01 - On Staying and Straying
The pleasure of journaling and recording things.
a little peek of my journal page
Every time I opened up my past journal entry, there was this weird knot and a little discomfort in my belly like I would be opening up a pandora's box—a box of curiosity mixed with dread (dread of cringe, to put it simply). The page itself was written in April 2020, exactly during the pandemic. I didn’t precisely remember the exact words that I’ve put in here, but I still could recall the feelings vividly. It was the feelings of despair, mixed with a bunch of strong, overwhelming, desires. The desire to move forward, to put things in motion. Yet, the despair to only find myself in the same place as before—idle, unmoving, trapped.
It was hard not to feel that way back then when we were forced to stay inside our so-so square-inch rooms without leaving it at all for certain weeks or months. At that time, it was around 1 month into my self-isolation when journaling had become one of my ways of savoring and making sense of time. Since days were merged into weeks and it was getting impossibly hard to tell them apart, the recollection of words through the act of journaling, through inserting meaning in my mundane action and repetition, was the only thing that made sense.
It was even becoming my favorite activity for a while for the reason that I could expose my most private, most intimate thoughts and no one would know; nobody would ever pay any attention to it as I wouldn’t let them. There was also this deep sense of pleasure as I felt like I could materialize and dissolve my thoughts at the same time; it would disappear and be locked away safely, and I could walk from it as if nothing happened. Poof—it was here and then it was not; and yet, it was also still there.
In my journal, I mostly wrote about nothing and everything—from the shows I’ve watched to the phrases I’ve stumbled upon, of the doubts that stuck in my mind as well as the hope that kept me going. It was rain and thunder and a rainbow and sunshine at the same time. Much like my mind, it was messy and chaotic, and yet I hope it made sense in the end.
As I continued gazing through my messy/incomplete/confusing musings on my journal pages, I couldn’t help but take pride in acknowledging that I’d been straying away too many times during this long period of stay. But to wander aimlessly was not the point, but rather a means to an end. To get a little peace of mind—that was the goal.
Footnotes
In the spirit of journaling and recording, here’s an account of what I consumed lately:
—Movies and TV
Earlier this month, I made a small promise that I will be watching more foreign films in my spare time. So, I took a few cultural trips over these past 2 weeks:
System Crasher (2019, Nora Fingscheidt)
I first saw the movie poster at the Plaza Indonesia Film Festival back in February 2020. Even though I didn’t end up watching it there due to the crashing schedules, this pink-theme Barbieesque poster has left me feeling curious ever since. That, and it got system and crasher in the title.
The film pretty much fulfilled my expectations, even though it didn’t offer a resolution. A moment after watching this, I could still feel Benni’s rage and violent outburst all over my surroundings. It was gripping, tense, confusing, and terrifying—though in a valid way.
I think the feeling of being an outsider, of not being understood, is the feeling that we continuously seek in any kind of portrayal. But especially in movies since it has the power to manifest stories (and make them feel real and alive). Whether it’s the story of a child trapped in the devious world and detached system or a helpless, clueless caretaker thrown in between personal and professional boundaries—we’ve forever been through and are experiencing those similar situations.
The Fixer (2016, Adrian Sitaru)
I watched this movie on accident when I was scrolling Mubi’s homepage. The screen said that the film would leave at midnight, and I had nothing to do anyway.
If you’re a fast-paced kinda person, this film perhaps doesn't work for you as it runs at a frustratingly slow pace. You have to carefully read between the lines to be able to detect the character’s internal struggle and subtle growth.
The issue itself is interesting as it touches on the moral dilemma inside journalism practice—with little exposure to human trafficking. It has all those complicated elements, except that it doesn’t leave you feeling resolved afterward.
Since the climax is nowhere to be found, the conflict remains unresolved until the end—although it could just very well be the film’s objective: to let you be a passive observer and form your own moral judgment.
Kingyo (2009), Exhalation (2010), Inhalation (2010) - Edmund Yeo
I was excited when I found out that Mubi has given a special spotlight this month to Southeast Asian talent Edmund Yeo. I feel that Southeast Asians are too often underestimated and under-represented both on and outside screens. So, finding out that a Malaysian director has been given a chance on the platform to narrate our stories, I feel somehow empowered.
