello constantly, to make it blend, to make it sound vaguely in tune, but it wasn't so much the main note but all the over and undertones that came with it. The cello had wolf notes in the weirdest places like E-flat and D, another manifestation of its attention seeking behaviour.
It was most tiring trying to reign in its sound. Because by nature I hate to stick out. All I want to do is to skulk around unnoticed. But somehow more and more people are congregating around me, claiming time that is no longer mine to give. On my way to the esplanade, passing through CityLink, seeing all these people swarming in my general direction was claustrophobia-inducing. I think I might be suffering from people phobia, but the irony is that I cling to every conversation like it is my last, and now it feels as if I'm watching myself from a distance, dissociated.
The question keeps popping up these few days - is it my problem, that The One is nowhere to be found? Perhaps I have too much expectations, and the cello suffocates even before I start playing it. There have been too many people calling me, asking me to try this cello, or that one, and I'm driving myself mad processing so many different sounds, factoring in so many other (unforseeable) variables, like warping wood or sound loss. I am paralysed with indecision, in an even more pathetic situation than Hamlet, who at least was bothering himself with existential angst.
What is this soul loss?
In vain, I hope that this concert will breathe some meaning into my existence, by reminding me of the One that came before. Her voice can sometime have that effect on people. But what if what I really need is one day away from everything and everyone? My choices are leading me in the wrong direction. Choices are paralysing, and are an irrestible invitation to self destruct.
(I apologize if the sentences don't link coherently, I'm tired. )
So today I'm back at the esplanade again, beeping in and out like I'm some product being checked out at the grocery store. The new barcode system for the passes confounds me. It is extremely dehumanising. But I suppose they want to do something to justify the $50 admin charge they impose on lost passes. The minds of Establishments - one cannot attempt to understand them.
Corrinne May rehearsal - it seems ages since the last one, until Kavin mentioned that the last one was in February this year, and again, the faint chill passes through me like a vampire (c.f. Bram Stoker). How quickly time passes.
"Urge and urge and urge, always the procreant urge of the world." (Can't remember who said it. Whitman?)
Corrinne May rehearsal - Slowly I'm seeing the character of the cello I have at hand. It's uncontrollable, quite the spoilt brat actually. Constantly demanding to be heard, continually rubbing it's sound in your face. It is loud, no doubt, like the cry of a baby, lacking the gravity that comes with experience, and the depth of sound so that the emotion carries through when you play it. More importantly, it demands to be heard alone. Today I clashed so dissonantly with my partner, it was stunningly bewildering. I felt I was fighting the cello constantly, to make it blend, to make it sound vaguely in tune, but it wasn't so much the main note but all the over and undertones that came with it. The cello had wolf notes in the weirdest places like E-flat and D, another manifestation of its attention seeking behaviour.
It was most tiring trying to reign in its sound. Because by nature I hate to stick out. All I want to do is to skulk around unnoticed. But somehow more and more people are congregating around me, claiming time that is no longer mine to give. On my way to the esplanade, passing through CityLink, seeing all these people swarming in my general direction was claustrophobia-inducing. I think I might be suffering from people phobia, but the irony is that I cling to every conversation like it is my last, and now it feels as if I'm watching myself from a distance, dissociated.
The question keeps popping up these few days - is it my problem, that The One is nowhere to be found? Perhaps I have too much expectations, and the cello suffocates even before I start playing it. There have been too many people calling me, asking me to try this cello, or that one, and I'm driving myself mad processing so many different sounds, factoring in so many other (unforseeable) variables, like warping wood or sound loss. I am paralysed with indecision, in an even more pathetic situation than Hamlet, who at least was bothering himself with existential angst.
What is this soul loss?
