[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he last part of December went by quickly like the flashing green light on the street. End of the year is never been my choice to go on a vacation. It is high season, rainy season, and certainly would be too crowded for me. But like any other impulsive decision I made this year, life always surprises you. I got 3 days business trip to Singapore last week. Staying on star hotel in the heart of the city is never been on my bucket list. At night, I roamed the city alone, as I used to be. Eating in cheap hawker food and buying cheap souvenirs. The city still feels familiar, the warmth of solitary in the middle of hustling crowds. It was raining and as I stand waiting the train that would take me back to the airport, I told myself.
I can get used to these surprises.
I booked a one way train ticket the day after. My first trip at New Year’s Eve. As a member of stay-home-family-at-every-new-year, I used to spend time rolling around the house, burning something, watching superheroes movie for the million times on TV, and fall asleep before the New Year’s countdown. So, I don’t expect anything less than overpriced hotel rent and crowded street. But I could use the comforting strangeness every trip could bring. Few days before the trip and I don’t even plan any place to visit. I visited the city quite often and I think I wanted to be surprised. Maybe it would be rain all day, maybe there’s traffic, maybe it was a bad idea afterall, but then I could care less.
Bring it on.
Like the year before, I spent this Christmas holiday at home. Wrapped up under blanket, with too many mineral water and tortilla chips beside my bed. Writing crap about how another year has went by and I might missed another train. The thoughts about how other people achieve many things this year has passed me again. Weirdly enough, it didn’t stay too long. Maybe, just maybe, I could care less about them again.
I spent a lot of amount of time watching Quentin Tarantino’s movies in bed. The Hateful Eight opens on Christmas and I thought it’d be great to re-watch all 7 movies before this (too bad I skipped Django Unchained).
Growing up, all I want to be is being a filmmaker like John Lasseter and Andrew Stanton. After watching The Virgin Suicide, I want to kick ass like Sofia Coppola. Then, after the Kill Bill era, all I want to be is Quentin Tarantino. There’s something about his movies that I find so alluring.
No, it’s not the blood and the gore theme. It’s not the setting or the scattered timeline. It’s not about the intense scene, the colors of the movie, the soundtracks, or any magnificent shots.
Tarantino writes and directs everything he loves, he doesn’t care if there’s nobody loves it, or nobody gets it. He will still shot it. But his passion reached me, like a ray of sunshine that peeks between the curtains. In the end, all I want to do is wide open the curtains, asking for more. There’s nothing more I want than being someone like that. Being a pirate king, sailing forward. Believing in something, great enough that everybody started to believe it too.
Tarantino always writes long lines, repeated sentences, and he’s not afraid to insert insulting or forbidden words. He believes that words should be a sharp critics in its true from.
His latest movie, The Hateful Eight, has been shot in a glorious 70mm films, allowing him to shoot a wide panoramic shot. Funny thing is, instead of exploits this advantages, Tarantino shot most of the movie in a single claustrophobic room. Relying on dialogue and mind tricks, like his earlier limited budget flicks. Tarantino does make a point, when making a movie, all you need are a well written script and a good storytelling to move the story forward.
I might forget the dreams of being a filmmaker long way ago. And I don’t know which one is sadder, the fact that I’m afraid that the career won’t make a steady job or the fact that I threw away my-almost-15-years-worth-of-dream without looking back. Then again, despite of what I do for a living now, I still want to be like Quentin Tarantino.
Hell with everybody else.
Three tomatoes are walking down the street – a poppa tomato, a momma tomato, and a little baby tomato.
Baby tomato starts lagging behind.
Poppa tomato gets angry, goes over to the baby tomato, and squishes him… and says,
‘Ketchup.’
Pulp Fiction (1994)
