moderndaystoryteller

Archive for 2010

Writer As Anthropologist: A Spy Story

In Networking & Social Media, The Write Stuff on March 11, 2010 at 9:45 pm

I once went out with a guy for a week. I say Went Out. But it was really just a whirlwind romance that lasted, well, a week.

We met through mutual friends. Instant attraction. Saw each other every day, any chance we got. Before work, in between work, after work… We just couldn’t get enough of each other.

Then, after a week… Nothing.

A couple of strangers staring at each other across a restaurant table, left with dregs of a tornado been and gone, wondering what the hell happened.

The break-up was quick and amicable. We ate. He paid. He dropped me off. But before we parted, he made me promise one thing.

ONE-WEEK STAND (OWS):  Swear you’ll never write about this?

ME: Huh?

OWS: Promise I won’t open the paper one day to find a story about “us”.

ME: Why the paranoia? Are you a spy?

OWS: No. You are.

To read more: Go to Tyler Weaver’s Multi-Hyphenate

And The Oscar & Pie Goes To…

In Cowgirls Rule!, Networking & Social Media on March 8, 2010 at 9:23 pm

Yesterday was a good day. Yesterday was the best!

Geoffrey Flectcher was the first African American writer to win Best Adapted Screenplay for Precious.

And for the first time in Oscar history, a woman – Kathryn Bigelow won Best Director and her film The Hurt Locker swiped 6 awards including Best Picture from the clutches of the machine that threatened to be Avatar.

How befitting that Streisand presented the Oscar. When she said “The time has come…” just before announcing the winner, Bigelow’s heart must have stopped. In a good way. I know mine did.

And go ahead, James Cameron, mock-strangle your ex all you want. But she won and she deserved it. So SUCK ON THAT!

On our betting scene, if I’d gone with my heart and backed my Should Win’s I would’ve taken home the pie. Lesson learned: Always Listen To Your Heart. Though my prediction of The Hurt Locker grabbing Best Picture came true.

Yet when all was said and done, the True Winner of Pie emerged.

And the Pie Goes To… TYLER WEAVER!!!

The one who dared to dream and back the seemingly impossible – Bigelow and her low-budget film. Congrats Tyler!

For those who missed it, Tyler’s eloquent acceptance speech:

Ahem. Pie is a wonderful thing. Thank you for giving me pie. And movies. But most importantly, pie.

Thank you all for your bets/comments. Hope you enjoyed the Oscars as much as I did. And if you want pie, well you know where to go. :)

Oscar Predictions: Who’s Gonna Win Some Pie?

In My Two Cents Worth on March 7, 2010 at 1:07 am

I love betting.

I’ll bet on anything. The tennis, reality TV, how long a relationship will last…

The Oscars I love. The Oscars I can always count on for a little cash.

Not because I agree with the Academy on who should receive the highest honors in film-making – I’m usually hard-pressed to find self agreeing with the nominees. But because I’ve long become acquainted with the duds the Academy tends to pick.

For those who disagree, I have one word – Avatar.

I’m also psychic – when I want to be.

So here’s who I think should win, who is gonna win and what they’re gonna say…

Best Supporting Actress

Penélope Cruz in “Nine”
Vera Farmiga in “Up in the Air”
Maggie Gyllenhaal in “Crazy Heart”
Anna Kendrick in “Up in the Air”
Mo’Nique in “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire”

Who Should Win: Mo’Nique

Who’s Gonna Win: Mo’Nique

What She’s Gonna Say: I did it. I won! So for the love of god, stop lookin’ at my goddamn legs.

Best Actress

  • Sandra Bullock in “The Blind Side”
  • Helen Mirren in “The Last Station”
  • Carey Mulligan in “An Education”
  • Gabourey Sidibe in “Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire”
  • Meryl Streep in “Julie & Julia”

Who Should Win: Carey Mulligan

Who’s Gonna Win: Meryl Streep

What She’s Gonna Say: I don’t want to be called T-Bone anymore. And please stop dishing these out to me, it’s getting embarrassing. I’ve run out of words. *bursts into tears as she leaves with Oscar*

Best Supporting Actor

Matt Damon in “Invictus”
Woody Harrelson in “The Messenger”
Christopher Plummer in “The Last Station”
Stanley Tucci in “The Lovely Bones”
Christoph Waltz in “Inglourious Basterds”

Who Should Win: Stanley Tucci

Who’s Gonna Win: Christoph Waltz

What He’s Gonna Say: Tarantino, I heart you.

Best Actor

Jeff Bridges in “Crazy Heart”
George Clooney in “Up in the Air”
Colin Firth in “A Single Man”
Morgan Freeman in “Invictus”
Jeremy Renner in “The Hurt Locker”

Who Should Win: Morgan Freeman

Who’s Gonna Win: Jeff Bridges

What He’s Gonna Say: Well it’s about bloody time.

Best Foreign Film

“Ajami” Israel
“The Milk of Sorrow (La Teta Asustada)” Peru
“A Prophet (Un Prophète)” France
“The Secret in Their Eyes (El Secreto de Sus Ojos)” Argentina
“The White Ribbon (Das Weisse Band)” Germany

Why Are There Not More Foreign Films In This Category???

All right. If I have to choose…

Who Should Win: The Milk Of Sorrow

Who’s Gonna Win: The White Ribbon

What They’re Gonna Say: Er… Something in German?

Best Adapted Screenplay

“District 9” Written by Neill Blomkamp and Terri Tatchell
“An Education” Screenplay by Nick Hornby
“In the Loop” Screenplay by Jesse Armstrong, Simon Blackwell, Armando Iannucci, Tony Roche
“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Screenplay by Geoffrey Fletcher
“Up in the Air” Screenplay by Jason Reitman and Sheldon Turner

Who Should Win: Geoffrey Fletcher for Precious

Who’s Gonna Win: Jason Reitman and Sheldon Turner for Up In The Air

What They’re Gonna Say: We wanna thank George Clooney, the wonderful cast and crew… yada, yada, yada. Till the music cues them off.

Best Original Screenplay

“The Hurt Locker” Written by Mark Boal
“Inglourious Basterds” Written by Quentin Tarantino
“The Messenger” Written by Alessandro Camon & Oren Moverman
“A Serious Man” Written by Joel Coen & Ethan Coen
“Up” Screenplay by Bob Peterson, Pete Docter, Story by Pete Docter, Bob Peterson, Tom McCarthy

Who Should Win: Mark Boal for The Hurt Locker

Who’s Gonna Win: Quentin Tarantino for Inglourious Basterds

What He’s Gonna Say: Why weren’t there any women nominated in this category?

No, sorry. That was me.

Best Director

“Avatar” James Cameron
“The Hurt Locker” Kathryn Bigelow
“Inglourious Basterds” Quentin Tarantino
“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Lee Daniels
“Up in the Air” Jason Reitman

Who Should Win: Kathryn Bigelow

Who’s Gonna Win: James Cameron

What He’s Gonna Say: I don’t deserve this. *passes it to Kathryn Bigelow*

Ha. Well, a screenwriter/psychic/bookie’s allowed to dream, ain’t she?

Best Picture

“Avatar” James Cameron and Jon Landau, Producers
“The Blind Side” Gil Netter, Andrew A. Kosove and Broderick Johnson, Producers
“District 9” Peter Jackson and Carolynne Cunningham, Producers
“An Education” Finola Dwyer and Amanda Posey, Producers
“The Hurt Locker” Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Nicolas Chartier and Greg Shapiro, Producers
“Inglourious Basterds” Lawrence Bender, Producer
“Precious: Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire” Lee Daniels, Sarah Siegel-Magness and Gary Magness, Producers
“A Serious Man” Joel Coen and Ethan Coen, Producers
“Up” Jonas Rivera, Producer
“Up in the Air” Daniel Dubiecki, Ivan Reitman and Jason Reitman, Producers

Who Should Win: Kathryn Bigelow, Mark Boal, Nicolas Chartier and Greg Shapiro for The Hurt Locker

Who’s Gonna Win: The Hurt Locker

What They’re Gonna Say: James Cameron, SUCK ON THIS! Thanks everyone for your vote. Now grab your winnings and go to bed!

What do your psychic bookie predictions say? Lay your bets. Winner wins this irresistible virtual Chocolate Pie.

ATTENTION: For you whack-jobs who backed films or actors that haven’t been nominated, a case of virtual single malt awaits!

Why Aren’t Women Allowed To Jump In The Olympics?

In Right Here Right Now, WTF! on March 3, 2010 at 6:07 am

I am not well-acquainted with the Winter Olympics.

Blame it on the fact that I hail from the equatorial country of Malaysia. Or that the only time I found myself in skis on a slope, a search and rescue team was sent out to find me. Whatever the case, I haven’t paid much attention to events in Vancouver. So forgive my tardiness when I tell you I only recently discovered female ski jumpers are still not allowed to compete in The Winter Olympics.

According to a report following a failed bid December 2009:

The IOC voted not to include women’s ski jumping at the 2010 Winter Olympics because the sport didn’t meet the necessary criteria for inclusion.

The IOC requires requirement that a sport must have contested at least two world championships before it can become an Olympic event. There are also rules dictating how far in advance of an Olympics a sport can be added to the program.

The women countered they have since held enough international events to qualify for consideration as an Olympic sport and said it wouldn’t be difficult for organisers to accommodate one additional event.

While an article in Mother Jones states:

The International Olympic Committee (IOC) says the women’s exclusion isn’t discrimination. President Jacques Rogge has insisted that the decision “was made strictly on a technical basis, and absolutely not on gender grounds.”

A technically-based decision? Hm. What could that possibly mean?

Do women suck at ski jumping? Might they damage vital organs if they jump? Cuz men certainly don’t have that risk. Might their breasts sag?

Okay, let’s not be silly now. Perhaps there just aren’t enough female ski jumpers to warrant an event.

