by You Jin
No matter how down I might be, all I had to do was enter the world of fiction, and I could forget the demands and unhappiness of life. At such times, I was not myself, but became like Wu Cheng’en’s Monkey King. Writing was like the little needle hidden behind my ear; when I pulled it out and breathed on it, it expanded into a cudgel I could wield, defeating any enemy I might face.
Patterns was the first house I built with words. According to my standards back then, I was very satisfied with it, but rereading it many years later, I could see how immature the work was. We can’t expect a child who is just starting to walk to do so without wobbling a bit. Each step leaves a footprint, and every sweat-filled footprint contains the strong hope of improving oneself and the effort to struggle upwards. Every stage of immaturity sets off the next stage of maturity and improvement.
I do not want to ever become a mature person who is still copying others. I do not want to be at a standstill. Whenever I read my past works and discover the places where they are not good enough, I realise I have improved. Hard work, never slackening, is the motto of my life.
Dazzling Stars
The days flowed quickly in 1978, in a quiet but unceasing current. When August arrived, a sudden storm came with it, turning life upside down for me.
Early in the morning on that particular day, the deputy chief editor of the newspaper and director of supplements called and asked me to go to his office. He announced a decision the office had made, saying, “Starting next month, we have decided to name you editor of the supplement.”
I was totally unprepared for this news. I was not sure whether to be overjoyed or horrified. After a moment, I asked, “What will my responsibilities be?”
“We’ve decided to start issuing two new supplements, starting in September. We want you to edit them. They will be bilingual, colour supplements. There will be a women’s section and a children’s section. We won’t be accepting submissions. We want you to commission all the pieces.”
I could hardly believe it. Editing a supplement was a dream I had had since I started working as a reporter. Now that my dream had suddenly leapt into reality, right before my eyes, I felt helpless.
From the professional perspective, this was a major change for me. In the past, I took my orders from the field reporting director, did all I had to do, met the deadline, and my work was done. Now I was fully responsible for the editing of the supplements.
The women’s supplement was called “Home: Inside and Out”. My introduction to the supplement read:
As education has become more common, women’s knowledge of the world and their position in it, have changed. Those women who walked out of the kitchen are able to seek high positions in society. The lives of those who did not leave the home are no longer limited to only rice, oil, salt, soy sauce and vinegar. Life itself is an art and, with just some thought, women could make their lives more interesting, their families more artistic, creating boundless enjoyment for everyone at home. This supplement will feature the culinary arts, fashion, beauty, bonsai, flower arrangement, interior design, parenting, family issues and marriage, and other subjects. Originality and practicality will be our guiding principle.
For the children’s supplement, titled “A Little World”, I wrote this editor’s note:
In this little world, we will introduce folk stories, stories behind Chinese idioms, and general knowledge, all in Chinese and English. In addition, we will feature Singaporean children who have outstanding performance in different areas, as well as highlight recently published children’s books.
When the direction of my editing job was confirmed, I was busier than ever. It was crazy. I had no experience as an editor, so I had to start from the beginning, learning how to do page layouts. To tell the truth, doing a layout is easy, but to make a page elegant and pleasing to others is a difficult skill to grasp. At the time, we did not use computers for designing pages, but did everything by hand. In order to learn how to do layout, I bought several magazines for reference and practised on card stock, rearranging pictures and text, seeing what worked and what did not. If something looked out of place, I would rearrange the cards tirelessly. Sometimes I spent the whole night doing that, but it was worth the effort. I was filled with an eagerness to learn. I did not find the practice hard, but interesting. Very often I would hold a bowl of instant noodles in one hand, gobbling it down while I designed the layout. I often completely lost track of time. During such moments, if a fly or lizard had fallen into my bowl, I would have swallowed it up.