In vain, I hope that this concert will breathe some meaning into my existence, by reminding me of the One that came before. Her voice can sometime have that effect on people. But what if what I really need is one day away from everything and everyone? My choices are leading me in the wrong direction. Choices are paralysing, and are an irrestible invitation to self destruct.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
mismatch
In Humanistic Psychology, there is one term that gets thrown around a lot - congruence. Congruence in behaviour means you say what you genuinely feel. Congruence also occurs when what you think you are (i.e. your self concept) is consistent with your actions. For example, if you think you are generous, but don't share stuff with your sibilings, then your self concept is incongruent with your behaviour. Incongruence in both forms generate undesirable distress.
In my few years of engaging in human interactions, I have come to the conclusion that people get along best with the people whom they can be congruent with (i.e. don't have to put on a false self). If you constantly have to act a certain way just to click with the other person, which is at odds with your original personality, the incongruence you experience generates a hell lot of distress.
(Like "Duh. Underneath all the fancy terms, who didn't know that already?")
What I'm wondering is why people continue interacting with those who make them experience this incongruence. Why bother when you'll only end up feeling more miserable, frustrated at being miserable, not to mention the niggling sense of having been cheated out of something, having been frustrated over nothing in particular. Having been made to question whether it's something you did wrong, when it might be that the other person might be having his/her own unresolved hangups which he/she then projects on other people. (So Freudian.)
Recently, my cello teacher asked me about something I (apparently) told S. S told my cello teacher that I said that one must be Zen when playing the cello and relax, but not relax the muscles.
My first thought at that time was, if not relax the muscles, then relax the bones? Relax the mind? Relax the fingernails?
My second thought was, "What Transcendental Bullcrap". Zen?!
And then I reacted violently, incredulously, until I saw my teacher look worried, at which point she said "Misunderstood ya?", and thankfully dropped the subject.
I didn't say anymore, but I spent the rest of the lesson wondering why I bothered talking to S about cello in the first place, (maybe because we have nothing left to talk about) what insanity possessed me to meet her again, and why I knowingly set myself up with someone whom I constantly feel incongruent with. Even Stitch is good, in comparison. It's almost appears as if all this is to reinforce the "I'm Ok You're not Ok " life position, in Transactional Analysis terms. But upon further reflection, I think plenty of people are OK. So it isn't a valid reason for such self destructive behaviour.
("You're overreacting." - you might think, at this point. Probably.)
What disturbed me was not just S's totally warped interpretation of what I said (because it might have been my fault for not explaining it clearly and assuming she knew what I meant). It was the understanding of the depth of misunderstanding; the reasons why this happened, why it happened before, and why it will keep happening are all tangled up like a potful of spaghetti. And it's too tiring, and totally pointless, to separate the strands, one by one.
In my few years of engaging in human interactions, I have come to the conclusion that people get along best with the people whom they can be congruent with (i.e. don't have to put on a false self). If you constantly have to act a certain way just to click with the other person, which is at odds with your original personality, the incongruence you experience generates a hell lot of distress.
(Like "Duh. Underneath all the fancy terms, who didn't know that already?")
What I'm wondering is why people continue interacting with those who make them experience this incongruence. Why bother when you'll only end up feeling more miserable, frustrated at being miserable, not to mention the niggling sense of having been cheated out of something, having been frustrated over nothing in particular. Having been made to question whether it's something you did wrong, when it might be that the other person might be having his/her own unresolved hangups which he/she then projects on other people. (So Freudian.)
Recently, my cello teacher asked me about something I (apparently) told S. S told my cello teacher that I said that one must be Zen when playing the cello and relax, but not relax the muscles.
My first thought at that time was, if not relax the muscles, then relax the bones? Relax the mind? Relax the fingernails?
My second thought was, "What Transcendental Bullcrap". Zen?!
And then I reacted violently, incredulously, until I saw my teacher look worried, at which point she said "Misunderstood ya?", and thankfully dropped the subject.