When the IOC voted in 2006 not to add women’s ski jumping, 83 competitors from 14 nations jumped at the top level, less universality than required to add a new event. But in the same year, women’s skier cross claimed just 30 skiers from 11 nations. The committee added it. (There are also too few male ski jumpers to qualify, but as one of the original 16 Winter Olympic events, their event isn’t subjected to the same rules.) – Mother Jones http://www.cbc.ca/includes/promos/promo/sports/images/amateur-willis-katie_225.jpg

The most talked-about personal story pertaining to this issue has to be that of US World Number 10 ski-jumper, Alyssa Johnson, who showed up to Vancouver without skis, to cheer on her younger brother, Anders Johnson – a member of the men’s ski jumping team. “Anders, 20, failed to qualify for the medal round Saturday after jumping 117 meters (383 feet 10 ¼ inches) to finish in 42nd place, two positions below the cut.” – The New York Times

What do you think? Does the International Olympic Committee have valid reason for maintaining this ban against female ski jumpers? Or is it a breach of human rights and a blatant display of injustice? And why do you think more hasn’t been made of it?

NOTE: Since I wrote this, a lovely Twitter pal – @katwomanofsteel, has brought the following article from Time Magazine to my attention. Apparently the IOC is planning to axe women’s ice hockey as well.


Guess What I Found On The Short List?

In The Write Stuff on February 26, 2010 at 6:24 am

So.

Last October I entered a short screenplay into the 2009 American Gem Short Screenplay Competition, then clean forgot about it until I bumped into the results on Google a few weeks back and found it in the Quarter Finals, having made it past two earlier Stages.

Today, guess what I found in the Semi Finals?

The script is called Shreya’s Heart. It is a love story/fable of sorts. A little surreal. A little weird.

Anyway, finalists will be announced next month. If I make it that far, will be stoked. If I don’t, well it’s great to be short-listed anyway.

The winner however, grabs $1000 and more importantly, a chance to get their film made.

So fingers-crossed.

And I won’t be forgetting I have a script in this contest anymore…

The Stories That Hunt Us Down

In The Write Stuff on February 23, 2010 at 12:03 pm

One of my favorite writers, Isaac Bashevis Singer, once said, We all write the story of our life over and over again.

During my younger, more naive years, I thought this underlined the artist’s need for Self-Expression.

But now in my infinite wisdom -ha, I realize what Bashevis Singer was referring to, was Revelation.

I believe reoccurring themes in our stories spring from a deep need to figure them out. The same way life seems to dish us the same crap over and over until we manage to work it out, deal with it, and preferably move on.

I don’t believe we find or get to choose our stories.

Rather, it is the stories that hunt us down.

Here are three types of Stories that won’t leave me alone:

The Implorer, 1899, Bronze - Camille Claudel

1. A Woman’s Quest For Freedom

On Page: One of my main characters will inevitably include a virago persecuted for her off-kilter ways and voracious appetite for life, which spurs her on a quest for freedom.

In Life: I am surrounded by a family of loud head-strong matriarchs who are at once crazy but powerful and whom I constantly admire and seek to decipher. Especially now that I am a mother and find that I am becoming more and more like them. (Yikes)

On Screen: Films like Camille Claudel, An Angel At My Table, A Woman Under The Influence, All About My Mother I can watch a million times and always discover something new.

2. The Migrant Nomad

“More than a tourist, less than resident.”

On Page: My characters are constantly in flux, always moving – or at least thinking of it, ever displaced. Geographically, culturally, emotionally… They don’t quite belong. No matter how long they stay in one place, they never completely arrive and cannot wait to leave.

In Life: That’s me.

On Screen: I love movies about displaced people or free-thinkers who don’t fit in. Kusturica’s films – in particular Underground and Time Of The Gypsies, The Barbarian Invasions, City Of God, Seven Samurai. They make me feel at home.

Mongol Nomad Home - Ts. Tsegmed

3.  The Dangerous Obsessive Family

On Page: The main characters are usually defined and bound by intricate and often perplexing familial ties. The families concerned are usually dark, aggressive and completely intrusive.

In Life: Several plays and scripts later, I have come to empathize with certain members of my family and their odd ways. As a mother, I have also come to admit and recognize some of those qualities in me and sought by means of humor to discover and hopefully fix.

On Screen: Films like The Godfather, Once Upon In America, Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid, Thelma And Louise intrigue me – not because I’m a crime/mafia-nut as some may think :) , but because of the concept that family in its various forms is Everything. Plus they’re full of drama and told in the most compelling ways.

What are the stories that hunt you down creatively and in life? What are some films or books that have inspired you along the way?

Those who do not have power over the story that dominates their lives, the power to retell it, rethink it, deconstruct it, joke about it, and change it as times change, truly are powerless, because they cannot think new thoughts. —Salman Rushdie

The Feet That Bind

In Cowgirls Rule!, Networking & Social Media, Unforgettable on February 19, 2010 at 9:40 pm

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/213/501815713_eefaa86b19.jpgIf I think about it, the day I discovered my origins and therefore myself, was the day I discovered my grandmother’s feet.

She was my paternal grandmother and lived at the back of a hardware store in the seediest part of town, with my eldest uncle and aunt and their eight children – her grandchildren. And could always be found gracefully perched on a stone bench planted on the black cement floor of the front room, beneath a hot zinc roof, armed with a jar of Hazeline Snow moisturizing cream.

She used that cream every day on her hands and legs. And one day I found her rubbing it into her feet.

I was six and it came to my attention that she had very small feet. In fact, when I compared hers to mine, mine were bigger.

They were white too. Alabaster white. Like baby doves. But arched really high.

I couldn’t stop staring at them and touching them and thinking to myself, how strange that my seventy-something grandmother should have smaller feet than mine. And how they didn’t look like feet at all. More like mountain slopes.

Then she told me.

The story of young girls in China who had their feet bound to attain two or three-inch lotus feet, to be beautiful, to attract rich husbands.

How as a little girl, she couldn’t wait to get her feet bound. That it was the normal thing to do. And how happy she was when at age ten, her mother finally started to bind her feet with red cloth.

They bled at first. And were so painful she couldn’t walk. And then she hobbled. And years later, the pain went away and she could walk with her tiny, dainty feet.

Though now, they were beginning to crack. Which is why she rubbed them with Hazeline Snow every day, without fail.

Feet are very important, she said. Without them we have nothing to stand on.

I thought about this for a very long time. All through my childhood. At her funeral. As a young woman.

I wondered why girls would blindly subject themselves to torture, just because everyone else was doing it. How mothers could bring themselves to inflict such pain onto their children. And why men did not have to do such things for women.

The discovery of my grandmother’s feet had a deep impact on my perception of womanhood and Beauty, and what I was and wasn’t prepared to do in its name.

A few years later, when I discovered my mother’s high heels and they caused my feet to arch, my back to ache and me to hobble, I recalled my grandmother’s story of her bound feet and how it had been perceived as “the normal thing to do.”

Till this day, you would be hard-pressed to find me in heels.

My feet are flat and wide and ugly by most cultural standards. But free.

There is an old saying – “There are a thousand buckets of tears for one who binds her feet.”

Although young girls are no longer forced to do this, the practice of footbinding still lives in China.  Regardless of class or socio-economic background, there are thousands of grown women who have bound since childhood or who chose to stop binding and allowed their feet to appear more natural, yet stunted – like my late grandmother. Studies and research on the subject show their feelings range from pride to resentment and anger. However varying their experiences may be, these women have one thing in common. They are the last generation to survive one of China’s most ancient and widely practiced customs.

For photos and interviews with women who bound, I recommend The Bound Feet Project which allowed the women to speak freely about their experiences.

This piece was posted on Leslee Horner’s Waiting For The Click .

Thank you to all for your support. A Special Shout Out to my irrepressible Gal Power Posse that is Jeanne Bowerman, Carrie Brokovich, Penny Ash and Christina Kingston who also gets hugs for her cool title mojo! :)

Assholes: They Bring Out The Best In Me

In WTF! on February 16, 2010 at 8:05 am

http://www.jamaicanbeefpies.com/catalog/images/jerk_seasoning_sauce.jpgIt has come to my recent attention that the percentage of assholes is on an alarming rise.

On the road, in the workplace, outdoors, indoors, on the phone, online… Assholedom is fast becoming an epidemic.

What’s the deal? Is there something in the sauce? Water? DNA?

Did they have disturbed childhoods?Are they psychotic?

Or do they simply choose to become assholes when they’re behind the wheel, in the office or posting on someone’s blog?

Whatever the reason, there is no excuse for Assholedom.

Here are 5 Basic Types of Asshole that bring out the best in me.

1. The Inconsiderate Asshole

http://foitv.com/img2/weeds-p54d.jpg

Brings Out The Mary-Louise Parker In Me

They’re rude, selfish, and don’t give a toss about anyone but themselves.

At work, at home, it’s all about them. They won’t do anything for anyone unless it benefits them.

On the road, they cut you off. Expect you to read their minds – know they’re turning right, even if they’ve signaled left. You are after all, a mind reader, aren’t you? Not that they care.

This type of asshole brings out The Mary-Louise Parker from Weeds in me  – prompting me to unleash a torrent of below-the-belt insults amidst a sardonic grin, threaten them with a BB gun, and after spraying them with bird pellets, go home and treat myself to a fragrant homemade joint.

2. The Passive-Aggressive Asshole

Brings Out The Jim Carey In Me

http://content.ytmnd.com/content/b/e/1/be1f4b94d4f44327a8470cc61e293598.jpgThe ones who stop at nothing to manipulate you or a situation to their advantage. And in doing so, will use every weapon at their disposal – guilt, shame, blame, so-called friendship and kindness…

When things don’t go their way, their real colors shine through and they become the Mega-Aggressive assholes they truly are. They snap, hang up on you, honk, flash the finger and will not hesitate to undermine and abuse you in public.