When I finally got a handle on the layout, I turned my attention to the content. Neither of these supplements took submissions from the public, so I had to write every single word. Besides writing the main articles, I had to select whom to interview. I sought out notable women and exceptional children, and since I already had experience interviewing people, this was no problem. What was difficult was sourcing for a suitable interviewee every week. My entire schedule was fully booked. With interviews, writing and layout all done by me, I had not a single moment of spare time. It was a novel experience and, in all honesty, though I was extraordinarily busy, I was also extremely happy.
However, during this time, my relationship with writing became distant again. In my new position, I had to brush up on new things and get used to new duties, so I completely gave up on literary creation. Writing essays and fiction was completely put aside. I employed direct language every day, adapting everything I wrote to the needs of the article. Though I often heard the alluring call of more creative writing, I had no time to heed it. I was captivated by my new job, willingly becoming a lapsed fiction writer.
After a month or so, when I had fully adapted to my new job, the news office assigned me a new task, to edit the movie section. The news office would order Taiwanese or Hong Kong newspapers by airmail. It was my job to read these papers quickly, and then, relying on my own judgement, choose a few pieces that would be of most interest to our readers to print in our paper. When famous movie stars from Taiwan or Hong Kong came to Singapore to promote new movies, I also had to arrange interviews and reader receptions with them.
As the editor for three different supplements, two weeklies and one daily, I was constantly interviewing people, writing articles, and editing copy. Often, I spent the daytime hours writing and editing, then at night, I would spend time trying to set up interviews. My life was constantly busy, and I hardly knew day from night.
After taking up the post of movies editor, many of my friends were quite impressed. They seemed to think this new special identity would bring me closer to the stars. They were not all wrong in thinking this, but the problem was that, though I enjoyed watching movies, I did not idolise actors at all. In fact, I had had a rather unpleasant experience with the acting world as a child.
When my family lived near the Empire Cinema, on Kim Tian Road, an actress had come to perform and promote her new movie. The entertainment industry then was rather anaemic and the appearance of this particular actress, who was not especially “hot”, stirred up a minor commotion. Every night when she appeared, a small band of people gathered around the entrance to the cinema, waiting to see her. Unfortunately, I told one of my classmates about it at school one day. She happened to be crazy about movie stars, so she asked me to help her get the actress’s autograph. Before I had agreed to do so, she bought a pretty little notebook, and stuck to me like chewing gum. Unable to refuse, I promised to do it. I knew the actress usually arrived at the cinema at six, so at five-thirty, I took the notebook and made my way to the cinema and stood at the door. As the time drew near, the crowd grew. I was quite introverted back then and put off by crowds. Standing there in that huge group of people, waiting to ask a stranger for an autograph, was a real trial for me, and I had to muster the courage to do it. I waited and waited, and finally I heard an excited, “Here she comes!”
I pressed my way forward, and there I saw her, surrounded by several people who had their arms around her. I shot to the fron
t like an arrow and held that little notebook up as high as I could, and shouted, “Can I please have your autograph?”
She looked down and saw the notebook in the hand of an innocent little child, then rudely pushed my hand and the notebook away. She said coldly, “I don’t have time.”
Serving as the editor for the movie section at Nanyang Siang Pau, I realised that I would have to have regular dealings with actors from then on. My negative childhood experience reared its head. Though my friends envied me, my own feelings were quite different.
Interviewing movie stars was such a misery that I can hardly stand to look back on it now. Sometimes, the person you see on the screen is completely different from the person off-screen. Some are so coarse that they are practically unbearable. What was most difficult to adapt to was that I had to ask questions that might interest my readers, even if I cared nothing about those things myself. For instance:
Who is your newest girlfriend?
You said you split up with so-and-so, why have you recently been seen with her at a hotel getting a room?
What did you do to lose weight? Can you tell us your secret?
Some people say that you used a stand-in in the sex scene for such and such a film. Is that true?
Your physique has changed recently. It seems you are constantly reinventing yourself. Do you think everyone can do this?
You broke up with so-and-so. Some people say he is a bisexual. Do you agree?