I didn't say anymore, but I spent the rest of the lesson wondering why I bothered talking to S about cello in the first place, (maybe because we have nothing left to talk about) what insanity possessed me to meet her again, and why I knowingly set myself up with someone whom I constantly feel incongruent with. Even Stitch is good, in comparison. It's almost appears as if all this is to reinforce the "I'm Ok You're not Ok " life position, in Transactional Analysis terms. But upon further reflection, I think plenty of people are OK. So it isn't a valid reason for such self destructive behaviour.
("You're overreacting." - you might think, at this point. Probably.)
What disturbed me was not just S's totally warped interpretation of what I said (because it might have been my fault for not explaining it clearly and assuming she knew what I meant). It was the understanding of the depth of misunderstanding; the reasons why this happened, why it happened before, and why it will keep happening are all tangled up like a potful of spaghetti. And it's too tiring, and totally pointless, to separate the strands, one by one.
Friday, December 08, 2006
post exams
Finally, finally getting some time to myself, after my French cousins have moved to another house while in their Great Escape from their French chef father who apparently has murderous intent. They were great fun! Very cute, everything that comes out of their mouth is Singlish so it feels very incongruous because they look so Eurasian.
And better news, I think I've finally found My Cello! $8000 US cello, very nice sound with shaped bridge and fingerboard (which means I don't have to do much work to it anymore). Contrary to expectations, it was an instant love affair. After looking so extensively, at least in Singapore, I figured it has the best sound for the price range, and it beat the $11k one hands down; even my brother agrees. Of course there are the risks, like, what if it loses sound, something my cello teacher always talks about, and what Violist also mentioned today. But I figured, you can never be sure (not unless you're paying $40k). Every decision is a risk, but I suppose this is a calculated risk? Then again, the degree to which you can calculate risk is also unknown. BUT. I like it. Even if my teacher has tons to say (i.e. complain) about it tomorrow, I think I'll still stick with it. Hopefully.
Meanwhile life goes on with rehearsals and DVD watching and reading and gushing on 'my' new cello that is sitting at home waiting to played. It is kindly on loan to me until after the Corrinne May concert, which is totally awesome because I can test it the esplanade concert hall! Finally something to get excited about.
And better news, I think I've finally found My Cello! $8000 US cello, very nice sound with shaped bridge and fingerboard (which means I don't have to do much work to it anymore). Contrary to expectations, it was an instant love affair. After looking so extensively, at least in Singapore, I figured it has the best sound for the price range, and it beat the $11k one hands down; even my brother agrees. Of course there are the risks, like, what if it loses sound, something my cello teacher always talks about, and what Violist also mentioned today. But I figured, you can never be sure (not unless you're paying $40k). Every decision is a risk, but I suppose this is a calculated risk? Then again, the degree to which you can calculate risk is also unknown. BUT. I like it. Even if my teacher has tons to say (i.e. complain) about it tomorrow, I think I'll still stick with it. Hopefully.
Meanwhile life goes on with rehearsals and DVD watching and reading and gushing on 'my' new cello that is sitting at home waiting to played. It is kindly on loan to me until after the Corrinne May concert, which is totally awesome because I can test it the esplanade concert hall! Finally something to get excited about.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
illusion
Spent the afternoon/evening at X Club doing a Santarina gig thingy with Santa. We were extremely early because we finished make up early without the normal hassles. As a result we spent one hour bumming around in a boardroom, freezing despite the Santa suits and mittens and hats, talking about Malay gangs. Because Santa is Malay, and in my whole attempt to increase my knowledge of other races, the after effects of my Ethnic Sensitivity Module, I was getting him to tell his story about his culture. I don't exactly know where he gets all his gang stories from, but I felt like I was replaying a Malay version of 15 in my head.
Then before we knew it we went down the lobby and were swamped with kids and parents - every claustrophobe's nightmare. The place was jam packed with cameras and all around, camera flashes - every epileptic's nightmare. After one hour of giving out 600 plus gingerbread snowmen, and smiling for the nth photo, I had to rearrange my face to get everything back in place. The Chinese parents were quite something. Kiasuism at its max, it was almost embarrassing; they were pushing their kids to the front, through the barriers, and wanted so many gingerbread men for their children/nieces/nephews/no one in particular. And horror of horrors I met my KoolPurpleSchool music head who brought her daughter to see Santa.