These assholes make me wish I were Jim Carey in Mask so I could bedazzle them with my psychotic smile, give them a whacko musical performance in public, pop my eyeballs out at their chests and generally freak them into never raising their voices or using anyone under false pretenses again.

3. The Intimidating Asshole

Brings out The Erin Brockovich In Me

http://www.reviewsontheside.com/reviews/images/erin_brockovich.jpg

Cowards with egos.

They’re big and loud and won’t let you forget it.

They criticize and condescend, rant and yell, throw and kick things… Anything that ensures you are thoroughly intimidated in their presence.

At home, in the office, at shops, they make a stink out of everything. And somebody always cops the flak. Usually a woman or non-asshole who is way too decent to respond in kind.

Online you will find them yelling IN CAPS. Or ending each sentence with infinite exclamation marks!!!!!!! Or belittling with arrogant remarks, people whose opinions  and philosophies differ to theirs.

These assholes bring out The Erin Brockovich in me. Armed with guts, a smart-mouth and  a take-no-prisoners attitude, I will stop at nothing to collect the dirt on these jerks and just when they think they’re home free, will be there smiling, ready to give it to them straight. Or just slap them with a giant law suit.

4. The Harassing Asshole:

Brings Out The Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon In Me

http://www.thespanner.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/crouching-tiger-hidden-drag.jpg

Parasite and all round low-life, this kind of asshole preys on the innocent and unsuspecting. Their harassment is usually – though not always – sexual.

Strangers and so-called friends alike, they behave inappropriately when they know no one is looking, make life difficult if you dare to speak out against them, threaten you by force, emotional blackmail or violence, and generally treat you like shit because they can.

On the road, they pull up next to you in their big fat cars, throw you a dirty glance and rev their engines. Online, they  leave you lewd messages and pornographic links.

These assholes bring out the Zhang ZiYi from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon in me, causing me to slip on that ninja suit, fly off rooftops, whirl my sword and kick some major ass. Or in this case, asshole.

Watch out, you won’t see me coming.

5. The Bigoted Asshole

Brings Out The Elle Driver In Me

This is the worst and most rampant kind of all.

They’re prejudiced and hate anything and anyone different from them.

Racists, sexists, ageists, fascists…

They bring out the Elle Driver from Kill Bill in me.  Her picture says it all.

http://www.thewallpapers.org/photo/5284/Kill_Bill-001.jpg

What kind of asshole have you encountered lately?

What or who do they bring out in you?

WRITING & ME: A STALKER STORY

In Networking & Social Media, The Write Stuff on February 10, 2010 at 8:07 pm

Last week I was proud and happy to announce my debut on the spanking-new blogozine, Multi-Hyphenate, with a classic stalker story.

"Why I Hate Lucy" - TV Sitcom

My thanks and gratitude to Tyler Weaver for the chance to share my twisted story and for making my first experience a damn fine one.

So here it is, as posted on Multi-Hyphenate.

WRITING & ME: A STALKER STORY

I could tell you these contributions will provide writers with sure-fire ways on how to score an agent, get published, produced, become rich and famous.

But I’d be lying. Plus I’m not that kind of contributor.

I have no formulas. Or answers. Just stories.

Stories that might help you make some sense of the whole darn thing or at the very least, provide a good laugh.

Also, I’ve kinda been around. Not in a slutty sort of way – though that case might be argued and is best reserved for another blog. But creatively, if I think about it, I am in my own right, a walking, talking, constantly evolving – well, one can only hope – multi-hyphenate. And one way or another, have managed to earn an income from writing and all things related to it for over 15 years.

So why did you choose to write?

This question evokes a mindless stare that translated into words would go something like: Are you out of your frigging mind? Who would choose to be isolated, insecure, jolted by voices in the middle of the night demanding your pen (or tips of fingers on keyboard) serve as their tongue, and generally psychotic?

I have attempted escape, taken out numerous restraining orders. Tried my hand at other professions. But writing – relentless stalker that it is – has managed to track me down and hold me prisoner.

I guess the tragedy really began at age 7, when I wrote my first novel. It went for 20 pages which when you’re that age, is equivalent to War and Peace.

My parents never ceased to remind me writing was a hobby, not a profession.

So I got my first job as a travel writer for a Malaysian tourist magazine. And from there, proceeded to work for a daily newspaper and a bunch of lifestyle magazines. Pretty soon I was freelancing and found myself writing everything from advertorials and copy, to entertainment reviews for local theatre and performing arts.

Most of the plays I saw sucked and I knew I could do better. So I wrote my first play, Color Blind. Co-founded a company called Kuali Works (Kuali in Malay means Wok) with another writer, Ann Lee – who still runs the company. And produced my play.

Also, we decided Malaysia really needed its first all-women arts company so Kuali Works – that specialized in theatre, television and publishing, employed only women and trained them from the ground up.

I also decided to direct Color Blind, which was a harrowing experience and swore would never do it again until I wrote my second play, LightBulbs and directed that.

A black comedy about Malaysia’s first female serial killer, LightBulbs got a full house every night and became a cult hit. So I entered it into the New York Fringe Arts Festival and became the first Malaysian playwright to be produced there in 1998.

In the meantime, I got contracted to write plays for other directors and became Playwright In Residence at a local theatre. A dream come true.

I should probably have stayed and capitalized on the glory. But I felt like a hack – undeserving of the sudden success and certain I was just a big fish in a small pond. Also, I needed to learn more. Also, I fell in love – groan. So I moved to New York. Well Jersey City to be precise.

But managed to score a gig as Foreign Arts Correspondent for Citibank Magazine Malaysia and got to review plays and films and restaurants in NYC, which was pretty cool. Plus while I was there, my agent back home scored me a writing gig on a local TV sitcom. So I felt pretty contented… Until life happened. As it does.

Found myself pregnant and my partner got transferred to Italy. And so we moved and I gave birth in Italian, which was an interesting experience.

But three months after the baby was born, I was back in Malaysia, a single mum, jobless. And to top it off, my baby was denied a visa to stay. In my own country.

After two years of TV writing and fighting for my daughter’s visa, I decided it was time to give up the ghost and applied for permanent residency to Australia, whereupon my parents again took the opportunity to remind me, Writing Is A Hobby. I had a child now. It was time to grow up.

This time I agreed. And so I did – grow up.

I became a sales rep for a company specializing in reference material for schools, and became quite successful at it until my back went out as I was lifting, which saw me in physiotherapy and unable to walk for 5 months.

When I was finally able to drive, found myself mysteriously swerving into the Australian Film, TV & Radio School (AFTRS) which takes only 3-4 screenwriters a year.

The following year I found myself one of three students accepted into the Graduate Diploma course for screenwriting. And in the next two years, got to write short films, create my own TV sitcom – Why I Hate Lucy , and script-edited several episodes of an original TV drama series.

And when I graduated, found to my amazement I had been awarded a post-graduate scholarship with Southern Star Entertainment, which was a great honor and a wonderful learning experience.

And to be honest, I thought this was it. This was my second chance.

But it wasn’t. Well, it was and then it wasn’t. I landed a gig on a TV drama, but the story producers changed and the new one didn’t like me and thought my work sucked and the recession hit and suddenly there I was again – jobless, with a daughter halfway through primary school, skilled at nothing but words.

Such is the nature of our business, of life. It doesn’t just apply to Hollywood. It’s everywhere.

I’m lucky Writing is the relentless stalker that it is. I’m not sure I would have maintained the resilience I needed otherwise.

Sometimes resilience is all we need.

For as my journey continues like one tumultuous wave after another, I would like to tell you it gets easier. That after being validated and published and produced, that I feel less of a hack and more secure.

But it doesn’t. And I don’t.

What I do know is this: I am a writer.

I write not because I want to but because I have to.

Life experience is not a bad thing. It is what informs my writing.

And I am undeniably Multi-Hyphenated – though far better and happier at some hyphenates than others.

I wonder – If your creative/professional path were translated into a story, what would it be? A War story? A Western? A Detective Story with a twist? Or just a good old-fashioned Love Story?



This Month Is Guest Blogging Month

In Networking & Social Media, The Write Stuff on February 8, 2010 at 12:02 pm

So thrilled.

This month I get to write for two blogs – both distinct and wonderful in their own right.

First is Tyler Weaver’s “perpetually hyphenated, highly opinionated, endlessly creative” blogozine – Multi-Hyphenate. Which is basically where creative people from all walks of life with split personalities go to read about other creative people from all walks of life with split personalities.

The new Multi-Hyphenate (MH) is about to head into its third week and so far the response has been promising and well-deserved. It’s so courageous yet alarmingly insane of Tyler to have turned his personal blog into a blogozine daily featuring guest writers from all artistic disciplines.

I am extremely excited – and a touch nervous – about guest-blogging for the very first time and making my debut on MH this Wednesday, Feb 10, with a post entitled Writing & Me: A Stalker Story – about how despite several escape attempts and numerous restraining orders, Writing refuses to leave me alone.

I’m even more excited – and deeply honored – to be debuting in the same week as the positive and wonderfully encouraging TV & film-producing husband and wife team, Joke and Biagio, who will special guest-blog Monday, Feb 8. As in today.

I only discovered Joke and Biagio’s fantastic blog weeks ago. Can’t believe it’s been sitting there all this time, bustling with tales from the trenches and their various productions – Beauty and the Geek, Dying To Do Letterman, Scream Queens – and I knew nothing about it. I look forward with keen anticipation to their contribution on MH and what they have to say about the biz.

The second blog I will be contributing to this month is a different beast entirely. (And I mean “beast” in the most complimentary of ways.)

Leslee Horner’s daily blog -  Waiting For The Click.