Edmund Yeo’s stories are short, cinematic, and sometimes feel too personal (in a good way). In Kingyo, we’ll take a look at the odd relationship between a professor and his ex-mistress, who is also his ex-student. Set in Japan, a country where Yeo was migrating, the tale is a painful reminder of the characters’ desire to move on and forget while at the same time desperately trying to stay in the moment a little bit longer. The use of a split-screen is not a vain and purposeless choice, as it perfectly captures the essence of the fleeting memories between love-loss, attraction-affection, death-life, and lasting emptiness. All through that, this film has struck a deep impression on me—so much that I want to permanently store this moment in my memory.
The second film, Exhalation, is more poignant. The film blatantly focuses on the feeling of grief and fresh death. There are no bright colors in the film, only black and white. When I tried to form a coherent conclusion to the tale, all I found was only this unexplainable feeling of disorientation and doom. It was an overall strange experience.
The third movie, Inhalation, is probably my favorite. Unlike the two, this one is set in Yeo’s home country, Malaysia. Switching between the urban and the farm, the dream and the reality, as well as the hope and the misery—this film plays around the idea of migration as a way to better the economy and life in a third-world country. It’s a painful watch simply because it speaks too much truth.
Out of all the characters’ dialogues, I find myself contemplating this:
Why do people always cling to the belief that…the moon is rounder in foreign countries? Sounds more like an excuse to me. You face the same problems wherever you are. Just face them. Don’t run.
I don’t know. Why do we try so hard to run away, to seek a different life? Is it the boredom, the sentiment, the romanticization, the depiction? Or is it the fact, the class struggle, the state’s incompetence, the infrastructure, the pollution, the traffic, the rat race, the living standard, the lack of resources, the insufficiency?
The Fall (2019, Jonathan Glazer)
Short but strong—these are the keywords that I got from this 7-minute short. A beautifully made take on the social violence phenomenon. Pure art and bliss.
Normal People (2020, Hulu)
I mean, I’ve been long obsessed with the book (and even broke a personal record on finishing that in one sitting). But, being more a reader than a watcher, I found myself doubting the series version, fearing that it wouldn’t be able to deliver the complex nuanced feelings of the book (as what happens in most adaptions).
I was then, once again, surprised by the result. The result that I’m talking about here is that I spent around 6 hours or so finishing the show in one sitting. A crazy amount of effort and dedication amid all other alternative choices of entertainment.
What is it with Normal People? Do we all just love the narrative, the character’s vulnerabilities along with their complicated minds, or just the overall feeling of witnessing all these? For me, the story’s strongest point lies in the broken nature and yet the unbreakable connection of Marianne and Connel’s relationship—which is strangely comforting, for it can hurt and heal you at the same time. Their relationship isn’t supposed to work, but weirdly, it does.
Aside from the relationship dynamic, the here-and-there commentary on intellectual snobbery would be the second highlight of the story. All that frankness and wokeness? I’d live for that.
—Books
Pandemic! (2020, Slavoj Žižek)
As I am a self-proclaimed slow reader, it is very hard for me to form a reading structure or to finish my commitment to one book alone. I would often be drifting in between the YA sections, the self-help indulgence to the intellectual stimulations, only to end up…finishing none. Thus, I decided to participate in a book club in an attempt to train my mind to stay still.
And I’m glad to find this interesting and wonderful quarantine book club/discussions on Instagram! The first book discussion was Pandemic! by Slovenian philosopher Žižek so I read that purposely and religiously. I would love to share my thoughts, but I feel that this one has done a way better and more thorough job of breaking down the book’s chapters and ideas. The discussions are enlightening and addicting, to say the least. Come join this too!
Conversation with Friends (2017, Sally Rooney)
Much like Rooney’s later work (which I read first), this story is spicy, deep, blurry, and a tad bit borderline disturbing, but satisfying. Reading both of Rooney’s writings, I notice that the theme of controversial/unconventional relationships is somehow constant. In that case, this book lightly nudges the issue of polyamory, intimate friendships, fetishization, and power dynamics between couples. It’s eye-opening, if not arousing.
Also, don’t we all just secretly, shamefully, aspire to reach Bobbi’s level of snobbery? Or at least to have one conversation with her just so that we can brag about it after? (jk but not so jk).