Then there were these boys that came with prepared gift lists for Santa, and we dutifully made a show poring over them before stuffing into the sack with all the other gingerbread men. Stuff they want include
1. "pee gun" (Is that a gun that pees, a gun that shoots pee, or what?)
2. "gas powered (with gas!) remote controle (sic) car! 60 miles per hour" (how's that for detail.)
3. "hill" (how's that going to go down the chimney?)
4. "cap gun" (Enough with the gun obsession already...)
5. "PSP black, iDog green, ipod nano black" (this boy's like, 8.)
6. "toy ronaldhino" (ok....)
7. "remote control car/Ferrari" ( I think he meant a remote contolled Ferrari.)
8. "Ferrari Formula 1 Car (remote)" (in case Santa got him the real thing by accident)
I couldn't bear to dump the lists because of all the little hopes pinned to them (and also because it is bloggable material). It was so tragic to see how eager and earnest these kids were. I suppose their parents will get them their stuff anyway, but still, for them be almost convinced that Santa's real, even if just for one second, is tragic because of the inevitable disappointment that comes after. Why do parents still propagate the myth then? Is it so that if they can't fulfil their children's wishes, they can blame it on a fictitious character, or on the children themselves for not having been 'good enough'?
Night conversation back in the office about how expat husbands are never around, second hand smoke, chocolate wafers, and the very contagious "relac one corner" attitude - again I find myself thinking what I'm doing still studying. Doesn't help that Manager asks "Eh you free next January to March or not? For school tour..." Uni's really starting to be a pain.
Then before we knew it we went down the lobby and were swamped with kids and parents - every claustrophobe's nightmare. The place was jam packed with cameras and all around, camera flashes - every epileptic's nightmare. After one hour of giving out 600 plus gingerbread snowmen, and smiling for the nth photo, I had to rearrange my face to get everything back in place. The Chinese parents were quite something. Kiasuism at its max, it was almost embarrassing; they were pushing their kids to the front, through the barriers, and wanted so many gingerbread men for their children/nieces/nephews/no one in particular. And horror of horrors I met my KoolPurpleSchool music head who brought her daughter to see Santa.
Then there were these boys that came with prepared gift lists for Santa, and we dutifully made a show poring over them before stuffing into the sack with all the other gingerbread men. Stuff they want include
1. "pee gun" (Is that a gun that pees, a gun that shoots pee, or what?)
2. "gas powered (with gas!) remote controle (sic) car! 60 miles per hour" (how's that for detail.)
3. "hill" (how's that going to go down the chimney?)
4. "cap gun" (Enough with the gun obsession already...)
5. "PSP black, iDog green, ipod nano black" (this boy's like, 8.)
6. "toy ronaldhino" (ok....)
7. "remote control car/Ferrari" ( I think he meant a remote contolled Ferrari.)
8. "Ferrari Formula 1 Car (remote)" (in case Santa got him the real thing by accident)
I couldn't bear to dump the lists because of all the little hopes pinned to them (and also because it is bloggable material). It was so tragic to see how eager and earnest these kids were. I suppose their parents will get them their stuff anyway, but still, for them be almost convinced that Santa's real, even if just for one second, is tragic because of the inevitable disappointment that comes after. Why do parents still propagate the myth then? Is it so that if they can't fulfil their children's wishes, they can blame it on a fictitious character, or on the children themselves for not having been 'good enough'?
Night conversation back in the office about how expat husbands are never around, second hand smoke, chocolate wafers, and the very contagious "relac one corner" attitude - again I find myself thinking what I'm doing still studying. Doesn't help that Manager asks "Eh you free next January to March or not? For school tour..." Uni's really starting to be a pain.
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