Sometimes, as a writer or artist, I ponder on why I do what I do. Is it for the money? The fame? Does it make me happy?
I used to think that this would make me happy. Producing a work that I wrote would make me feel fulfilled. Many years back, I had a conversation about where do I see myself in the next 5 years. Without missing a beat, I straight away said, I wanted to be an actor, a writer, a producer, a director… someone like the late P. Ramlee. This was how naïve I was. 2011, 13 years back, to be exact. I used to be that simpleton who thought I could live my life forever on an Island named Sentosa. Work from 9am to 5pm, followed with jogging by the beach and then perform in a known performance at night, filled with colourful fireworks, state-of-art lasers and beautiful projection on the super cool sea fountain. I got paid, and physically, I was healthy.
Now, 13 years later, career-wise, technically, I already had what I wanted to achieve in 2011. I am now an actor who has and many acting credits, as well as a writer and director. To top that, I am also an educator who has had many successes with the students. I have a house I can call my own. I am fairly known in the industry. I felt fulfilled. For a while.
Now I am craving for more. Planning ahead for the next step. The real question here is—Am I planning my next step/ next big project because I was really craving for something, or is it because of fear? Fear that I can never ever make a work that will top the previous ones. Fear that the works I did in the past weren’t great enough or weren’t known enough. This fear is further amplified when I read more about P. Ramlee. He died in a state that no one could be proud of. Yes, right now, we worshipped his work, but where were we when he was struggling to even afford rice and eggs. I can only imagine how lonely it would have been for him. I imagined what would I have done if I were in his shoes. Would I die, in the words of Elizabeth Gilbert, on heaps of broken dreams with my mouth filled with bitter ash of failure?
This was the catalyst that started my on this big question –Why do I do what I do?
It was for the money at first. I was happy, and I earned a decent living doing it. Not many people are lucky enough to earn a living from the thing that they enjoy doing. I am blessed to be able to do this. And I am thankful.
However, a deeper probe has now made me realise how selfish I was in my craft.
The reason why I do what I do, is just so that I can express myself, in the hope that there is somebody out there who can resonate with my work. Someone who can make me less lonely by saying that they too can relate with the bizarre phenomenon, whimsical characters and eccentricity.
And in exchange I want my work to offer solace, a temporary respite away from the expectations and rules and… normalisation. If my work can offer that to at least one individual, I guess that would be a fulfilling reason as to why I do what I do.
I may not be as good as P.Ramlee, but I can speculate that we may have the same reasons as to why we do what we do. We just want to make the world a little less lonely and little more bearable.
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