Rip-roaringly enjoyable, this (i shall term it) docu-movie. I was a little surprised, in an raised-eyebrow kind of way, to learn that it was made by a Singaporean, and a semi-professional to boot. The feature works quite well, with its pacy tempo, great music and nifty camerawork. The film successfully captures a sense of national fervor and eager anticipation of the Beijingers towards the Olympics, which is often referred to as 国家大事, like nothing, and absolutely nothing else matters. Laughing at the weird Chinese contortions of the English language aside, I now have a lot of respect for the Chinese's patriotism and their willingness to sacrifice the self for the country. Even the little kid at the English crash course concentration camp understands that she has to soldier on despite the lack of sleep, proper food, and the constant screaming (so as to aid memorising of the English vocab, or so the nutty coach claims), so that she can master the language and be a bridge between China and the world (and of course, better job opportunities). The 76-year old man's determination to speak English fluently, despite being passably conversant already, just so he can pass the test to become a volunteer guide at the Palace Museum and showcase China's culture and history to tourists. And Mr Cabby, who is perpetually stressed out by the need to pass his English test and be allowed to drive during the Games, not because he is worried that flunking the test will deprive him of an income during the period, but because he wants so much to play a humble part in this historic moment of national glory. And of course, who could forget the friendly cop's smooth Brooklyn accent, obviously a result of Hollywood's pervasive influence. He had us completely floored. http://www.asiaing.com/mad-about-english-2008.html
This was taken from the window in hubby's room. The little fern-weed plant has been there for some months, wedged at a corner of the ubiquitous, hideous gray piece of steel shield (designed by the oh-so-practical architects of HDB to provide shade from the hot afternoon sun), but we never noticed how and when it first began to take root. As the pictures show, the apartment faces a large tract of empty land, with the nearest buildings a couple of kilometres away, distant by Singapore's standards. The wind is often gusty and strong and it's a wonder how the fern-weed managed to hold on for so long, and grow too. The roots, dangling in the air, are more than a metre in length, and seem to be extending each time I see it. A lovely snapshot of how life can be so resilient when faced with the odds, in the fern-weed's case, a lack of a familiar life support system - no soil=no nutrients. I guess it has tried to make do with moisture from the air and energy from the sun, and has managed to come so far. But not for long, before the practicalities of society impose its will on it: hubby said the painters commissioned by HDB will be here in a year or so, as the apartment block is scheduled to be spruced up, which will probably spell the end of the fern-weed. As I look at it again, the swaying roots seem to tug gently at my heart. When the time comes for it to go, should I relocate it to a pot and domesticate it? How will it lend itself to life confined in a small space after all this time out in the open, engaging in battle after battle with the natural and often harsh elements, and yet coming away victorious time and again?
