Japan Goes Down

I honestly can’t remember the last time I went to a cinema alone. But with a name dripping in B-Grade chic, you can be sure I’d go out of my way to watch The Sinking of Japan, it even if it means travelling an hour to Yishun 10 after work to catch its very last screening in Singapore.

Far from being home-release bargain bin fodder, Sinking is a surprisingly well-paced, well-thought out movie--one almost imagines that the producers went through a table-top crisis simulation exercise to envision the entire catastrophe developing from rumour to mass hysteria; and its political consequences locally and abroad. Its special effects, coming from the makers of the Godzilla franchise, were nothing short of spectacular. But more than the effects and suspense, what struck me most about the movie was the screenwriters’ willingness to allow Japan to be almost completely destroyed before being saved from submergence at the movie’s end. Is the paranoia of annihilation still in the Japanese psyche after 60 years? Interestingly enough, in a move too loaded with symbolism to be mere coincidence, the country’s final salvation is effected through a nuclear device.

Of course, there’s an added kick for me in watching Sinking since I’m currently learning the language and can now pick out expressions like sumimasen (“excuse me / sorry”), wakarimasu (“understand”), and nan de kore (“WTF!?”), not to mention all the -eru, -imasu and -shita verb endings (even if I don’t know the verbs themselves).

What I can’t understand, though, is a scene where the protagonist’s love interest says “make love to me now”, causing him to break into heavy sobs. He tearfully replies that he can’t “at the moment”, because only saving her family would make him truly happy. This has to be the first time in recent cinematic history that a male protagonist turns down an opportunity for casual sex with his love interest. What the f***, indeed! Maybe I do have a lot to learn about the Japanese psyche...

Evening Bliss

It was one of those unexpected, perfect little evenings: getting off duty early, heading out on a whim, attending a free film screening cum faux-intellectual discussion, and proceeding (again, on a whim) with the organisers for drinks. The hours were touched with lightness: the air was sedate; the dressing casual, the company somewhere in that feel-good zone between acquaintances and friends. Many fond memories were evoked, and the night ended just before inertia set in. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this relaxed and happy...and a while since I had a beer, too. It’s a nice place to be.

Going Places

For years, I had a major hangup about not being as well-travelled as my peers—a hangup which I unscrewed shortly before my graduation by making a mother of a trip to New York City. Since then, I’ve scraped the remains of that hangup with trips of various natures to China, Thailand, Hong Kong and Indonesia, all in the space of a year.

You would think I’m content, but there’s been a nagging itch. Beyond merely travelling, I’ve longed for the quintessential travel buddy experience—the kind of travel experience which is amplified because of the presence of a friend to take all those shameless photos you want of yourself, to watch your back, to collectively savour everything the destination has to offer and recount the adventure with fondness many years on. All my post-New York travels were made in large, organised groups, and the one in which I tried to force a travel buddy situation turned out to be a disaster.

Which is why this morning, as I punched in the last digits of my credit card number into airasia.com, sealing an impulsive deal I made with two close friends just a week before, I felt an inexorable sense of personal triumph.