Reflections by Daniel Chan

I had left the script untouched for 2 months after submitting the script for review because of a back injury that even the most mundane of activities would aggravate: sitting, reading, writing. I wondered if I was relieved, verging on pleased even, with my possibly fortuitous predicament. And since so, felt ashamed. When I looked at the script, the reflex was to pull away. It was, in my eyes, trapped behind a thick cloud of colliding intentions, of things that needed to be fixed, things I had wanted to say–I could only see it for the brooding cloud.

The process for creating the script has been very new to me; I’ve had guidance from Robin and Casey, who have encouraged me to experiment, to be uninhibited with my writing.

I never had anyone who counted on me to write before then.

In the whirl of penning it down, I was confused, but I trusted (still do) in where they were taking me. It paid off, materialised in front of me in the test-reading, so tangible through the voice of actors, the direction. I couldn’t avoid it even if I wanted to, that there were things I had done right. Of course, there are things to tweak, things to reshape, practical concerns to tackle in the next draft so kindly brought up by Haresh Sharma, Edith Podesta and the actors. They ranged from improvements that could be made to written direction, to clarity of intentions.

I write because there are worlds to explore. I would like to believe that even if I were the only one privy to these places, that would be enough. But to have people take time to read my work in their heads, out loud, to ponder and critique, to play in a world I had only ever seen in my head, it moves me to gratitude. There’s something else as well, a core in my chest that’s humming a tune.

As someone who dropped chemistry in secondary school, who never took physics, I never expected myself to attempt researching for a play that borrowed ideas from quantum physics and religion. During the 3 months research phase, I was guided to ruminate on the reasons, the internalised experiences, values, standpoints I had that had drawn me to the research material of my choice. It was a trying yet cathartic process; it required the excavation of memories, some buried for good reasons. I would look at all the beliefs I had gleaned, the practices I defended with a fire, watch them shaky in their stilts, re-watch the play out of events that had seemingly cornered them into my hands. Occasionally I was asked to vocalise these reflections, but only a shred would I be able to speak. It wasn’t only regarding this did my speech fail me. I’ve lost count of the number of times during Boiler Room discussions where I was unable to express myself eloquently, all because of how blown away I was by some new perspective. I think this in many ways is testament to how insightful this entire process has been so far–the way one steps into a distant country–everything foreign in the most exciting way.

During this 3 months, the Boiler Room playwrights were instructed not to jump into writing, instead to be open to new stimulus, to let the subject matter stew. With no immediate translation of research to page, there were times where I doubted the gravity of what I had to say, that my voice wasn’t suited for writing something as ambitious as what I had decided upon. I wouldn’t say I’ve discovered a clear path around this, that such thoughts won’t ever hound me again, but it is easier to renew one’s conviction when one is constantly being challenged, and from that, led to see with fresh eyes, the things one had needed to express; I have the Boiler Room team to thank, for doing precisely that.