| The Cancer Society |
[Aug. 23rd, 2007|12:47 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Madame Hollywood (Miss Kittin) | ] |
The last time I disappeared from the public’s eye, it was without much trace, just as I had earlier imagined. Except for immediate family and friends, no one had any idea what I was up to at that time. I had jumped into another industry that was so alien and totally against my obvious character. I jumped because I was lost and I didn’t find much use of myself for the industry that I grew up in and grown accustomed to. An industry so complex, diversified and inspiring to nurture such incomprehensible passion and talent in human beings would undeniably boast of the worst politics, hypocrisy, cold wars and ego warfare… the most conniving, scheming and shrewd of its kind.
You put Grade A actors, producers, directors, stylists and makeup artists (dan kuncu-kuncunya), you must expect to get Grade AA++ bitching and backstabbing. But those are mundane, you can find those in the teaching industry or the wafer factory canteens. In this industry, you will get pointblank-I-kill-you-and-your-family-too and Yakuza head on disembowelments for brunch and every other meals. And don’t forget the coarse pepper corns and cajun with the half bakes and trannies. The only 2 other worthy contenders are the Advertising industry and your nearest Red Light District.
So it’s like living in a cancer ward and daily bets on who will die first. And it’s the best place to sell black market cigarettes.
It’s unhealthy. The industry. If it doesn’t kill your passion, it kills your soul. Or you die of lung cancer first. If you’re lucky you lose both your passion and your soul and you get tributes once in while in the toilet tabloids and cigarette gossips.
You forget who you are, why you’re there in the first place and you’re not exactly sure where you’re heading.
Like cancer, you go through chemotherapy and you get dizzy spells. You’re in between tangents. Confused and frustrated. It’s the meds. The easiest alternative… suicide. So I killed myself.
By that, I mean I killed my own potential. At my peak. Took myself out of the equation. Out of the industry. It’s not easy when you’re trying to fight the cancerous behaviour. You’re recovering (changing your attitude and your perspectives) but there’s cancer in the next cubicle, cancer when you take a cigarette break, cancer in the loo, cancer in your emails, cancer in the studios, cancer in the editing suites, cancer in the magazines and newspapers. Cancer sprouting and spreading. An epidemic. The post modern epidemic. Cancer was your living element. About ready to totally replace air.
So how do you recuperate from cancer? You go to the mountains. And finally breathe real air. You leave it all behind. You forget. You slowly detox from the chemotherapy and you let your hair grow again by itself. It’s only natural you find yourself again.
Medan was my mountains. I would be lying to say I wasn’t running away. Get away, run away. Parallel tangents. I’ve stopped defining and defending. It was good to get away from the chaos in my life. The cancer existed outside of work too. It was living in my social life as well. I couldn’t get rid of the cancer in the scene of my social life either. So I simply took myself out of the cancer. Yes people do that with real cancer too. They couldn’t take the cancer out, so they took themselves out of the cancer. Morphine. Heroine. Horse tranquilisers. The works.
Up till today, my friends don’t know how a person like me (who thrives in chaos and parties and laughter and daily buzz) could survive solitude in such a God forsaken place like Medan. At that time, it was a remedy. To be able to get away from my life and live another. It was indeed a therapy. I lived a quiet life in the midst of inefficiency and lagging technology. I lived in simplicity. I didn’t even bother much with colours in clothes. I watched DVDs a lot, sat by the lake from time to time and go to real mountains and hot springs occasionally. Most times it was DVDs and dancing in a spacious room.
But who was I kidding. Of course I couldn’t do it forever. I need random activities. I need the arts. I need creativity in my life. I need colour. I need zest. I mean the calm and quiet is good for a while, not forever. Too much anti depressants will make you depressed again. You become immuned. So Prozac Nation was actually just the baby step of achieving the Nirvana of Depression. An entire antithesis, another story altogether.
So when you’re cured of cancer, you suddenly have this longing desire and suppressed energy to jump at life again. You know you’re ready for more. You’ve fought cancer before, you’ve won and you’re not afraid to look at it in the eye and say horse tranquilisers and I’m still here, putain.
When you left silently like a mouse, you come back with a bang. It’s a good impact when both situations were abrupt. The element of what the fuck, she’s back? fuck. It’s a good feeling. People get intimidated. It’s good to intimidate cancer.
The non challenging cancer and the new breed of cancer. |
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