Leslee is a “wife, mother, writer, and seeker” who has decided to share her thoughts and experiences in the hope of reaching out and assuring her readers, they are not alone.  She is a blogger who come rain or shine, will post a poem or her reflections of each day gone by, and whom I have long admired for her eloquence and dedication.

Following the sad passing of her best friend last year, Leslee asked friends and readers for contributory stories about A-ha moments in their lives. And so it is with great pleasure that I share such a story on Leslee’s blog come 18th Feb. So stay tuned. And CLICK.

Thank you Tyler and Leslee for affording me the honor and opportunity to crash in your respective spaces. I hope you will not regret it and would love to crash again – hint, hint.

And one final thank you.

To the person who showed me how to set up those dominoes and advised me to start blogging and get networking online 8 months ago at the Santa Fe Screenwriting Conference.

Marvin V. Acuna of The Business Of Show Institute (BOSI), who has shared with me and so many other writers the wisdom of  building an inventory of work, having several things on the boil at the same time, thinking of ourselves as CEOs of our own company, and always, always Networking – Palm Up.

Thank you Marvin. If not for you, none of this would be happening.

On that note, if anyone is guesting or inviting people to guest on their blog, or has anything else coming up, feel free to leave a comment and Plug It. And as my dear friend Jeanne likes to say, Plug It Good.

If, on the other hand, you just want to leave praise and obscene flattery, well, that’s okay too. I am after all a writer and writers as we well know have egos the size of China that need constant feeding.

So Plug and/or Feed. Click. And Click Again.

Thank You.

(Oh, and if you leave comments on the other blogs, I’ll be sure to respond – just like here.)

Pick on the lowest common denominator, why don’t you?

In Right Here Right Now, WTF! on February 5, 2010 at 8:00 am

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President Sarkozy and French lawmakers are calling for a ban on the full-body veil in all public institutions, including post offices, universities, hospitals and public transportation. France has about 3.5 million Muslims, representing about six percent of the population, according to research by the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life.

“The full veil is simply a prison for women who wear it and will make no one believe a woman wearing it wants to integrate,” said UMP (Union for a Popular Movement — the current controlling party in France) head Xavier Bertrand to Daily Mail.

According to an opinion poll collected by the U.K.-based Times Online, Bertrand’s view is consistent with that of two-thirds of the French population who also would like to see the veil banned in public. Viewing it as a symbol of religious fundamentalism, this majority also considers the veil an offense to their country’s secular foundation. – The Guilfordian

So let me get this straight.

Sarkozy and reportedly two-thirds of the population of France, a country with the largest Muslim population in Europe – approximately 5 million,  in which Islam is the second largest religion,  sought to denounce the oppression, fundamentalism, extremism and radicalism of the burqa  – worn by a small minority of Muslim women – with an action equally sexist, fundamentalist, extremist and radical?

“It is perhaps a marginal problem, but it is the visible part of the iceberg,” lawmaker Andre Gerin, president of the parliamentary panel, said in an interview. “Behind the iceberg is a black tide of … fundamentalism.” He denounced those he called “gurus” or “French Taliban” who, he claimed, promote a radical brand of Islam that forces women, and young girls, to hide themselves. – France Urged To Ban Muslim Veils In Public Areas, CBC World News

So ban the male “gurus” and “French Taliban” from donning their beards and head dress and Muslim attire and forcing women to hide themselves. As for security, when was the last time we saw a woman in a burqa blow up a bus? Although, now you’ve planted that idea in their heads…

And as for the idea that Sarkozy’s motives are noble, that his concerns and that of his compatriots lay primarily with the equality of women and their freedom from oppression…  Well, that’s almost as good as Bush’s motive to save the civilized world from weapons of mass destruction by invading Iraq.

Fact is, a very small percentage of Muslim women – in France or in any non-fundamentalist Muslim country in the world – wear the full Muslim veil.

…the Interior Ministry says only a small fraction of France’s Muslim women wear the full veil — 1,900 — so a broader ban would mostly affect wealthy tourists from Saudi Arabia and other Persian Gulf nations, who help keep up the retail economy here. According to the police, most of the 1,900 are young, two-thirds are French citizens and a quarter are Muslim converts. - The New York Times

Those who do wear the burqa are not permitted to work or attend institutions with members of the opposite sex – namely hospitals and schools where the ban is proposed to occur. As it stands, all religious symbols including Muslim head scarves, turbans, crosses and yarmulkes are banned from French state schools.  The ban is reportedly designed to maintain France’s tradition of separating state and religion.  

However, stripping 1900 women who in any case are  not allowed to attend such institutions, of their public attire will not encourage them to re-think the laws of their religion and mingle with the status quo.  If unable to escape a country to which they probably fled in order to escape unconstitutional laws such as this one in the first place, it will only send them further into hiding and deprive them of any existence at all.

Truth is, burqa-wearing Muslim women are easy targets.

And Sarkozy is far more concerned with election results and polls than he is with the equality of women.

I mean really, what would such a ban achieve? And who is the real enemy here?

The uproar over the burqa ban is an example of the majority expressing its insecurity by making use of an easy political target: a very small, distinct minority of about 2000 women in France who wear the veil. The ban will affect so few people that it will be nearly invisible except as a political talking point. – - The Jurist

How Howard Zinn Helped Me Rethink The Past And Therefore The Present

In RIP on February 4, 2010 at 12:24 pm

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American historian, author, playwright & extraordinary humanitarian, Howard Zinn, 87, died last week – 27 Jan 2010.

Relatively little was made of it, though that in itself brings to the fore the quest of a great man and his life’s work. To open our eyes to what has passed and what continues to occur, so we – the everyday people, can develop the ability to question and make a stand for what we think and know is right.

As Zinn said: “We don’t have to engage in grand, heroic actions to participate in the process of change. Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world.”

Some Howard Zinn Tributes

I met Howard Zinn in 1961, my first year at Spelman College in Atlanta…

Under the direction of SNCC (Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee) many students at Spelman joined the effort to desegregate Atlanta. Naturally, I joined this movement. Howie, taller than most of us, was constantly in our midst, and usually somewhere in front. Because I was at Spelman on scholarship, a scholarship that would be revoked if I were jailed, my participation caused me a good bit of anxiety. Still, knowing that Howard and others of our professors, the amazingly courageous and generous Staughton Lynd, for instance, my other history teacher, supported the students in our struggle, made it possible to carry on. But then, while he and his family were away from campus for the summer, Howard Zinn was fired. He was fired for “insubordination”. Yes, he would later say, with a classic Howie shrug, I was guilty. – Alice Walker – The Boston Globe

I had lunch with Howard Zinn just a few weeks ago, and I’ve seldom had more fun while talking about so many matters that were unreservedly unpleasant: the sorry state of government and politics in the U.S., the tragic futility of our escalation in Afghanistan, the plight of working people in an economy rigged to benefit the rich and powerful.

Mr. Zinn could talk about all of that and more without losing his sense of humor. He was a historian with a big, engaging smile that seemed ever-present. His death this week at the age of 87 was a loss that should have drawn much more attention from a press corps that spends an inordinate amount of its time obsessing idiotically over the likes of Tiger Woods and John Edwards. – Bob Herbert, New York Times

The great Howard Zinn’s death has the ominous feeling of bringing too close the end of an era when some western intellectuals had the magnetism of rock stars, and when their ethical and principled stand against the dominant powers of the moment moved millions to see things differently, and to act. – Victoria Brittain, The Guardian

I can’t think of anyone who had such a powerful and benign influence, his historical work changed the way millions of people saw the past. – Naom Chomsky

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How I Discovered Howard Zinn

I lived in Jersey City and worked in New York City for about five years, from 1996 – 2000. For those who are new to my blog, the World Trade Center was “my” Path/work stop . I left  before 9/11 and have not returned since.

When I first arrived in downtown Manhattan, was overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity – thanks to my love of movies – which freaked me out and saw me seeking refuge in my first ever diner, not far from a swish deli called Balducci’s which I am aware no longer exists.

On an adjacent table, spotted a cute middle-aged professor-type, ordering himself a serve of bacon and eggs “sunny side up” – at four in the afternoon. I did the same and proceeded to make small talk with him. It turns out he was indeed a professor, a history professor – at NYU -and so I took the opportunity to ask him for a good introductory read to America and its history.

He scribbled a list on the back of napkin which I took with a tinge of reluctance. I needed some background knowledge of the country I was about to spend some years in. Not a bloody PHD . I guess he read my mind… “If I had to pick one, it would be this,” he smiled as he pointed to Howard Zinn’s A People\’s History Of The United States

At Strand Book Store on Broadway – “18 miles of books: new, used & rare” – I opened the first page, expecting some dry academic account of Columbus’ grand expedition, the Declaration of Independence and so and so forth.

I got this instead:

Chapter 1: Columbus, The Indians & The Human Progress

Arawak men and women, naked, tawny, and full of wonder, emerged from their villages onto the island’s beaches and swam out to get a closer look at the strange big boat. When Columbus and his sailors came ashore, carrying swords, speaking oddly, the Arawaks ran to greet them, brought them food, water, gifts. He later wrote of this in his log:

They … brought us parrots and balls of cotton and spears and many other things, which they exchanged for the glass beads and hawks’ bells. They willingly traded everything they owned… . They were well-built, with good bodies and handsome features…. They do not bear arms, and do not know them, for I showed them a sword, they took it by the edge and cut themselves out of ignorance. They have no iron. Their spears are made of cane… . They would make fine servants…. With fifty men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want.These Arawaks of the Bahama Islands were much like Indians on the mainland, who were remarkable (European observers were to say again and again) for their hospitality, their belief in sharing. These traits did not stand out in the Europe of the Renaissance, dominated as it was by the religion of popes, the government of kings, the frenzy for money that marked Western civilization and its first messenger to the Americas, Christopher Columbus.

