Wow. Just wow. There's so many things I want to say, so many things I want to do, so many things I want to think about, and even more that I can't afford to. Can't remember the last time I actually wrote a proper entry, must be about half a month ago I believe. And sometimes I feel compelled to write. But I procrastinate. Procrastinating from updating a personal journal? God kenneth you should do better. But now, as I finally get down to the actual e-penning down of my thoughts, there's this weird vibe, kinda like a jolt of electricity that compels me to type and type and type. It's as if everything that tugs at my heart is translating itself now on the screen I am staring out. Surreal experience this is, kinda like writing a play, where you know the characters, you know the plot, but the lines and dialogue just jump out at you, as if from the characters' mouths themselves.
So my heart and to a lesser extent my brain tell me how they feel, and I can recognize these emotions to be my own, and yes they are all true.But some of them are unfamilar because of the lack of visitiation, but they are all mine. As my hands glide over the keyboard in harmonious ignorance I see, as if watching on stage the stuff that has touched me, hurt me, made me smile and frown all flow across the screen. And as I see these images in words a burden is intangibly and inaudibly lifted from within me. It's kinda weird, that as I'm writing this entry, some sort of theraphy is going on inside. Shit I can't believe how introspective this post is, but I can't really stop this automatic purging of the soul... Tis good, this blogging.
But first, speaking of writing plays, and you all know where this is going... yesh, The Vault, where come to think of it, therein lies the rollercoaster of my life. Remember how we would say during Lit classes that "The poet didn't mean this la" or, questioning whether were we "overanalyzing", well I sorta feel this way now. The Vault holds a dear place in my heart because each and every one of the characters has something inside that was taken out from my own being and placed into them. I guess that's the joy of writing and directing a play, and the exhaustion of it as well, since you put your entire being into your work, and see your own ideas being expressed and translated on stage by others. Now that it's all over, I feel a dullness in me because..well it's over, and parts of me are gone now, together with the play.
By no admission did I write the play by myself. The final Vault script that you saw presented on stage last night was a mixture of input from my co-writers Mel and Ben Soh( working from 8am to 2 one day at Starbucks ^^), as well as improvisation and amendments during rehearsals by both writers and actors themselves. I've always said that humour has to be spontaneous. I don't like it when people say "Hey write a play. And MAKE IT FUNNY." That's selfish thinking, trying to purposefully illicit laughter to make your work look good. The funniest things in life are always the events that happen in our day to day life and the colourful reactions to otherwise staid circumstances. A playwright dosen't make his play funny. It's only funny because the audience is able to interpret it to be so. And that's why humour, for me is a very much hallowed institution of the human psyche. Comedy is not stupidity. Stupidity can be funny, but stupidity is not comedy. Someone should tell the channel 5 sitcom writers that, but that's another story altogether..
The Vault is very special to me. Simply because I poured my heart and soul into it. And im not talking about quantity, although the many hours spent with cast and crew are ones that I'll always treasure. I don't really know how to explain it, but I've never felt so strongly about something I have written before. Sigh. I can't seem to put a hold onto it, or put into words how much the Vault really means to me.hmmm
Something happened inside me, last night when at the end of the play you threw flowers onto the stage, and you stood up clapping and cheering. Something clicked inside me, something that said hey guess what, these people feel how you feel as well. And something told me, that I'm not alone after all....And that was when I knew, that it dosen't matter that this script is not "Kenneth's script", or that I have no right to say "this is my story." All that matters, is that I felt. And the audience felt too.
I have to run now, dinner awaits, so I'll write more later I guess..but for now I guess I'll be content with reliving each moment in my heart till we meet again... vive le vault (:
Delivered at 3:25 PM;
KENNETH
Name:Slumber
Born:16th August
FANCIES
Him.K.anglo-chinese.music for the passionate.marvel.gunners.
Orange.debate.
long bus rides armed with an eye and a pod.74.
philosophizing.dystopia.
coffee.Rove.Health.Famary.
Buddies.
writing.1984.
expression.Italian food.
journeys.teh-peng.
stream of consciousness.
witty play on words.musing.
accents.the heartrands.performing.
being a closet connossieur.
a point of view.vigorous
interaction with spherical objects.
irony&pathos.yum.
JS.spirit.a girl that would smile