After asking one meaningless question after another, I came to realise that there was another meaning to the phrase “an endless quest”. Sometimes I came across actors who were very reluctant to open up. Still, I had to ask them countless bland questions, like:
What do you think of Singapore? (Everyone gives the same answer to this: “It’s clean, and the people are friendly!”)
What food do you like?
What do you like to do when you’re not filming?
Of all the movies you starred in, do you have a favourite?
What role do you play in your newest movie? Do you like this role?
Even worse than the banality of the interviews was the arrogance and bluster of many stars. Once, I was interviewing a young actress from Taiwan who had the title of movie queen added to her name, and we had arranged to meet at six sharp at the Jinghua Hotel, where she was staying. I arrived there on time and, though I knocked and knocked on her door, there was no response. Thinking I had the wrong room number, I rushed to the reception desk to inquire, and found that I had not been mistaken. I went upstairs again and knocked on the door, but there was not a sound from the room. I went and sat in the hotel lobby to wait. After I had waited for more than an hour, I saw her saunter in, accompanied by her mother, carrying numerous bags. Clearly she had been shopping. Controlling my temper, I went to greet her. She did not show the least bit of remorse, and did not offer a word of apology, as if it was reasonable that I had wasted so much time waiting for her. To make matters worse, she glanced at her watch, wrinkled her eyebrows, and said, “Oh! It’s already seven. I have to go out at 7.30.”
Her mother, noticing my expression, quickly said, “Come with us. You can come up to our room.”
Swallowing my anger, I went with them up to their room. As soon as we entered, she tossed her things aside and, without a word to me, swished into the washroom. Her mother looked through all the shopping bags enthusiastically, while I sat on a chair to wait. More than ten minutes later, I said, “If she’s so busy, I should go.”
Her mother replied anxiously, “Oh, no, please wait just a little longer. She’ll be right out.”
I said, “I have other interviews to attend to,” then turned and walked out, not even bothering to glance back. I was not only angry, but even a little hurt, although I found out later that the life of this glamorous actress had not been smooth sailing. When she was still young, her name was tarnished. She had been married several times—marrying, divorcing, then marrying again. I wondered if this had something to do with the way she dealt with people.
Of course, it is not fair to paint everyone with the same brush. Some stars have personalities, and substance to match their good looks. When I met them, I used the pen name Tang Mei, writing long passages in a literary style about them, which were printed according to formula in Nanyang Siang Pau, always accompanied by photos. We featured many influential movies stars and directors, including Xiao Fangfang, Deng Lijun, Ye Liyi, Tang Baoyun, Li Xiang, Shi Hui, Shen Dianxia, Pan Dihua, Li Jing, Fu Qi, Liu Wenzheng, Liu Songren, Liu Yong and Liu Xuehua, and directors like Kang Wei, Tu Zhongxun and Luo Ma. When I deliberately used more creative approaches to write about these people, it made up for the emptiness in my heart created by staying away from literary writing.
Once, many years later, a middle-aged reader asked me after a lecture, “Was the former movie writer Tang Mei really you?”
Very few people knew this pen name was mine, so I was really shocked that she knew. She laughed and replied, “Few people would use such artistic expressions to write up interviews with movie stars.”
That day when I got home, I pulled out some old newspapers and reread those articles. I smiled because the woman was right. I really had employed the sort of writing usually reserved for fiction to write about the celebrities.
For instance, I described Deng Lijun in this way:
Her face is round, not a dull puffiness, but a healthy, vital roundness. It is a face unblemished by make-up, clean and fresh-looking. There is a tiny round mole on the lower left side of her nose, exuding a charming beauty.
In my writing, Liu Wenzheng was described in this way:
He is very tall and sturdy. His white shirt and white pants only serve to enhance his height and solid build. His thick hair has a slight wave, lying across a youthful face. When he speaks, his sparkling eyes are bathed in a gentle glow.