Columbus wrote:

As soon as I arrived in the Indies, on the first Island which I found, I took some of the natives by force in order that they might learn and might give me information of whatever there is in these parts.The information that Columbus wanted most was: Where is the gold? He had persuaded the king and queen of Spain to finance an expedition to the lands, the wealth, he expected would be on the other side of the Atlantic-the Indies and Asia, gold and spices. For, like other informed people of his time, he knew the world was round and he could sail west in order to get to the Far East.

I attended a public primary school in the center of Kuala Lumpur (Malaysia) – which has in the past decade been demolished and replaced with yet another shopping mall. Here, like in millions of classrooms, we were taught Columbus discovered the earth was round. And he alone discovered America. Nobody funded his journey. He never treated the Indians like slaves. He wasn’t after gold. He was a hero. A pioneer. A brave explorer. WTF?

Skipped a few chapters and flicked ahead. It got better…

Chapter 4, Tyranny is Tyranny

Around 1776, certain important people in the English colonies made a discovery that would prove enormously useful for the next two hundred years. They found that by creating a nation, a symbol, a legal unity called the United States, they could take over land, profits, and political power from favorites of the British Empire. In the process, they could hold back a number of potential rebellions and create a consensus of popular support for the rule of a new, privileged leadership.

When we look at the American Revolution this way, it was a work of genius, and the Founding Fathers deserve the awed tribute they have received over the centuries. They created the most effective system of national control devised in modern times, and showed future generations of leaders the advantages of combining paternalism with command.

First, Columbus is a greedy asshole. Now, the Founding Fathers are macho control freaks? Rifling through  several more chapters, I discover  the struggles of farmers, workers and everyday people – people I’d never heard of – and… Theodore Roosevelt’s lust for blood? Geez. What the hell book did this professor recommend me? And damn did I wish I had taken down his contact details.

I skipped towards the end…

Chapter 16: A People’s War

Would the behavior of the United States during the war-in military action abroad, in treatment of minorities at home-be in keeping with a “people’s war”? Would the country’s wartime policies respect the rights of ordinary people everywhere to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? And would postwar America, in its policies at home and overseas, exemplify the values for which the war was supposed to have been fought?

These questions deserve thought. At the time of World War II, the atmosphere was too dense with war fervor to permit them to be aired.

For the United States to step forward as a defender of helpless countries matched its image in American high school history textbooks, but not its record in world affairs. It had opposed the Haitian revolution for independence from France at the start of the nineteenth century. It had instigated a war with Mexico and taken half of that country. It had pretended to help Cuba win freedom from Spain, and then planted itself in Cuba with a military base, investments, and rights of intervention. It had seized Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Guam, and fought a brutal war to subjugate the Filipinos. It had “opened” Japan to its trade with gunboats and threats. It had declared an Open Door Policy in China as a means of assuring that the United States would have opportunities equal to other imperial powers in exploiting China. It had sent troops to Peking with other nations, to assert Western supremacy in China, and kept them there for over thirty years.

I had never read a history book like this.

I bought my second-hand copy in a daze, read it on the Path train and became so engrossed, I missed my stop and ended up in Journal Square and had to catch the train back again.

A People’s History Of United States opened a can of worms in my socially, intellectually and historically-challenged head. And I can say with certainty it changed the way I viewed the world and was to date the most important book I had ever read. It also proved to be an interesting gauge of the company in which I found myself in time to come.

While some regarded the book a classic and held it in the highest esteem, others were appalled that I had been pointed to it – by a professor no less – as an introduction to the history of their country. “That radical propaganda? It ain’t history, it’s bullshit!”

A People’s History of United States – which sold almost two million copies – led me to another book The History of Humanity by Theodore Zeldin which also became one of my favorite historical reads. I believe it is these two books that have been most responsible for helping me rethink history and define what I stand for and how I will stand for it.  In writing, in work, in life.

On December 13, 2009, The People Speak - a documentary feature film narrated by Howard Zinn and based on his books A People’s History of the United States and, with Anthony Arnove, Voices of a People’s History – aired on The History Channel.

Produced by  Matt Damon, Josh Brolin, Chris Moore, Anthony Arnove, and Howard Zinn, the film comprised a collection of dramatic and musical performances of letters, diaries and speeches of everyday people who spoke up for change throughout U.S. history. It featured performances by Brolin, Damon, Rosario Dawson, Bob Dylan, Sandra Oh, Viggo Mortensen, Bruce Springsteen, Marisa Tomei, Kerry Washington, amongst many others.

Some Of My Favorite Howard Zinn Quotes

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  • “Historically, the most terrible things – war, genocide, and slavery – have resulted not from disobedience, but from obedience.”
  • “Dissent is the highest form of patriotism.”
  • One certain effect of war is to diminish freedom of expression.”
  • “Any humane and reasonable person must conclude that if the ends, however desirable, are uncertain and the means are horrible and certain, these means must not be employed.”
  • “He said, ‘Remember this: Even if you win the rat race, you’re still a rat.”
  • “There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”
  • “The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”
  • “TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.
    What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.”
  • “What matters most is not who is sitting in the White House, but “who is sitting in” — and who is marching outside the White House, pushing for change.”
  • “How can you have a war on terrorism when war itself is terrorism?”
  • “If you don’t know history, it is as if you were born yesterday.”
  • “I’m worried that students will take their obedient place in society and look to become successful cogs in the wheel – let the wheel spin them around as it wants without taking a look at what they’re doing. I’m concerned that students not become passive acceptors of the official doctrine that’s handed down to them from the White House, the media, textbooks, teachers and preachers”
  • “I think people are dazzled by Obama’s rhetoric, and that people ought to begin to understand that Obama is going to be a mediocre president — which means, in our time, a dangerous president — unless there is some national movement to push him in a better direction.”

Rest In Peace Howard

For more on Howard Zinn go to: howardzinn.org

NOTE: In the unlikely event that the NYU history professor discovers this post and remembers a freaky freaked-out Asian girl at the diner on 12th and 6th back in the mid 90’s, who interrupted his bacon and eggs – sunny side up, I’d just like to say Thank You.

ANOTHER NOTE: Also, big thanks to the wonderful Lori Newman and Tim Null for helping me figure out this nightmare called HTML/WordPress/RSS.  If you clicked on a link and it got you to the right place, you have them to thank for it. If not, well, you know who to blame -ha.

An OMG Moment: Rewrite Continues

In The Write Stuff on January 29, 2010 at 11:15 am

First, I’d like to thank all you crazy wonderful people for your excellent tips, tequila-centered advice and some good old fashioned ass-kicking following my request for help regarding Rewrites. (See The Thought Of Rewrites)

Since then, I have sat myself down on various occasions with a cold beer and a slab of super dark chocolate and read as much as possible in one sitting.

It took me three, which isn’t too bad. And I didn’t hate it. Which isn’t too bad either. http://www.mutineermagazine.com/img/blog/rogue_chipotle_ale_chocolate_bar.jpg

But I didn’t love it either. Which left me in purgatory with a hangover and severe buzzing in legs otherwise known as hyperactivity due to sugar overdose, curable only by mad 5 km sprint, 3 km swim, or two hours on bike. Uphill. Which proves rather tricky when it happens in middle of night.

So I tend to skip the chocolate now and have begun replacing alcohol with grass. Lemon grass – ha.

Anyway, I digress.

Whatever I consumed, whatever I did, that general malaise of a manuscript sinking into mediocre pit of quicksand was equivalent to hell itself. At least if novel had been stinking bad, I could have burnt it.

But now I was stuck with muck.

And yet… there was still something about it I liked. Couldn’t put my finger on it.

I loved the story. But it just wasn’t moving.

Several days dragged by.  Then one morning, as I was half-dreaming, half-awake, it came to me.

I had the wrong protagonist.

In this state of groggy limbo – and bad breath, the fog lifted. Just like that.

The character I had gone with was passive. Instigated only by another character who drove everything I liked about the story. I had been backing an impostor. It took me all this time to realize it. And finally, all I had to do was get out of the way – which as we all know is far easier said than done.

It happens sometimes with characters, as it does in “real life”.

You think you’ve got your person – your friend, your ally, your partner-in-crime. And they turn out to be a complete fake. Like waking up one morning after ten years of marriage, turning to the person lying beside you and wondering, Who The Hell Is This Asshole?

It also happens when lenses are blurred by misconceived prejudice.

The fake protagonist was in her thirties. The real one is in her sixties. As far as I can gather, the novel is about a woman’s quest for freedom and the realization of a new life. And the thought of a sixty-something being at the precipice of a new beginning just hadn’t crossed my mind.

By the end of the day, of course, I started to doubt my OMG moment. But just as I did, an article I had read over a week ago sprung to mind. Perhaps it had mingled with my sub-conscious which prompted the OMG moment – who knows.

It was an interview with Joyce Carol Oates in the Wall Street Journal – http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704362004575001021559875404.html

She was 71 when her first husband died. But somehow managed to find love again and is now happily married. To a Princeton neuroscientist no less.

I figure if you can find love at 71, you can certainly be a 60-something protagonist on a quest for freedom.

Why the hell not and besides, when did I get so goddamn conservative?

Question: When was your last OMG moment during Rewrites? What was it and how did it happen?

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This post is dedicated to my fearless, lasso-wielding, cowboy-riding posse – Jeannevb, PennyAsh and purelycarrie – without whom I would be just another sad-ass mare stuck in the mud.

How Tennis Informs Me About Life, Myself & The People I Watch It With

In Sweat & Drool on January 25, 2010 at 7:36 am

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January is the best month of year.

It brings with it much hope for the year ahead and… The Australian Open.

I love to watch the tennis. Besides the obvious drool factor, it teaches me about life and other important things like myself and the people I watch it with.

Take last night’s battle between Roddick and Gonzalez for a place in the quarter finals.

