mandinka

oh, to be outspoken about injustice, loud in one's beliefs; to be soft and vulnerable outwardly, too; to always be questing, searching for all spiritualities; to keep growing artistically, that blast of a voice (even louder as a whisper, in silence), pen, and guitar is always there.

i love so much of sinéad o'connor's discography, and activism, but just to highlight her most famous: the genius of her cover of prince/the family's "Nothing Compares 2 U" is that she directed this song towards her physically, mentally and emotionally abusive mother, and always thought of her when she performed it ("all the flowers that you planted, mama").

i aspire towards this grace under pressure, this forgiveness, generosity in the wake of hapless abuse. how to understand our parents? how to treat them, and ourselves, with kindness and faith? that wail of pure emotion, sinéad.

nothing, no one compares 2 u, sinéad/magda/shuhada, thank u xx

FOTO: Anton Corbijn

𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑛𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑛𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛

…𝑆𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡

— Sinéad O'Connor, "Mandinka", 1987

derek malcolm – 100 years of cinema

FOTO: Derek Malcolm's Facebook

after growing up reading his incisive, pithy reviews of "world cinema" in the Guardian then the Evening Standard, i met Derek Malcolm at the Bengaluru film festival in 2018. he was there as a FIPRESCI jury member (and former president), i was there as a (former) NETPAC member; we hung out between film screenings, walking slowly to the smoking point for cigarettes and light.

i was impressed that at the age of 86, he was still travelling to Karnataka yearly in search of "Third World cinema", as he called it, and was still in touch with the latest films (despite his understandable hatred of contemporary cinema); i was even more impressed that he spurned all the festival staff's kind but obsequious attention (he was clearly the VVIP amongst all of us) and that he showed me the British middle-finger sign within seconds of us being introduced and multiple times afterwards, in the funniest ways possible.

we kept in touch over email, but i'm sorry we never got to see each other again. he belongs to a generation of arts critics that stood in the centre of culture, made a fine career of it, but never wanted the attention – how fitting that his passing was announced on the same day as Jane Birkin's. starting out as a horse-racing jockey then correspondent, he always kept his sense of humour, self-deprecation, and wit, and prioritised underappreciated cultures. they say you should never meet your heroes, but he was the kindest, most loveable curmudgeon. i will miss him and still want to be like him.

vale and rest in power, mr. Malcolm x

mr yap

although he was in his early 90s, it still feels like a loss to lose Mr Yap Boon Chuan — SG's historic national football coach (1966–1971), long-time PE teacher, and such a kind, gentle, and self-sacrifical man — who passed away on sunday night.

Zakaria Zainal and i interviewed him in 2012 for our chapbook 'Gila Bola', and revisiting his words earlier today still brought me a lot of strength. the passing of a generation, who, yes, are "pioneers", but would hate to be called that, would hate the attention and all that propagandistic fuss, is, of course, inevitable, but still to be mourned, i think. it's the eclipse of a more serious, more sustainable age of Singapore, where some individuals served and gave back, then faded by choice into the shadows because they had done their job. i visited him again in 2018, and despite his illnesses he was still a true gentleman — some things one never forgets.

thank you, Mr Yap, for all your service, and thanks Pa for introducing me to a bit of your world in the first place. vale Papa Yap; my deep condolences to his family and friends.