One day more

... indeed ... one day more.

So many things and events have been happening of late and in particular today.

The badminton kids played their finals. I wonder how they did especially the few kids from my class.

The climbing girls had their preliminary round for Pumpfest. I wonder how that went too.

Wasn't able to keep up since it was opening night of 'Identities'. I must say I'm very proud of the kids. They were really really great and it was a good performance, by my standards of course. It was technically flawless and I think all the stern, authoritarian and disciplinarian attitudes have shaped them into something they can be proud of. Well, if only they realised but it matters not I guess. It's an innate sense of satisfaction for me - to see how they've grown.

Watching Jia(ng) again, I felt a confounding sense of perplexity. I don't quite know how to say it but Kundera phrases it aptly - it's the paradox of immortality. I finally understand why writers write, why artists paint, why musicians make music. It is an intrinsic need to communicate to others their sense and view of the 'world'. Yet that desire is confronted by a need to keep that view silent and secret, private and personal.

Jia(ng) was written from my own personal experience of life, of the emotions I feel and the view I take of myself, my own worth, my family and the value of 'existence'. As much as Beckett has influenced me in every way, the play remains personal and I've communicated it to a theatrette full of people. And that is where the fear sets in - the handful of people who understood and commented about how it reflected so much of me. Despite these people being closer and knowing me better, I understand why Beckett shyed away from the media and remained solitary.

Perhaps it is time to hide away again.