I’m watching it with friends who are gunning for Fernando Gonzalez from Chile – who’s playing ridiculously well and winning 2 sets to 1 – while I, lone ranger, am (and always will be) for Roddick.

There are two guys in men’s tennis I will never abandon.

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Tsonga – because he’s a beast of a tennis player and a real man. And Roddick because he has a cute ass and looks like he’s perpetually staring at the tip of his nose. Plus his temper brings me back to the 70’s and those entertaining days of McEnroe. Oh, and he has one hellova serve.

But back to last night’s game.

Fourth set. Gonzalez is up two sets. Looks set to win the third and therefore the match. He’s serving, 40-love.

My friends are teasing me for backing a loser and yelling at the TV – “Give up Roddick. You’re toast, mate”.

And maybe he heard them, because in between serves, while he’s wiping the sweat from his adorable brow, mutters to himself “I’m not going anywhere.”

Then proceeds to claw his way back into that game. Wins it. Wins the set. Calm. Cool. Doesn’t choke as he slides into a fifth set. Takes the match.

It’s one in the morning and with a little help from the gods and some ass-kicking determination, Roddick has managed to turn around a match he looked set to lose and emerge triumphant.

It was compelling to watch him do that once he told himself he wasn’t going anywhere. And even more interesting to watch Gonzalez – once confronted with Roddick’s resolve as they progressed into a fifth set – smash a racquet, lose the will to fight and admit defeat before the match was over.

Also interesting are the reactions in the room as we watch Gonzalez leave the court clearly deflated and probably wondering How The Hell He Lost That Match when he was playing and faring so well.

Such is tennis. Such is life.

It can turn in a second. The trick is to be prepared. Always have an A-game and a back-up plan. And if you don’t, be sure to think on your feet and promise yourself YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE.

One friend, furious on Gonzalez’s behalf, is in denial – “Where you going man? You were robbed!” Whilst the other friend becomes all at once quiet. Though I hardly notice as I’m jumping up and down, punching the air and yelling “Whose done now, HUH? HAH!” At which point, the quiet friend comments with a smile, “It’s interesting how tennis brings out certain things in certain people.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, immediately defensive.

“You become so animated every time we watch the tennis.”

“And aggressive,” adds the other friend who just half an hour ago was yelling at Roddick to get his cross-eyed self back on a plane. “You’re like a totally different person.”

“Like you weren’t aggressive when you thought Gonzalez was going to win.”

“Yeah but now he’s lost, you don’t have to rub our noses in it.”

We pause there for a second. Then burst into laughter.

Were we seriously about to fight over the tennis?

Uh, yes.

My uncle and aunt have Oh-Shut-Up-Or-Get-Out-Of-The-House arguments over the tennis. Going to their house during the Australian Open is like walking into World War II. And you have to take sides. Otherwise you’re Switzerland and no one respects you.

Thing is, I can watch anything else – soccer, rugby, basketball, baseball, boxing – and remain relatively normal.

But bring out Serena Williams and Maria Sharapova or Tsonga and Federer on center court and I go nuts. There’s a reason I only watch the tennis with good friends. No one else will want anything to do with me then or later.

So I’m wondering, which sport gets you all riled up?

And how does it inform you about life, you, and the people you watch it with?

The Thought Of Rewriting A Novel

In NaNoWriMo, The Write Stuff on January 21, 2010 at 11:52 am

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So remember that novel I started for NaNoWriMo 2010, of which I got 50K down in 30 days then went on to complete mid-December?

Well, it’s now time to revisit and rewrite.

AAAAAAAARGH!

Haven’t looked at it since I wrote the last 73,365th word and have even less of an idea what it’s about now than I did back then. If that is at all possible.

Being the start of a new decade, there is much to do and infinite excuses as to why I should not and cannot afford to spend time rewriting a novel I am certain no one will want to publish, much less read.

So I guess what I need from you, dear friends and readers, are:

  • Three good reasons why I should do this rewrite – If you can come up with ten, even better – OR
  • Some doable easy-to-get-my-thick-head-around suggestions as to how I should go about doing this OR
  • What I should aim for with first rewrite OR
  • Some clever cheat tips OR
  • Just talk me out of it – I promise it won’t be hard – OR
  • If you are unable to provide any of the above, then just a kick up the ass will do.

Please.

And make sure it’s a good one.

Thank You.

2010 Golden Globes – Glass Half Full/Half Empty

In My Two Cents Worth, WTF! on January 19, 2010 at 12:59 am

Amidst the heavy weight of Haiti, the stars manage to trickle out in the rain for the Hollywood Foreign Press – rumored to be a bunch of easily-bribed old biddies – and the supposed precursors to the Oscars known as the Golden Globes.

Here is my Glass Half Full/Half Empty take on the rather tedious and underwhelming affair.

GLASS HALF FULL:

Rikki Gervais is hosting. Great anticipation.

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

Rikki Gervais talks about his penises, a small penis and an even smaller hand that makes his small penis look large by comparison. Anticipation replaced by Dread.

GLASS HALF FULL:

Mo’Nique takes first win of night for Best Supporting Film Actress in Precious. Gives genuine and heartfelt acceptance speech.

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

http://www.anorak.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/monique-golden-globes.jpg

Gabourey Sidibe does not go on to win Best Film Actress for Precious. Sandra Bullock grabs it instead for The Blind Side. Oh, and those legs…

GLASS HALF FULL:

Toni Collette accepts the award on stage.

Toni Collette wins Best TV Actress – Comedy or Musical for United States of Tara. Go Aussie Toni!

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

Diablo Cody, creator of United States of Tara posts this on Twitter immediately after. diablocody : “BTW, I’m at home watching. No tickets for writers/exec producers unless the whole show is nommed. Fine by me. #nachos

GLASS HALF FULL:

Golden Globe winners 2010: Michael C Hall jokes about cancer treatment

Michael C. Hall wins Best TV Actor for Dexter!

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

Actor William Hurt arrives at the 67th Annual Golden Globe Awards held at The Beverly Hilton Hotel on January 17, 2010 in Beverly Hills, California.

A bunch of actors with strange beards caught in the audience. Is that Walt Whitman I see applauding in corner? No, just William Hurt.

GLASS HALF FULL:

Jason Reitman and Sheldon Turner win Best Screenplay for Up In The Air.

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

Only one writing category – originals and adaptations clumped together. And Rikki Gervais making more lame jokes about how writers would be nothing without actors who have the much more important job of looking good while delivering a line.

GLASS HALF FULL:

Chloe Sevigny wins Best Supporting TV Actress for Big Love!

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

CHLOE-SEVIGNY-GOLDEN-GLOBES.JPGMATT SAYLES/AP PHOTO

She gasps and moans about man escorting her on-stage who stepped on her train and ripped her silly dress.

GLASS HALF FULL:

Martin Scorsese wins the Cecil B. DeMille Award. Yay. Go Marty! Moment of glory.

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

scorsese_golden_globes

Introducing his pal and colleague for the award, Robert DeNiro says: “Marty eats, drinks and sleeps film. I hear there are videos on the Internet of Marty having sex with film.” Moment of glory gone. Replaced instead by image of Marty humping reel of film.

GLASS HALF FULL:

Meryl Streep wins Best Actress for her role in Julie & Julia. Well-deserved.

GLASS HALF EMPTY:

She wants to be called T-Bone.

1263833410_meryl-streep-290.jpghttp://www.lacensebeef.com/images/product_images/t_bone_steak_product.jpg

GLASS HALF FULL:

Julia Roberts drops the best line of the night: “Let’s wrap this up!”

GLASS COMPLETELY EMPTY:

Dances With Smurfs wins Best Film. And James Cameron gets on stage feigning humility and sporting Helen Mirren hair-do.

Sheesh.

Agree? Disagree? Any other glass half full/half empty treats you’d like to mention?

Predicted Death Toll 200, 000 Then This

In Right Here Right Now on January 16, 2010 at 1:38 pm

After three days of death, destruction, desperate need for aid.

A cry beneath the rubble.

A translator quick on his feet.

A baby unscathed. Dazed, glazed in dust.

Fate? Good fortune? Hand of god?

Whatever it means, however it happened, there it is.

Sliver of hope.

“We’re Not Racist… Go Home!”

In Right Here Right Now on January 12, 2010 at 11:47 am

To say that relations between India and Australia are currently strained would be an understatement. Since the attack of accounting graduate Nitin Garg nine days ago, tensions have run high.

Mr Garg who was on his way to his job at a Hungry Jack’s fast food outlet, was stabbed in Cruickshank Park, West Footscray, Melbourne, on Saturday night. He stumbled to his workplace, bleeding and pleading for help. But was later pronounced dead in hospital.

At his funeral in Jagraon, the northern Indian state of Punjab, Jan 10, a deep sadness prevailed.

No parent who sends their child overseas to study, expects to see them return in a coffin.

There was also outrage.

”All we want is that no other family should suffer this loss and that no other Indian student in Australia should lose his life,” said another uncle, Satish Kumar. ”The Indian Government must act to stop this madness.”

Farewell … relatives of the murdered Nitin Garg at his funeral in Jagraon yesterday.Photo: Reuters

With Mr Garg’s funeral comes the investigagion of an attack on another Indian man, Jaspreet Singh, 29, who is in a Melbourne hospital with burns to 15 per cent of his body. Mr Singh alleges he was doused with petrol and set alight by a group of four males after he parked his car near his home in Essendon about 2am on Saturday.

But the police have countered there is no evidence to support the attack was racially motivated and the incident, which Detective Acting Sen-Sgt Neil Smyth describes as “a bit strange”, continues to be shrouded in mystery. There have even been suggestions that Mr Singh set fire to himself for financially exploitative reasons.

All of which has led to a whole lot of finger-pointing between the governments, to say nothing of racial debates that have been a long time coming.

Yesterday the Indian Government called for increased efforts to curb violent attacks and an end to the exploitation of students in Australia by dodgy colleges and greedy employers.

