Hannah Gadsby – Nanette

From Netflix. I share with you because it’s simply great.

To me, there are two types of comedians. The first is those who make you so happy and laugh so loud, like Howard Russell, or Ricky Gervais.

The second is Hannah Gadsby, or Dayo WONG, who try their best to make you sad when you leave the theatre, or pub.

And I love the second one way more than the first one.


Under the wave by Louren Groff

The child watched the woman fold into herself and begin to weep. She crouched, pulling the child to her, and whispered that the child mustn’t ever do it again. Never. Never. Never risk your life for anything. It is too precious. The woman would die if the child died. The woman would lie down with a broken heart.

Under the Wave

Can we go back?

“Can we go back ? “ I asked myself time to time, “…to a time when nothing bad has happened to you ? And then we part our way? And so I leave you intact and healthy, but alone, but ajar of chance where you can choose a new life? an alternative life? an alternative partner, who would have made you safer? Can we work that way? Can life work that way? Would you be better that way?” Sorry madam, my dame, I have been getting more and more superstitious recently because of you, in a sense that I have been trying to figure out whether I can do something very trivial, very silly, very unrelated, that may prevent us, as a family, from precariousness.

“But…at which point can we go back?” then replied I to myself, “…at which point can I be sure you are 100% ridden of peril?” I have been turning the pages of our 11 years of marriage back to find that landing point. But it is tricky, madam. I cannot find that point. I simply can’t. Unfortunate things has been happening to you mysteriously since half a year after our wedding ceremony. So mysterious that no one can ever explain. That’s getting me more and more superstitious. Every time when those things happened, some one whom I supposed to be experts gave very similar replies, sorry, it shouldn’t have happened to your family. It shouldn’t have happened to her. There should be only X (a figure that was supposed to mean very low) out of Y (a figure that was supposed to mean enormous) chance it happens to a person. There is no apparent genetic linkage to what happened. Sorry. So many times someone said sorry to us, said sorry to me. I hate people saying sorry to me. Life made me think that saying sorry means something really bad happened to me, and those experts won’t ever give me explanation why such bad thing happened. Sometimes they even could not explain what exactly had happened!  So, last time I was so angry when you said sorry to me. Why? Why it’s you who said it!  Those mysterious things happened to you again! You shouldn’t say it to me! If there is someone who has to say this hateful word it shouldn’t be you! You were the only one who suffers from it! And this time, you are going to suffer for your remaining life! And, from now on you cannot even count your life!  So why did the sufferer say sorry to me?! Why the sufferer had to be you?! Why it had to be you?!

It’s really hard to define happiness and sadness after our marriage. Every time I see sadness has gone and we will finally be happy ever after. Every time I see storm has subsided and we will finally have our serenity ever after, and I begin to let this tranquility to lull me into a calm and unworried being, those mysterious sadness will happen to you again, and catch me unprepared, ripping my happiness, and the scanty positive part of me, apart. It’s like someone, something forbids happiness to define our marriage. Someone, something may decide our marriage should be a scale that a certain weight of happiness should be balanced by equivalent weight of sadness. So every time a storm has passed us, our weight of happiness has been too much that will tip our balance —hence break our delicate bond between each other. Sadness has to be put in, no matter wherefrom it comes. No matter how mysterious.  Someone, something doesn’t even care to find an explanation, but just dump something into our scale, no matter how dumb, who cares how dumb, just to keep our marriage in balance. Thank fucking goodness for your fucking kindness, to let something really bad, inexplicably bad, be gettin’ in our way time to time, to cause us incurable pain, unbearable sadness, to cut our very selves asunder, just to keep our bondage in balance. Thank fucking goodness for your kindness. So, that someone, that something, that’s supposed to keep our love solely in his trust and not anyone anything else, step by step, has led me into superstition, to believe in forebears, to believe in omens, to believe in signs, to believe in totems, to believe in something I’m supposedly forbidden.  It has driven me senseless, nerveless and numbness. If adrenaline is the only glue to our bondage, I can’t take it. if worrisome to the point of weariness is the only emotion we deserve, to keep madame, my dame, from the mysterious sadness, I can take it. But please get some fucking experts to explain why to me, eye to eye, instead of digressing your X from Y, instead of covering your “I don’t know” with your BS glamourised, instead of making madame to say sorry to me for what she doesn’t know, while suffering the most. Gettin’ someone an errand to let me know, instead of gettin’ in our way, leaving us alone, helpless, soundless, not able to yelling for help from our friends as we know they simply don’t know what to say and what to do to make us better. Coz’ the answer is, as always when the mysterious sadness comes, a simple N-O no.