Xiao Fangfang had the greatest star quality:
That night she wore a pink gown, low cut, and gathered at the waist, emphasising her lovely, lithe build. Amid thunderous applause, she walks softly across the stage. She waves to the crowd, and says in a sultry tone, “Please turn on the lights and let me get a look at the Singapore audience.” The National Theatre is set ablaze. She stands at the front of the stage, her face alight with an alluring, warm smile. Ah! she is lovely, radiating such grace and extraordinary charm, causing one’s heart to leap, whether you are among the audiences or recollecting that moment later.
Liu Xuehua, viewed through my eyes, possessed no ordinary charm:
Liu Xuehua is the type of woman who shines, whether alone or in a crowd. The first time I encountered her, it was in a typical press conference setting. Her long black hair parted naturally in the centre, and she wore a tiny white flower in it, which peeped in and out of her black hair, adding a mature charm to her fresh, youthful face. Her eyes were large and bright, with the ends arched slightly upwards. A slight movement of her pupils spoke volumes, even though she did not utter a word.
Writing about Shen Dianxia, I could not help but smile at the image of her in my mind.
She was wearing a short, bare-backed blue dress splashed with polka-dots. Her fingers were spread out on the table. They were short, pale, and pudgy fingers, like five chubby little infants. I have seen numerous large people but this was the first time I had encountered one as at ease and Rubenesque as her, with surprising folds of flesh escaping from their would-be confines. I asked bluntly if she weighed two hundred pounds. She laughed and replied, “Two-twenty.”
Looking back, I can see that using a creative style to write about these celebrities had a lot to do with my mindset at the time. I did not have time to pursue my own writing, but the earnest desire for more artistic pursuits was growing inside of me, so I tried to turn the lives of celebrities into fodder for my art. This impulse showed up clearly in my writing at that time.
In order to attract more readers, the newspaper decided to start a “Movie Club” in March 1979. We organised a series of Star C
onferences for our readers.
Not long after the Movie Club was underway, seven Hong Kong stars came to Singapore to raise funds for charities in a walkathon. We invited them to our newsroom for our first free “Star Conference”. The seven actors were Chow Yun-fat, Liu Yong, Chen Baixiang, Wen Xue’er, Huang Xingxiu, Xu Yingying, and Liu Yifan. In Hong Kong they were very popular actors but, they were not yet as well-known.
I still remember very clearly that on 4 March, it was overcast and rainy. We had prepared two hundred seats in the news office’s auditorium. The session would start at 3.30pm but, when it was 3.10, I noted the distressing fact that there were fewer than ten people in the audience. It was likely that there would be more people on the stage than in the audience! My heart raced like a little rabbit. I rushed to the office and asked any colleague who was not busy to come help form an audience. Everyone was very cooperative, entering the auditorium and finding a seat, but it was still far from enough. I rushed to the layout room and asked more colleagues to come help make up the numbers. That helped fill up the front part of the auditorium. When the cameramen snapped a photo from the back, it would form the illusion of a crowd.
Before long, the Singapore television station broadcasted the Hong Kong soap opera The Net, starring Chow Yun-fat and Carol Cheng. With the leading actors’ powerful acting and the show’s engaging storyline, Singaporean viewers went crazy. Everyone stayed home to watch it, and it influenced many local industries (like restaurants, shops and taxis). The two actors also became red hot.
On Chow Yun-fat’s next visit to Singapore, the Movie Club again invited him to interact with our readers. On this occasion, the turnout was very different, the feverish response leaving us quite speechless. We made it a first come, first served event. The result was that tickets were sold out several days in advance. After that, I had calls from countless readers, begging and pleading to be included in the audience. On the day of the event, fans arrived early. More than half an hour before the event started, the place was already packed to full capacity. Many readers who did not have tickets also came to try their luck. As a result, it was crowded, both inside and outside the auditorium. Recalling the cold, empty hall a couple of months earlier, I was really dumbfounded. Two different occasions but the same person, before and after his fame soared. The contrast was stark. A person’s fortune plays such a big part in one’s life.