The Minister for Overseas Indian Affairs, Vayalar Ravi, said Australia should also crack down on unscrupulous college operators, and employers who paid students less than the minimum wage.

He said Australian police were quick to arrest students for visa violations, such as working more than the allowed 20 hours a week during term time, but did little to catch those exploiting them.

”If the Government can be so strict in arresting the students who work more than 20 hours because they are violating the law, why can’t they arrest the employer who is not paying the minimum wage?”

- Sydney Morning Herald January 11, 2010

Many opinions have been published from both sides of the fence, though I find one – “Why Indians are terrified after death of Nitin Garg” by Gautam Gupta, spokesman for the Federation of Indian Students Of Australia, in The Herald-Sun on Jan 6 – of particular interest. Not merely for its content but the response it attracted upon publication.

The article goes as follows:

THE 70,000 or so Indian tertiary-level students in Victoria learn many things, some from their peers, some from those who have been through the system already and some from their friends.

It’s a steep learning curve for them all.

They learn just how much their parents must pay to send them here, they learn about how Australian society operates, they learn about how the transport system works, they learn about the delicate balance between earning a degree or other qualification and earning their keep at the same time.

Does Victoria have a problem with racially-motivated violence? Have your say below.

It’s a process of constant osmosis. It is a completely new life experience in a foreign land, thousands of miles away from their families and their loved ones and from all those in whom they habitually put their entire trust.

But the solitary thing that no one has ever taught them is how to send a body back home.

This was precisely the challenge that confronted the housemates of Nitin Garg after the 21-year-old university graduate was fatally stabbed on Saturday night, just before starting work as night manager at a Hungry Jack’s store in West Footscray.

His friends had already dealt with the whole gamut of emotions. First there was the shock, when they received a phone call from one of Garg’s co-workers, telling them he had been stabbed but that it seemed to be a minor wound.

Then came the hope, sustaining them as they travelled as quickly as they could to the Royal Melbourne Hospital.

Next came the fear, when they were told by a doctor that their friend was in a critical condition and that his chances of survival were perilously slim.

And finally came grief, followed by an entire gamut of emotions, when they were told that he had died but that they could not see the body.

Among the many questions I asked his grief-stricken housemates was whether anybody had offered them assistance of any sort. Had a state-level politician spoken to them, or perhaps someone from Canberra?

The answer was no. Had anyone from the Indian Government been in touch with them? Again, no.

This was less than 24 hours after Garg’s death, but no one in authority had been in contact with them to find out how they were coping.

These young guys, in their 20s, had no support system. On the face of it, they said they were coping with the tragedy, but I honestly feel the sorrow had not even begun to sink in.

I asked if they needed any financial assistance, but they said they were fine. So I gave them the contact details for a psychologist and I recommended that they seek trauma counselling.

Quite honestly, what kind of society leaves youngsters to find their own solution to a crisis like this?

As they cope with their own torrent of emotions, they’re not studying and you could also understand it if they chose not to work this week. What a plight – they’ve had to wear the cost of many phone calls to India, not just to the shattered Garg family back there, but also to organise the repatriation of their friend’s body.

In this kind of situation, support is not just about the money, it’s about infrastructure that students can use at a time when they’re most vulnerable.

After the death, I had to be extremely aware of their sensitivities. In their shock and as they struggled to cope with the tragedy, they might have said “yes” to some of my questions about their welfare when they meant “no” and “no” when indeed they meant “yes”.

But this is precisely why I have put my career as an audiologist on hold. To me, it is more important to serve FISA (the Federation of Indian Students of Australia) in a voluntary capacity.

I left my practice in December 2008, with the intention of volunteering here for a month or so.

Each month I think it might be worthwhile to stay on for another few weeks – and each time, something happens to another Indian student and I resolve to stay here until we can make a difference.

FISA does not receive any funding, but the most important thing for me is to try to make a difference. I was not raised to look on in silence when I can make a difference to the lives of thousands of students.

All up, it costs an Indian student about $60,000 for a two-year course or about $45,000 for a trade course here in Victoria. That’s a huge financial burden for their families back home.

Yes, we all understand that no amount of money can possibly guarantee their safety, but every Australian should be concerned about the persistent violence.

Now, with a death that has sent shock waves through the whole Indian community, I feel as if things are getting cumulatively harder instead of easier.

The strange thing is that the State Government refuses to acknowledge the issue of racism that needs to be legitimately debated after the continuing attacks on Indian students in Melbourne.

If you asked me my opinion, I would definitely say there is an element of racism in Australia – and this is backed by academic research from the Australian National University.

The fact Pauline Hanson can get a mandate, however small, in this country says something about this issue.

I do accept that by and large this is not a racist country, but even if 10 per cent of the total population do not conform with the majority view, it follows that every tenth person you encounter on the street, aboard a train or tram or in the workplace could well hold racist views.

Despite the great work done by many sections of society to make our students feel welcome, it just takes one person or one incident to take us back to the very beginning and make us feel that no progress has been made at all.

But still we continue to bury our heads in the sand and say the attacks on Indian students are not race-related.

Well, let me tell you that the public – and by extension, the authorities as well – do not hear about all the incidents.

In the main, this was because many students were under the mistaken impression that if they made a formal report about an attack, they would be stripped of their visas and sent home.

To this day, under-reporting is still a problem because of this common misconception, despite our efforts to tell students that no action can be taken unless reports are lodged.

The public also has the mistaken impression that only Indian males are being attacked. This is not the case. Female students from India have been attacked. But they refuse to contact officials because they are scared that their parents will immediately order them back to India.

There have been break-ins while these students have been at home and laptops and other pieces of equipment have been stolen, but the women will not make official reports.

Let’s assume, for a moment, that these are not race-related crimes. Then can someone please tell me why ANU data shows fresh graduates of Indian or Asian background have 64 per cent less chance of finding permanent employment in their chosen fields?

Here are some of the comments that ensued:

  • Get Real of Melbourne

    Mr Gupta you are nothing but a stirrer and you border on being a parasite preying on there being sufficient Indian victims of crime in order to prolong your moment of fame and being in the spotlight; before all of this you were a nobody. We are sick of hearing your drama queen pronouncements.

  • MCS

    Bullies pick on easy targets – by themselves late at night in areas that most of us are too wise to find ourselves in the dark. Walking the streets of West Footscray at night – no chance and I am not Indian – just an Aussie who could probably handle myself better than those who have not grown up here or had to wise up when getting on the train as a 16 year old. Its not racial – just easy targets

  • Hayley

    GO HOME THEN!!!! LEAVE AUSTRALIA!!! That is what we are trying to get you to do. Get out!

  • Raoul Machal of Melbournistan

    We don’t have a racial problem, we have a violence problem. In this state decent people of many races get killed, stabbed, glassed, king-hit and aggitated by retarded, anti-social yobs of many races. All this while our smug bureaucrats in Spring Street look on, utter meaningless PR spin and keep sitting on their well greased hands. With a police gone to the fairies and a loony left judiciary firmly focused on rehabilitating and comforting the offenders, decent people in this state have the same hope as a snow ball in hell.

  • Blanche

    It is very sad and tragic. But one has to be careful before giving this incident a racist tag. Did the culprits look at his skin colour before they stabbed Nitin? I don’t think so. And would anyone I know Indian, Italian, Macedonain, Greek or Aussie walk across an extensive park alone at night?The answer is a resounding “no”. The issue is that students coming here are simply not street wise. They live sheltered lives back home in India, and there is no guidance at all once they arrive here. Crime is undoubtedly on the increase, and it is not directed only towards Indian students. Until the police have more powers and offenders get more than just a slap on the wrist, I don’t think this situation will get any better.

  • Steven of Melbourne.

    Hey guess what Gautam – it’s not just you Indians, we’re all terrified. You’re nothing special, we’re all at risk in Melbourne…….

  • nbmbmnbmn

    rubbish,why don’t you stop going to Oz.

  • Peter of lilydale

    They have to be joking. They come from a country where life is so cheap. You never hear about the continual bombings over there unless it affects one of us. The civil fueds, the popverty…

  • Unis v Courses of Melbourne

    The Indian students who do hairdressing or hospitality courses are been duped into thinking there are jobs for the asking. University degreed students have a higher percentage of finding positions. Australia should not have encouraged students to come for courses which have been shown to be a sham but sometimes run by Indian themselves.

  • Victor Stavros

    Oh stop your complaining!… Perhaps it is difficult to get a job here because your cousins in India can do you job at the fraction of the cost. Just because you come over and get educated, doesn’t mean you are better than other people with the same education. What happened to that Indian person who was involved in a fatal hit and run and has fled back to his country?… If you don’t like it here, go to another country and stop wasting our time!…

When an incident or a series of incidents such as this erupts, what proceeds is often as telling as what occurred.

Mr Garg’s funeral is over but police don’t seem to be any closer to finding his killer.

While nobody is happy Mr Garg is dead or how he died, the prevailing sentiment is he should not have been walking alone so late at night in such a precarious location. In such a situation, nobody is safe.

And most revealing of all, while many are quick to defend Australia and assert it is not a racist country, they are just as quick to tell unhappy students, residents and citizens to GO HOME.

Avatar – I Don’t Think So

In My Two Cents Worth on January 7, 2010 at 1:14 pm

We’ve heard all about it.                                              http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/b0/Avatar-Teaser-Poster.jpg

James Cameron spent 15 years and over 250 million dollars on Avatar, a 3-D buffet of animation, live action, performance-capture and CGI, set in the fictional world of Pandora in the year 2154, in which the military – a la The Bush Administration – is out to get a bunch of blue people, the Na’vi, as their home, an expansive ecosystem in the form of an awesomely massive tree, happens to rest on a reserve of priceless mineral.