“But…at which point can we go back?” then asked I to myself, again, “…at which point can I be sure you are 100% ridden of peril?” I have been turning the pages of our 11 years of marriage back to find that landing point. But it is tricky, madam. I can find that point. And it’s so obvious. The starting point. The day we sworn in as husband and wife, vowing to love each other, bond with each other, support each other, disregarding happiness, sadness, loneliness, wealth, poverty, sickness, life, and finally, death. Till death do us apart. Else nothing gettin’ in our way is gonna gettin’ in our way.  That’s a vow. That’s a prayer. That’s a blessing. That’s a curse. To me, it’s more like a curse than a blessing, considering what we’ve been through since then, considering what you’ve been suffering since then. Turning the pages to that starting point, and the prequel, I saw your face at the time. I saw your body at the time. I saw your fine soul at the time. Beautiful, energetic, dare, wit, nimble, intact, unharmed by the marriage and wherewithal all those mysterious things that’s been gettin’ in our way. Then I was suddenly conscious, that I just can’t. I just cannot land at this point. I know that marriage and gettin’ together through whatever the fuck in our life, have been the happiest thing for us. That curse itself. That fucking curse. Is the best blessing to us ever we can get.  It makes no sense. But the curse we’ve been through, we must get through it. That defines us. That’s what we mean to each other. I am clear. I can’t understand. I can stand. Just prayer, and prayer, the next time we get back to our calmness and tranquillity and unpreparedness after the storm we’ve been through, like we used to, when the mysterious sadness comes again from the universe unbeknownst, the next time, I just prayer and prayer, it would be me to say sorry to you, to leave your life intact, ever after.


Catching up with brexit is fun


Brexitcast is absolute joy to me recently. I think, though I never can b a journalist considering my lame language, I always enjoy having time with a group of journalists, esp in a pub chatting setting, grinning knavery and tongue in cheek about how useless a group of politicians in doing their job.

I really enjoy katya Adler and esp Laura k. Quite different from my remain friends, I really admire her. At least she’s not from oxbridge is she?


用了接近半年的時間,終於捱完好多人所謂的神劇 Twin Peaks。完了後我頭也不回的就咁送左盒DVD俾嗰個好鍾意睇Walking Dead、WestWorld、Game of Thrones (全部未睇過)等所謂精彩美劇的同事。今次我同自己對賭,好果他可以一個星期內唔還的,我會輸俾另一個自己100蚊。從那套劇的角度來說,我輸100蚊俾另一個自己,都是輸左錢,仲要一舊,會好肉痛的。雖然,其實我賬目上沒有輸過錢。

ON 99? 的而且確,套野就是咁撚ON99。而我居然捱完,真是要俾D掌聲自己。For whatever reason。

如果真是要形容下套野講乜鳩,我記起幾年前有套TVB劇叫  隔世追空。我一路看TWIN PEAKS,一路想起這套劇。我就這樣說吧︰Twin Peaks是一套英文版的隔世追兇,Plus:

1. 劇中所有人都講對白甩撚晒BEAT,林雪咁;

2. Writer到最後都唔知自己想搵到兇手定搵唔到兇手;

3. 取鏡+配樂+打燈達康城影展級;

4. 每一隻歌都揀過,非常搶耳,而大部分都極noise pop/synth pop;

5. 最想佢除衫嗰個Tammy偏偏唔除衫,最唔想佢除衫嗰個DIANA就除晒,SHIT;

6. 睇到最後個人除了鳩外根本沒有其他事可以形容。

有時我寧願看的真是TVB隔世追兇。或胸。至少看廣東話劇,佢寫ON9對白我唔用腦可以判別是ON9對白。看美劇,因為英文唔好,人物講完ON9對白,我個LOAD要LOAD下其實是咪真是ON9對白。到半年後,才有答案,全部是ON9對白。SHIT DOUBLE SHIT。

但唯一可取的可能是,一班人講美劇時,我可以講我看過TWIN PEAKS囉。但一問好唔好睇,就只可以話我真是唔知佢做乜。你不如俾100蚊我,等我還番俾另一個自己,因為我仲爭佢100蚊。

