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Winston Zhang
28 March
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Thursday, April 17, 2008
17:54:00
Just watched a little of the movie 'Finding Forrester' on HBO.
In the likely chance that the majority of you wouldn't know the movie too well, it's about this pulitzer-prize winning author who is also incredibly reclusive, shutting himself off from the rest of the world not long after his award-winning novel was published. It was also the only one he ever published. He stays in the Bronx, a 'bad neighbourhood' in New York, so to speak. Through chance, he makes friends with a 16 year old African-American student who has been recently offered a scholarship to a prestigious private school. This student, despite the environment he has grown up in, is extremely bright and a brilliant writer, if abit rough around the edges until he meets Forrester.
It's a good movie, and it got me thinking about my own writing capabilities. Now, I don't wish to sound like an asshole or anything, but my essays are pretty good. I honestly can't remember the last time I got anything less than an A for an essay, besides that one time Mrs Lai failed me purely because she felt I wasn't mature enough to write about what I wrote (office politics). I was pissed off at the time, but looking back, I think she had a point. Besides, if anything, I was one of her favourite students, so there couldn't be any reason to fail me besides the given one. While I might have a very good idea of the world and its workings, I'm not stupid enough to say that I know it all. She might have had a point. I appreciated her input, every time. Not easy to find another teacher so willing to adapt to the (limited) resources available to her yet still be so much like herself.
Anyway, back to the thoughts the movie provoked in me. I've always taken my writing seriously, especially in recent years. I used to always write essays that could be easily adapted to Hardy Boys books; alot of my earlier work included two or more boys stumbling upon adventure, be they smugglers (a Hardy Boys staple, hah) or robbers or whatever. Those, well, always made for good, light reading. They were the sort of stories you'd pick up and read, and, while not being in any way moved by the language, you'd find yourself enjoying the pure simplicity of the story, the sheer innocence of it all. Innocence in the sense of easily foreseen happy endings, and the generic way the two boys always got rewarded for their efforts. I don't think I ever brought anyone on a journey in those stories; I merely took you for a leisurely stroll in the park. Not awe-inspiring but enjoyable nevertheless.
Then I began getting more melancholy in my upper secondary years, seeing more of the world, experiencing more emotions; basically finding out that the world is a horrible place and life is just simply the human spirit shining through the dirt, willing ourselves to make the best of the circumstances.
I began putting more thought into my essays. I always tried to look for ways and means to tug at the heartstrings of the readers. The beauty of it was, I always tried my best to make these little things as unnoticeable as possible. If you ever read one of my essays and felt moved but couldn't explain why, then I did my job. Of course, this didn't always work out, due to a lack of inspiration or, most of the time, a lack of time to really flesh out the story. The end product in such cases was usually another one of those enjoyable stories, which I still find nice to write, but still, they of course lacked that little magical something.
It's not often I finish an essay and think to myself, 'That was great. That was great.' I would still score good marks any way you looked at it, so in the end it became more of a case of satisfying my own desire to strike a chord with the reader rather than to get a good grade. I can only remember feeling really proud of an essay (in terms of fulfilling this desire I have) about once or twice, three times tops. Luckily, one of those times was in the O Levels. I can't be bothered to go into the details of the story, but it was touching, and I don't usually do 'touching'. When inspiration hits, it hits.
The movie made me think about writing about more serious topics. Things like friendship and other social situations, or other such things. In such topics though, I'm severely lacking. I hardly write about such things, and I might sound bitter in the papers if I did, considering my life experiences. The ultimate achievement would be to be able to write a book or article that would make life-weary adults be able to smile and feel positive about life again. Everyone knows how dreary life can be, how shitty it can be and all. To be able to write a book which would help the human spirit shine through all those layers of pessimism and cynicism once again, that would be the best thing I could do with my life.
I live in a country driven by nothing but paper qualifications and money. Really the only reasons I'm where I am. SP, studying for a diploma in Banking and Finance. Given a real choice, in a place where money and paper qualifications aren't so important, do you honestly think I would go the same route? Leave the control of economic markets to other people. Leave the ruling of the world to other people. I just want to express myself through words.
I'll admit, I do want a big house, with nice cars and everything. Just as my brother wants to be able to top what our father has provided for us (which is pretty good already, to be honest), I want to be able to just succeed. My father has owned a Mercedes once. My brother wants to match, then top that. I want to top my brother. It's not a matter of competition as we're as close brothers as you can find; rather, I just want to prove to myself that I can do all I want.
Money makes this world go round, no matter how idealistic you may be. Love may be the lubricant, but money is what really makes the turning occur. Therefore we all gotta aim to earn top dollar. It's sad really; pretty soon everyone just becomes contestants in this rat race we call life. In Singapore, nothing much comes from going against this and trying to be something fresh. Singaporean celebrities' status fail terribly when compared to other countries' celebrities, for example. Big fish, but in an incredibly small pond. No point to that.
If I could write for a living, what a life that would be. Even if I couldn't have that, if I could just write that story that allows the human spirit to shine through all the grime, I'd die happy. I wouldn't even mind dying right after finding out the book was a success. I would have left a mark.