Cameron spent so long and so much on Avatar that he could not bear to part with drawn-out footage and rambling sequences of the visual explosion that is Pandora, which after the first 40 minutes starts to wreak of narcissism and wears rapidly thin.

He spent so long and so much on it, yet neglected story or character. Or perhaps at this point in his career, is confident he requires neither.

In terms of special effects, Avatar is said to blow The Matrix right out of the water. But it would want to. Ten years on and The Matrix looks about as real as a disaster movie from the 70’s.

The Na’vi tribe may be matriarchal and spiritually-aware, but of all humans they choose to study, pick the spy – paraplegic former marine, Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), who agrees to supply the military with tactical details necessary for their “shock and awe campaign” against the tribe.

The Na’vi are so astute they have no idea the humans that present themselves on Pandora are mere avatars. And for all her intuitive prowess, when her love interest, Jake, refuses to stir from a slumber so deep even heavy artillery fails to wake him, Neytiri, daughter of the tribe’s shaman and next in line for the powerful position, has no idea who Jake Sully really is.

The Na’vi tribe may be blue with eco-friendly empowered women, but in the end still require a man, one white human man (guess which one?) to save their entire existence.

And the cheesy and unlikely ending in which Good – armed with bow and arrow, triumphs over Evil – heftily armed with weapons of mass destruction?

And the cardboard characters that are as original and predictable as the story they tell?

And this, the movie set to break new ground, define a generation, change everything?

Avatar may break box office records. It may be the next great thing in 3-D, for now at least. It may garner a cult following. But it has neglected the story goddess and the voiceless ones that seek to tell their tale. And one day, they shall seek revenge.

At least one can hope.

So Ask Away

In Cowgirls Rule!, Unforgettable on January 5, 2010 at 2:30 pm

“So ask away,” she grins with her eyes.

hijab-saman-aghvami.jpg (457×700)

Her voice is bright, laced with mischief.

She sits beside me on the plane. An elongated cloud of black, save for a slim peephole from which she views the world with those eyes, always twinkling – a joke she shares only with herself. And perhaps, others like her.

But who is like her?

This woman who upon strapping on her seat belt turns to me, stretches out a small fair hand with tidy fingernails but not-so-modest silver glittery nail polish – “Hi, I’m Leila” – and as I introduce myself in return, produces a handshake firm with confidence.

The eyes continue to grin, bemused, as I try to address her like I would anyone else.

But in my limited experience, women in hijab have not been forthcoming and so in ignorance and misconceived prejudice, I gape a couple of times, smile politely, turn away but at once intrigued, turn back to to find her still looking at me.

“So ask away.”

I stare at her, uncertain. And even though I know exactly what she means, ask, “What do you mean?”

“The questions. I see them in your eyes.”

Stare even wider.

“I won’t bite, I promise.” Grins even more. “You can ask me anything you want.”

“Are you hot?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. I have three layers under here. My hair stinks. I have to wash it every day, twice at a time!”

I proceed cautiously, surprised by her candor.

“How long have you been wearing it ?”

“The hijab?” She smiles. “Since I got married, two weeks ago. There’s my husband, over there.”

She points with her thumb (it’s rude to point with your fingers) to a man with his back to us in the window seat across the aisle, staring out as the plane starts to move. Note he is dressed in nothing more than shorts and a t-shirt.

“We’re on our honeymoon.”

She flashes a gold band embossed in a fancy silver pattern.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She chimes, loudly appreciative. Leans towards me, the gold band still on display.

“You like it?”

A little ostentatious for my liking but I’m not about to offend her.

“It’s a beautiful wedding ring.”

“Oh, this is just the engagement ring. The wedding ring’s much bigger. Diamonds everywhere,” she laughs. “Can’t wear it out. Someone might steal it. So I make do with this plain old thing instead.” She chuckles mischievously.

Her English is perfect. Her accent, distinctly British.

“What did you wear before you got married?”

“In Saudi Arabia, I kept my hair covered. But as soon as I went overseas – I’ve been to London about six times – the head dress came off.”

Her eyes twinkle again, a hint of mischief.

“You studied in London?”

“No, just for holidays with my family.”

A wealthy cheeky woman in hijab with flashy taste.

“I love languages,” she keeps chattering. “The moment I heard English, I knew I had to learn it.”

“You speak it so well.”

“So do you.”

Touche.

“So you’re from Saudi Arabia?”

“Actually, my family is from Yemen and we moved to Saudi Arabia when I was a kid.”

“May I ask…?”

“I told you. You may ask anything you want. Come on, don’t be shy.”

Okay.

“How old are you?”

“Take a guess.”

Ah, how I loathe guessing a woman’s age.

“Twenty-three.”

She grins.

“Twenty-five.”

Grins even more.

“Twenty-eight?”

“Why do you go older and not younger? Because I am wearing a hijab?”

And before I can think of an answer, she announces, “Eighteen. I am eighteen years old.”

No Fucking Way!

“How old’s your husband?”

“He’s 29.”

“How did you meet him?”

“In Saudi Arabia, we don’t meet men. It’s all arranged. Although I fell in love before this.”

“With another man?”

She nods. “He broke my heart.”

“How did you meet him?”

“On the internet. In a chat room. I posed as a guy and then I fell in love with him and I told him and he left me.”

I blink in awe, the writer in me taking it all down. Every single word.

“Does your husband know?”

“No.”

“Your parents?”

Shakes her head fervently.

“My father would kill me if he found out. You don’t do this in Saudi Arabia. You can’t talk to a man. Not on the phone, not in person, not on internet. But lots of girls do it. You just have to make sure you don’t get caught.”

And so we’re chatting like old friends. Now I’m sure she meant it when she said I could ask her anything.

“Was it your choice to wear the hijab when you got married?”

Shakes her head. This time slowly.

“My husband chose it.”

“And you had to obey?”

“Absolutely.”

“He is my husband. I do as he says.”

“Can he beat you?”

“My husband can do with me as he pleases.”

“Do you resent him?”

She gives me a strange look.

“For making you wear this?”

“Oh no… It’s perfectly normal. He doesn’t want anyone else to look at me.”

“Well, then, you must be very beautiful.”

Either that or he is extremely selfish. Or both.

But she squeals with delight, truly flattered by my words. Slaps me on the thigh.

“You see, with us, the woman is a diamond to be treasured. The man pays a lot of money for this diamond. And of course he doesn’t want anyone else to see his diamond for fear they will steal it, so he hides it. But just in public or in the presence of other males.”

“Even his father or brothers?”

“Even his father or brothers. Unless your family is open-minded like my father’s. My mother doesn’t cover her hair with his brothers.”

“So once you’re home, it’s off?”

“Once I’m home, everything’s off,” She lowers her voice. “The hijab, the clothes. I dance around naked.”

She bursts into laughter. And I with her.

A diamond to be treasured.

What about your husband? Isn’t he a diamond too? Why can’t you cover him up from head to toe?

Things I’d like to say but do not. Questions I’d like to ask but fear I might push my luck.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks, turning the tables.

“Please.”

“Do you have children?”

“I have a girl. She is eight.”

“When you were pregnant, did you get grumpy for no reason and sleep a lot?”

“I slept a lot. And got pretty emotional, yeah.”

She sighs. “I think I might be pregnant.”

Two weeks of marriage, pretty quick.

“I will buy a pregnancy test when we land. But I’m not yet ready to have kids.”

Of course you’re not. You’re eighteen!

“I don’t want to get fat. And my husband might lose interest in me and go find another woman.”

“Do you work?”

“I’m eighteen. I just finished my A-levels!” she exclaims.

“Were you hoping to work?”

“I wanted to be an engineer but you’re not a woman if you do that. And my husband won’t let me work in a job where I have to deal with men which leaves me with teaching. I don’t want to be a teacher.”

“You want to be an engineer.”

“Or an interior designer. I would love to decorate other people’s homes.” She claps her hands, excited by the thought.

I gaze down at her shoes. Glittery silver sneakers with gold sequenced socks pulled over them.

The loudest hijab-wearing woman I have ever met.

The hostess appears with a tray of drinks, staring at Leila, her eyes also full of questions.

“Thank you,” sings Leila as she grabs a cup of orange juice. Then lifts her mask to drink.

Under the mask, a glimpse of her face. Oval-shaped. Flawless skin. Julia Roberts lips. A slim high nose. And those large gorgeous eyes. She is a stunner.

We chat on and on like this for the rest of the trip and when we land and it is time to go, she grabs my hands and squeezes them.

“Did I answer all your questions? Are you satisfied?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Good. Now go and tell everyone what I just told you so that more people can know about girls like me and next time when they see someone like me, they won’t be afraid and have all those questions in their eyes.”

She looks to her husband who flashes her a timid smile. It’s obvious who the tiger is in this relationship, hijab or no hijab.

She turns back to me.

“He is smiling because I do this everywhere I go.”

“Chat to strangers with questions in their eyes?”

“Exactly.” She squeezes my hands. “I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad I met YOU. And don’t forget that pregnancy test.”

She grins. “Maybe it won’t be so bad if I’m pregnant. I can stay at home and watch TV the whole day and eat anything I want.”

Those twinkling eyes, cheeky as ever.

“What do you watch?”

“Anything. As long as it’s reality. I LOVE reality TV,” she grins as she leaves to follow her husband behind the queue.

At Baggage Claim, two massive zebra-printed suitcases slide around on the carousel. As they reach the other end, I spot Leila’s husband heaving the zebra-printed luggage onto a trolley.

Of course. Who else?

I smile and wave at the cloud of black. She waves back.

Owner of extra-large zebra-printed suitcases.

Hijab-wearing virago with dreams of becoming an engineer, who can’t wait to go home so she can strip and dance around naked.

I wish her luck and hope she never runs out. Of Spirit. Love. Life. http://www.wakeupfrankie.com/images/colors/2598/resize_1664_ACC307.jpg