How immersed can one be

First, I was planning to have this piece to introduce a book I was reading (and not yet end, I’ve been telling you many times I read very slow).  “We were Eight Years in Power" by Ta-Nehisi Coates. But I knew right from start I had to fold my plan. Same old problem of mine: I was ambitious, but my knowledge, my capability, always couldn’t support my ambition of any respect.  When one writes an article about a book, he supposedly writes what he knows about what the book told, before what he feels about what the book told. That’s what we expect an essay/review about a book should be.  But I am not able, as always, to tell what I know about the book.  I can only feel the rage the author emanated through his every word and phrase. In a very restrained, to an extent like choking himself from ‘splosion, way.  Because of the oppression and toil his race has endured, and been enduring.  Because of the utmost frustration he feels against the White America, and the not-so-subtle White Supremacy in that same America.

However I felt, and still feeling, about him as an author, as a human being, I could not write even a word about what I knew about what he wrote. Because I simply didn’t know. And still don’t know.  I could highlight the best sentences in the book, as I really did.  I could quote the Black Americans quoted by him– E.L. Doctorow, Fredrick Douglass, Ida B. Well, Malcolm X, but such and such would not do me favour to show off how much I know about the book; about Black America; about Obama; about American slavery and its long shadow.  On the contrary, doing so would plainly spotlight my emptiness and shallowness in this subject.  I feel a lot of jealousy and misgiving when I see on Twitter and other similar Social Media platform somebody able to write very good book review to showcase how well they know the book, the author, the subject matter, or all of them. I feel the same when I see them writing very good pieces to show off how great their knowledge are.  I am honest I feel so jealous every time I see them, read them. I am equally honest I am equally eager to show off if I could, if not more so.  But I know I simply can’t.  So the best thing I can do is writing here thousands of words that are bullshit. Meaningless bullshit. Just as I do here.

Or, I shouldn’t have been so harsh on myself. As author did demonstrate through this book Black is never an easy subject matter to grapple with.   Reading the book all along, I was so immersed into the book, that I was like keep hearing the shadow and ghosts in the book speaking, “Hey child, Black is too much for you Asians. Black is not your stuff. It’s not like the subjects you used to read, child.  It’s way more difficult, child. It’s not for you."  How immersed can one be to know them more? Does it help listening to African Unite by Bob Marley? Or ATM by J Cole? Or This is America by Childish Gambino?  Does it help memorising speeches of Obama? or Martin Luther King Jr? Or William Barber? Or Stormzy (oh he is British)?

No, they all don’t help much. The same shadow and ghosts went, “Futile child. Black is Black. You ain’t no Black, Asian. Just skip it, child. It’s not for you."  Does transrace operation help? Like what Rachel Dolezhal did? Does wiping my everything in the past help? Does wiping out my social media footprints, and all the history, like what I’ve been doing, help? Does boxing my hair, braiding my hair help?  The same shadow and ghosts went, “No child. Black is blood thing, child. You can’t fake it, child. You can’t trans it, child. You can only inherit it.  It’s not your Christian Jesus God, that everyone can be my son if thy say Hallelujah, child.  Just skip it, child. It ain’t do you no good this time, child. Just skip it."

So I have to skip it. Surrender. And say, I don’t know a word the book said. Humble. It’s like the project is even more difficult to be immersed as 戀英青 (Honestly, I hate that name so much.  Anytime I heard anyone call me so, it’s like the worst swear I’ve ever heard. 難聽過粗口).  So I really have to skip it, fold it. Nothing to tell you.  You can read it if you want, though.  It’s a really good book.  Rage aside, I feel quite connected with him when the Author told writing, as much as activism, is like a business that’s doomed to fail.  The only value, and meaning, of it is that you know you are still writing, and fighting, for a battle you know you never gonna win.  I feel the same. I never have any feeling of winning anything. I always feel the time I was born, I was born to lose.

That’s fine. At least finer than when I was born to kill.

Black mirror is not that authentic

最新一輯大獲Facebook 的藝青好評。由於太多好評,同好多其他充滿好評的作品,如house of cards game of thrones West world altered carbon 一般,唔好搞我了。


那令我聯想到我跟兒子每朝看的卡通,regular show。才發覺black mirror 跟regular show犯下同一問題⋯⋯套路太單一,太悶,俗話是根本集集差不多。